On The Edge

by Daniel Cleaver

“Don’t ma’am me. I am Doctor Gina Melina, of the Institute of Milan. I have to be on the next flight out of LAX –”

  “I don’t care who you are, my job is to protect the offices at night.”

  “I was at a meeting here earlier today with Professor Johansson of the University of Southern California – do you know him?”

  “No, ma’am, I mean, Doctor.”

  “Nevertheless, the meeting was pertaining to saving a little girl’s life and if I don’t get back today, she will die. Do you want that to happen, do you want her to die?”

  “No, ma’am – Doctor, but –” he said.

  “I said, ‘do you want her to die’!?” she shouted, acting indignantly.

  “No, but it’d be more than my job’s worth.”

  “I left my files from the So Cal University in his office. It’s imperative that I retrieve them.”

  “Okay, but I don’t have a key.”

  “Doctor Johansson loaned me his.”

  The guard rolled it over in his mind, then grinned and nodded behind him. “Off you go, only two minutes, mind.”

  We scooted down the corridor. Mia’s performance left me flabbergasted. “I’m impressed.”

  “I trained as an actress.”

  “Well, it paid off. Why didn’t ya keep it up?”

  “I got fed up with the rounds of auditions. I felt my life was empty.”

  “Did ya do any movies?”

  “Several.”

  “Anything I would’ve seen?”

  “I was in ‘Atlanta’, ‘Michelangelo’.”

  “Never heard of ’em.”

  “I love acting, it’s just the creeps you have to deal with and are meant to suck up to,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  We reached my shrink’s office and naturally the door was locked. “Damn it,” said Mia.

  “Ah, now we’re in my domain.”

  “You know how to break and enter?”

  “Sure, who doesn’t?” I smirked.

  “I don’t.”

  “Yah, well, I’ve got friends in low places, who showed me a nifty trick or two.” I fiddled with my lock picks and the door popped open.

  “My turn to be impressed,” she said with a smile.

  We quickly scanned the office and attacked the rows of filing cabinets, but most were locked. I used my lock picks and made fast work of popping them open. I scanned the files of my fellow cops and was ecstatic to discover that George McGinty had an unusual fetish, autoerotism: he practiced self-strangulation – the cutting off his oxygen supply heightened his pleasure while satisfying himself. I can’t wait to drop that into the conversation. I browsed my colleagues’ files and was literally stunned speechless by the strange behavior of some of them and of the doctor who let them back on the streets. There were so many suicidal, depressed cops walking around with loaded weapons, it amazed me how they kept it all together. It made me feel quite sane as nearly every one of the files revealed a personality disorder far worse than mine.

  “Damn,” Mia cursed.

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s not here?”

  Car headlights illuminated the room. I took a peep between the Venetian blinds and saw the doctor’s silver Mercedes-Benz car pulling into her allotted bay. “Damnit, she’s back.”

  “Maybe it’s on her computer?” Mia said.

  “We’ve gotta go!”

  “I’ll quickly check.” She used her exceptional computer skills to attempt to break into the doctor’s files.

  I looked out the window and saw that Doctor Ruiz was almost at the front entrance. I leaned over Mia’s shoulder; she still hadn’t broken the code. “Let’s go.”

  “Nearly in,” she said, as she turned to me. I saw a glint in her eyes. She was enjoying this, our lips were only a few inches apart and for a crazy moment, I thought we were going to kiss. Man, she liked to take risks, even more than I did.

  “Close it down, we’ve gotta go, now!” I urged.

  “Damn. It’s not here, she must keep the Hangman file on a memory stick. She must have taken it home.” She leaped into action, closed the computer. We wiped away our prints as fast as we could and I just remembered in time the camera outside the doctor’s door. “Mia, the camera!” She held a file in front of her face, as did I and then, keeping my face covered awkwardly, I relocked the door. We could hear the doctor chatting to the guard.

  Mia pushed me into a doorway as the doctor came into view. “Buona sera!” Mia launched into Italian as Doctor Ruiz approached. “I am, how you say? Um, lost? I try to find car?”

