Mencken and the Monsters

by Jeff Elkins

  Mencken watched as Chris and Jose crouched in the bed of the truck and conferred. Then, to Mencken’s surprise, Jose hopped out of the bed onto the sidewalk. Chris disappeared into the bed. Agnew pulled out of the parking spot and turned right, down the nearest alley. Alone, Jose began walking toward the group of men. Mencken felt an odd mix of fear and curiosity. Who was this kid who walked toward a group of thugs with no fear?

  Mencken edged his bike forward to get a better look. As Jose approached the group, Mencken began to feel real terror on Jose’s behalf. It was clear that those giant men could rip a small kid like Jose to shreds. Mencken parked his bike. He thought about calling out, getting Jose’s attention, trying to insert himself into the situation before something terrible happened. He wondered where Chris and Agnew had gone. How could Chris leave his sidekick out here alone to get a beating? Mencken walked briskly toward Jose, still trying to maintain his cover, but closing the gap in case he needed to step in and save the young teen.

  To Mencken’s shock, fifteen yards before Jose reached the gang, the teen called out. Mencken couldn’t tell what he said, but it seemed to strike fear into the hearts of the three thugs. They looked at each other, looked at Jose, and ran in the opposite direction. Jose gave chase. Mencken watched with confusion. None of this made any sense to him. It struck him that he should be running as well if he wanted to record whatever this bizarre story might turn out to be.

  The three thugs took a turn to the left into an empty lot between two abandoned homes. Jose was quick on their heels. As Mencken approached the lot, he was forced to slow his pace. He didn’t know what he would find on the other side. Pressing his back against the corner of the rowhome next to the empty lot, he waited and listened. There were no sounds of struggle, no indications that some sort of fight was happening. There was nothing.

  “You dumbass,” Mencken said to himself. “You’ve probably lost them.” Mencken hadn’t considered that this empty lot connected two streets. He’d assumed it was a dead end, but that might not have been the case. It’s possible the thugs had taken a second left and just kept running.

  Mencken took a breath and then peered around the corner. There were no thugs. There was no fight. There was simply the gray pickup blocking an exit out of the lot. Agnew and Chris were securing a gray tarp over the top of the truck bed. Jose was sitting in the middle seat of the truck. A brisk wind whipped through the open lot. It tore the tarp from Agnew’s hands, revealing the contents of the bed. Mencken stumbled back at the sight of the three thugs, their limbs twisted, their faces contorted, laying lifeless in the back of the pickup. Agnew caught the tarp and tugged it back over the truck bed.

  Knowing the trio was getting ready to leave with Mencken’s evidence in the bed of the truck, Mencken turned and sprinted toward his bike. Arriving at it, he gunned the motor and pulled out of his spot. Roaring down the street, concerned less about secrecy and more about missing his chance to catch them, Mencken whipped his bike to the left, into the abandoned lot, but the truck was gone. He passed through to the street on the other side. Frantically looking left and right, he couldn’t decide which way to go. “Son of a bitch,” he yelled. He’d lost them again.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mencken sat at the red light, two blocks behind Chris and Jose. His eyes were intensely focused, watching their every move. He studied how Chris walked, how he gave Jose a few words of direction every block or so. After trailing them for three days, Mencken had come to understand their teacher/student relationship on a deeper level. Chris was constantly sharing insight with Jose. Mencken imaged these small conversations to be important notes in the life of a hitman. Maybe how best to enter a rowhome undetected, or how to snap a man’s neck in a single move, or how to dispose of three gangbanger bodies. It was impossible for Mencken to know what was really being said. What he could see was Jose’s response to everything Chris said. Chris would whisper something and Jose would nod in appreciation.

  Mencken’s vigor for the chase had been restored last night. Rosie had filled in some holes on his wall. She had shared two facts that had particularly stirred Mencken’s blood. First, on the night Mencken had seen Chris’ cohort in chaos at Imani’s, the night Melody had disappeared, there had been a large gang fight at the mouth of Druid Hill Park. A group loyal to Agamemnon had faced off with what had been described by onlookers as “a gang of hairless, pale, weightlifters.” A third party had interceded and ended the fight before the police had arrived. Witnesses said the third party had loaded many of the bodies into the back of a gray pickup truck. Hours later there had been a massive fire at a dock on the southwest side of town. Rosie explained they were still examining the remnants of the blaze for human remains.

  She also explained that a similar fire had sparked up in an empty house in Dundalk on the east side of the city yesterday afternoon. A neighbor said she saw three people unloading bodies from a pickup truck and taking them into the house just before it caught fire. The house had completely burned to the ground.

  Upon hearing these facts, Mencken was convinced of three things. First, there was a gang war going on with a new set of players, probably from out of town. The pale body builders were facing off with the Cabal. Second, Chris was the Cabal hitman, and he was patrolling the streets looking for rival gang members. Finally, Mencken was going to be the man who revealed this horrible killer to the world, and in turn, shined light on the Cabal, revealing how it was destroying his city for money.

  Chris and Jose had stopped again. Mencken knew he needed to get closer. He wasn’t going to lose them this time. Just as before, Chris put the flip phone up to his ear while Jose stood guard. Mencken sped up, weaving through the afternoon traffic on Charles, desperate to close the gap between himself and his prey before they made a break for it. He knew on foot they could lose him if they cut blocks by running through alleys. He had to stay on their heels.

  Mencken glanced up as he slid between two cars. He saw Chris put the phone in his pocket, turn to Jose, and explain something. They must have received a tip. The duo shot from their position to the right, down North Avenue. As Mencken neared the corner, he slowed and pulled onto the sidewalk. Glancing around the corner, he saw the two wanderers running fast.

  The wide sidewalks of North Avenue were empty, giving Chris and Jose the ability to sprint unhindered, but the street was filled with routine traffic, making it difficult for Mencken to keep up. The light in front of him turned red, forcing him to wait. “Son of a bitch,” Mencken exclaimed as Chris and Jose darted across the median, crossing to the other side of the four-lane street. They sprinted passed a large empty parking lot, a nondescript building built in the 80’s, and a large white church with giant oak doors. They hung a left at the corner of the church and they were gone.

  “Not again,” Mencken growled under his breath. He eased his bike forward to the stop line and watched for a break in the traffic. A yellow Oldsmobile paused to turn left. Mencken leapt on the chance. Gunning the motor, he sped through the light with reckless abandon. There was a blare of horns and a screeching of tires, metal crushed against rubber as cars collided, but Mencken soared through without a scratch.

  Again, he slowed at the corner. His eyes went wide and his stomach churned. The pickup was back, pulled against the side of the road. There were large black puddles in the street. Jose sat, learning against the gray stone wall of the church. His face, hands, and shirt were splattered with the black substance. He was removing fingerless gloves and cleaning the black goop from them.

  Mencken was filled with a mix of sorrow and elation at the sight of Chris and Agnew loading four large, white, bodies into the bed of the truck. Mencken took his cell phone out and snapped pictures, capturing Chris and Agnew heaving the lifeless bodies over the side of the vehicle.

  Chris took the final body beneath the arms. Agnew took its legs. They swung it back and forth and then, using all their might, tossed it into the pickup. Mencken texted a video to Rosie with the simp
le message. “Corner of Saint Paul and North Ave. I got them. In pursuit.” Seconds later his phone rang.

  At each corner, Mencken gave Rosie an update on the pickup’s location. Three cop cars intercepted the truck at the corner of Calvert and 30th streets. The blue-and-whites formed a triangle around the vehicle, boxing it into the intersection. Red and blue lights filled the beautiful street, illuminating the three-story rowhomes. The houses on the block were grand, complete with covered porches and large, green, bay windows on the second floor. Mencken pulled over onto the sidewalk and began recording the scene with his cell phone.

  Six uniformed cops sprang from their cars and took cover behind car doors and trunks, their weapons extended toward the pickup. Multiple voices screamed for the occupants of the truck to exit their vehicle with their hands up. More cars screeched to a halt, joining the blockade. Some were standard blue and white police cars with their lights flashing, others were ordinary-looking Fords.

  Detective Rosario Jimenez stepped from the passenger seat of one of the unmarked cars. Drawing her weapon, she moved toward the pickup truck. “Get out of the car with your hands in the air,” she screamed. The rest of the police automatically submitted to her lead. Mencken was entranced by her stoic focus. She wore a gray pantsuit with a purple blouse. “Someday,” he whispered to himself with regret.

  The doors of the pickup truck pushed open. The officers held their breath, bracing for the worst. Chris, Agnew, and Jose stepped from the car with their hands up. Mencken noticed Agnew’s leg was still bothering her by the way she favored her right leg as she climbed from the cab.

  “Lay down on the ground, with your hands behind your head,” Rosie screamed. “Right now!”

  Chris smiled, but not with victory or pride. It was a smile of apology. “Don’t shoot,” he yelled, edging toward the bed of the truck.

  “Stop right there,” Rosie screamed back. “Don’t make us kill you.”

  “Don’t shoot,” Chris yelled, still moving slowly to the bed of the truck. His hands held high in surrender. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Get down on the ground,” Rosie screamed, her voice cracking with rage.

  Mencken noticed a glint of sunlight bounce off of Chris’ right hand. He was holding something silver and small. Mencken wanted to scream out to Rosie, but before he could, Chris made his move.

  Chris looked down at the ground and swallowed. Looking up again he said, “Now.” In one smooth motion, he flicked up the silver lighter igniting a small flame, dropped it into the bed of the truck, and fell to the ground. In less than seconds, the back of the pickup erupted in flames. The wave of power from the blast forced everyone watching to look away. In response, guns unloaded.

  “Hold your fire,” Rosie screamed. “Hold your fire.” More voices echoed her command. A cloud of black smoke enveloped the truck. The officers waited with jaws clenched to see what was left of the truck and its crew.

  When the chaos had stopped, the truck was riddled with holes and filled with broken glass. The fire in the bed continued to blaze sending an unending stream of black smoke into the air. Chris and Agnew lay on the ground next to one another, their fingers interlaced behind their heads, but Jose was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mencken looked at himself in the small bathroom mirror. There was still bruising around his neck. Both his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like hell. “Occupied,” he called as someone tried the door knob.