  The doctor smiled as she unlocked her office door: she nodded with her head towards the direction that she had just came from. “Keep going straight then to your left.”

  Mia said, “Grazie, signora!”

  The doctor entered her office and Mia and I sighed with relief.

  Mr. Yoon’s, corner of Driftwood & Speedway, Venice Beach, CA 90292 – 21:55.

  I pulled up outside my duplex and bumped into a large garbage can, knocking it over with a lot of noise as it rolled down the street. I’m gonna have to get the brakes fixed. My Camaro has been doing that a lot lately, bumping into things further on than where I’d meant to stop. I was starving: I realized that I hadn’t eaten since this morning and was famished. I trotted across the street to the Mr. Yoon’s convenience store on the corner, the one where Sharron had worked. “Hi,” I said to the tiny, balding, Korean owner as he shuffled pieces of paper on the countertop, trying to make himself look busier than he needed. “I’m sorry to hear about Sharron, man.”

  “Sharron?”

  “Yah, Sharron.”

  “Who Sharron?”

  “She used to work here.”

  “She the one with all that metal stuff in her face?”

  No respect. “That’s her, she –”

  “I fired her lazy ass.”

  “How could you fire her, she’s –”

  “She no come in, no phone call.”

  “She was tied up and tortured. I doubt she was giving you much thought.”

  “She know rule, no come in, no phone call, no pay.”

  “You do know she’s dead?”

  “Sure, I know. Leave me in lurch.”

  I was close to punching him in the throat, it’s a two-to-one split at the moment. Sheldon said no, Elvis and I both think I should. I made my way to the back of the store as he ranted on. “Had to find replacement. Not easy.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose she got killed on purpose,” I said, but my sarcasm was lost upon him.

  I looked through the dog-eared, curled-up, stale sandwiches and selected a BLT sub, which was the best of a bad lot, while the owner still bitched on. “I do two shifts. Not good.”

  The sun was going down outside over the ocean, the remnants of the smog made for a colorful sunset. “You know how difficult to get staff?” he continued, warming to his theme. “She was the last resort, her, her with all that stuff in her face.”

  “Have some goddamned respect, she’s dead, man,” I called down the store to him.

  “I don’t have time for respect, too busy. What you think the others like if she best choice?”

  “Maybe ya should pay more.” I knew that would start him off. I went to fetch a six-pack of Budweiser. This guy was giving me a headache.

  “Pay more! Pay more! You think I made of money? I work eighteen-hour days and see no profit, why should I pay –”

  He suddenly stopped. I hoped he’d had a heart attack. I looked up and saw in the security mirror that a masked man was robbing him. I had half a mind to let him and hoped he might shoot him in the act. I reluctantly reminded myself I’m a cop and it is my duty to intervene if I see a crime in progress.

  “Empty the till, Gook,” the robber said, wearing a rubber Donald Trump face mask.

  “I’m Korean, not Vietnamese.”

  “I don’t give a damn, empty the till now!”

  I strolled over casually, chomping on my sub nonchalantly,
holding it high elbows out, nibbling it like corn. “Hey, man, this sub tastes funny.”

  The robber stared at me incredulously – well, I guessed he was. It was hard to tell through the rubber mask. “Do you mind?” He waved his gun at me then back to the store owner.

  I said, “I’m just saying, is all, I think it’s rancid, it’s –”

  “You’re crazy!” the robber said.

  “Cain’t argue with that,” said Elvis.

  “I was here first,” he said petulantly.

  “You go ahead.”

  He gave me the longest look. “Thank you,” he said. At least he had some manners, although I think he was being sardonic.

  “Give me the money now!” he yelled as the owner dropped the cash into a bag the robber offered. “And all the cigarettes.”

  I got in real close to him. “Urgh! What the hell –”

  The robber said, “Now what?”

  “I can’t eat this. It tastes of dog sh –”

  “That’s it! I’m going to shoot you instead,” he said.

  He turned the gun on me as expected.

  The Korean said, “Go on! Shoot him! He that crazy cop.” Charming. I wasn’t expecting that.

  “You’re a pig? I ain’t going back to jail for no one, no sir, not me.” The gunman’s trigger finger twitched.

  This was not going as planned. I said, “Don’t mind me, I’m here as a customer tonight. I just wanted something to eat and look at this crap.” I opened the two halves of my sub, curiosity got the better of him: the eyeholes of his mask were small and he had difficulty in looking at the filling. He lined up the eyeholes and as he peeped at it, I snatched the gun from his hand. The shock had hardly registered when I elbowed him in the throat, crushing his larynx. He fell back on his ass and held his throat, making gurgling noises. I grabbed his wrist, flipped him over and cuffed him.

  “Argh! That hurts!” he squealed.

  “Suck it up, cupcake.” I turned to the Korean and said, “Phone the police.”

  “What’s the number?”

  I looked at him balefully. “9 – 1 – 1.”

  “I’m going to have to write it down.” He searched around for a pen.

  I ripped off the mask and saw a young, spotty teenage kid. He was sixteen at the most – playing with guns already, man, I despair sometimes. I stood on his throat and read him his rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say – no hold on, that’s the old version.” I sighed and started again. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say – nope, that’s the old one again.”

  The robber said, “You have the right to remain silent . . . Anything you say can and will be used against you –” he taunted me.

  “Shut up, numbnuts,” I said and put more pressure on his neck.

  “You have the right to consult with an attorney,” he continued.

  “Shut up!” I said again and pushed down on his throat until he choked.

  “Jesus! I thought everyone knew it, it’s on TV twenty times a day!”

  “Shut up!”

  He continued. “And have an attorney present during questioning.”

  Then the Korean joined in. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one can be provided for you.” He moved his hands as if he was conducting an orchestra. Everyone’s a comedian.

  Finally, thank God, a uniformed cop turned up. “Read him his rights,” I told him and he proceeded to Mirandarize the robber.

  “See,” said the robber joyfully, “he knows it.”

  The owner did not thank me and stared at the mess the spilled sub had made. I helped myself to the last remaining curled-up sub.

  The Korean said, “Free of charge,” and almost smiled. Almost. I took a bite when I heard him say under his breath, “Out of date, anyway.”

  Such gratitude.

  CHAPTER 9

  Medical Center, 2018 Hollywood Boulevard, Hollywood, CA 90028 – 22:15.

  The Hangman watched Doctor Ruiz arrive at the clinic. She alighted from her Mercedes-Benz, didn’t check the parking lot for strangers or threats. Good, thought the Hangman. This would make the snatch easy, although the target was considered high-risk due to her connection with the police, which, in turn, no doubt made her feel invincible to danger. She trotted to the door of her building and entered without a backward glance, completely oblivious to her surroundings and the possible dangers lurking in the dark. The Hangman chuckled grimly, thinking how she would pay for the error; just a bit of basic personal security, or even just an awareness of her surroundings would have saved the doctor’s life, but, no, that bitch was too wrapped up in her self-centered world to think that anyone would want to her hurt, or do her any harm. Her self-absorption would be her downfall and she deserved everything she would suffer. The Hangman smiled at the thought of the tortures to come. Cannibalism was next. She would suffer that indignity before her worthless life was extinguished. She liked to live dangerously, she considered herself to be daring. Now she would try the last forbidden temptation, the ultimate taboo for enlightened Westerners. Human flesh.

  The Hangman had studied Doctor Ruiz and discovered that she had a dark side with dubious desires, liked to experiment sexually, liked to walk on the wild side, ready and willing to try anything new, or different. She had not refused any of the bizarre sexual suggestions made to her at the private club she often frequented; nothing was too depraved, or too disgusting or too low for her. It appeared the more humiliating, the better. The Hangman had chosen the next victim well. Doctor Ruiz was going to get what she deserved. The doctor was one of those annoying people that loved to brag about the exotic things she’d eaten. She relished the retelling of her gastronomic adventures, the consumption of bush meats, antelope, porcupine, goat, ostrich, lion, zebra, various monkeys, anteaters and once a live, giant snail. She’d eaten kangaroo, large insects, rat and once, in Korea, a dog.

  She deserved to die for that alone, thought the Hangman. Bush meat was growing in popularity in the States where a whole lion could be bought for less than five thousand dollars, although eating bush meats and monkeys was being blamed in the rise of Ebola, leading to one major Nigerian newspaper suggesting dog meat as an alternative. The Hangman relished the thought of joining her in committing the greatest sin. The devouring of human flesh. It was going to be fascinating and the Hangman wondered at what point during the consumption should the doctor be told it was her own flesh?

  Doctor Ruiz’s Office, Medical Center, 2018 Hollywood Blvd, CA 90028 – 10:25.

  Doctor Ruiz had her computer on as she researched the subject of hanging, as it had such a strong link to her patients and the latest serial killer. She was astounded to discover that convicted killer, Billy Bailey, had been hanged by the State of Delaware as recently as 1996. She had assumed hanging went out with the Wild West. Apparently, there had been two other State-approved hangings since the 1960s, both in Washington. Billy had been the first person hanged in Delaware for fifty years. Moreover, quite probably the last person to be hanged by the State, or anywhere in the country.

  Billy Bailey robbed a liquor store and then entered a farmhouse where he shot an eighty-year-old man twice in the chest, then once in the head with a shotgun. He also shot the wife once in the shoulder with his pistol, then in the abdomen and neck with the same shotgun. He arranged the corpses in chairs for the police to find. A Delaware State Police helicopter spotted him; he also attempted to shoot the pilot. Bailey was found guilty of the murders in 1980. The jury recommended the death penalty and he was sentenced to ‘be hanged by the neck until he was dead’. The method of execution in Delaware had changed to lethal injection, so he was given the option, but elected to hang, refusing the injection, stating, “I’m not going to let them put me to sleep.”

  As Delaware had not hanged anyone in fifty years, it sought advice from the Walla Walla correctional facility in Washington where hangings had taken place more recently. The Smyrna prison gallows had to be refurbished and strengthe
ned as Bailey’s execution date approached. Delaware’s execution protocol specified the use of 30 feet of ¾-inch diameter Manila hemp rope, boiled to take out the stretch. The rope knot lubricated with melted paraffin wax to help it to slide freely. A black hood was also specified by the protocol, as was a ‘collapse board’ to which an unwilling prisoner could be strapped if necessary. The gallows in Delaware were dismantled in 2003, as none of the remaining death row inmates remained eligible to choose hanging over lethal injection, leaving only the States of Washington and New Hampshire still permitting hanging as a method of execution.

  It had gone ten when Doctor Ruiz finished her notes. She locked her office. She passed by the sheepish security guard, who looked up from his comic and smiled shyly, and out into the parking lot. There was a slight breeze as she approached her silver Mercedes-Benz. She fished in her purse for her car keys; she heard footsteps behind her and hurried towards her car, clicking it open and was comforted to see the lights flash, signifying the doors were unlocked. She was almost there when a voice called out, “Doctor Ruiz?”

  She spun around and then smiled. “Oh you frightened me.” She placed her hand on her heart to calm her accelerated heartbeat.

  “Can I have a few words?”

  “Sure,” the doctor said.

  “Just sit in my car for a moment would you please, this won’t take long.”

  Doctor Ruiz opened the passenger door, ducked to get in when a cloth of chloroform was slapped across her nose and mouth. She kicked out frantically, arms and legs flying in all directions but was soon overcome by the fumes and flopped into the vehicle.

  CHAPTER 10

  Park Bench, Driftwood and Speedway, Venice Beach, CA 90292 – 22:45.

  After I passed the robber over to the uniformed cops, I strolled back to my duplex feeling an adrenaline rush. “Maaan, I love this!” I said aloud. There was nothing like staring down the barrel of a gun held by a drug-crazed robber to get the blood pumping. I finally had a chance to eat my sub for what it was worth.

  “Hey, buddy, got any change?” It was Clarence and his dog Jabba-The-Mutt, one of the regular tramps that hung around the beach and hassled the tourists. I felt in my pockets, but I had used the last of my cash on the six-pack. Yah, that’s right, the owner made me pay for the beer, his generosity only stretched so far. I looked at my sub, looked at the tramp and with a sigh held it out to him.