  “It’s me,” Rosie said from the other side of the door. “Let’s go.”

  The pair walked quickly from the bathroom down the hall, hoping no one would notice Mencken entering the observation room. The small space had two chairs and a desk with some rudimentary recording equipment on it. Through the glass in front of them, Mencken and Rosie watched Frank Benny review the notes Rosie had given him minutes before. Frank was a short overweight cop in his forties. His suit was rumbled and there was a coffee stain on his yellow tie.

  “It should be me in there,” Rosie grumbled.

  “Yep,” Mencken said. The minute they had stepped into the station, the senior detective had ripped the case from Rosie and demanded a full briefing. Mencken was sure Detective Benny was acting under the influence of the Cabal, but Rosie assured him that Frank was just a lazy asshole who used his seniority to poach cases.

  “Goddamn, lazy-ass, redneck hick,” Rosie said. “Get your own goddamn case.”

  “Yep,” Mencken said again. In truth, he wasn’t too broken up about it. Rosie had only agreed to sneak him in to watch because she was pissed she wasn’t the one who’d get to question Chris. Before the case was stolen from her, she was demanding Mencken go home, telling him she’d call him later.

  Chris sat in the metal chair across from Frank, his back straight and eyes his focused forward. His hands rested, motionlessly on the table he was handcuffed to.

  “So what do you think?” Mencken asked. “You think Frank can get a confession out of him?”

  “No way in hell,” she said.

  Rosie took off her blazer, folded it gently, laid it on a chair, and took a seat. She rolled up her sleeves revealing the tattoo on her forearm of an eagle standing on a globe with an anchor through it. The sight of it always made Mencken wonder where else she had tattoos. He sighed and took the chair next to her.

  Detective Benny closed the manila folder he’d been flipping through and laid it on the table in front of Chris. Benny waited to see if the suspect would look down at it. He didn’t.

  “For your information and for the record, I will be recording this,” Detective Benny said, turning on the small video recorder mounted to the table by his left hand. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes?” Chris said.

  Mencken could tell Benny was frustrated by the suspect’s reply. The questioning tone wouldn’t hold up in court. Mencken smiled. At a minimum, this was going to be entertaining.

  “Was that a question?” Frank asked, dismissively.

  “Yes.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes. Right now. What don’t you understand right now?”

  “Why do I have to be in handcuffs?” Chris asked.

  “Alright, wise ass,” Detective Benny said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Let’s try this again. Once more, do you understand that this is being recorded? It really doesn’t matter, but for the sake of the rest of this conversation, do you understand?”

  “No?”

  “Are you trying to make this difficult?” Benny said.

  “Not at all, Officer,” Chris said.

  “Detective,” Benny said.

  “I’m not a detective. Not in any official capacity, although I do enjoy a good puzzle.”

  “I meant that I am a detective, not an officer.”

  “I thought all detectives had to be officers?”

  “I mean, I am an officer, and I’m a detective. My title is Detective.”

  Rosie laughed and shook her head. She was enjoying watching Benny get tied in knots.

  “How do you keep them straight?” Chris asked.

  “Keep what straight?” Benny said.

  “Being an officer and a detective.”

  “They’re the same thing.”

  “Then why do they have different names?” Chris seemed genuinely confused, but Mencken knew better.

  “Not all officers are detectives but all detectives are officers.”

  “Oh. Like not all cars are trucks, but all trucks are cars.”

  “No. Not like that at all.”

  “Like a mule is half horse and half donkey, but a pony has no donkey but some mule?”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Frank said.

  “Or like a bulldog can be American or British, but never French or Canadian,” Chris said. “Because a French-Canadian bulldog also doesn’t make sense.”

  “Enough,” Detective Benny said with frustration.

  Rosie laughed agai
n, this time louder.

  Detective Benny sat forward in his chair. “I’ll continue,” he said, “with the understanding that you have been read your rights, and that this conversation is being recorded. Ok?”

  “I’ve answered both yes and no. I’m not sure what answer is appropriate,” Chris said.

  “I shouldn’t have said ‘ok’. Neither answer is appropriate, because it doesn’t make a difference.”

  “If neither answer is appropriate, than how are you supposed to know if I understand my rights?”

  Detective Benny grabbed the camera and turned it toward his face. “Let the record show that the suspect has been informed of his rights,” he said plainly. Then he turned the camera back toward the suspect and asked, “Your name is Chris, correct?”

  “What does my folder say?”

  Benny leaned back in his chair again. “Your folder says Chris.”

  “Ok, good.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “Because if it said something different, I would have to give you different answers.”

  “Ok, I’m not sure I understand that, but it doesn’t matter. Chris is your name, correct?”

  “It’s what’s on my folder,” Chris said, pointing to the folder on the table. “Says it right there.”

  “Forget the folder. Stop looking at the folder. Just tell me your name.”

  “Chris.”

  “Chris what?”

  “No. Not what.”

  “Not what?”

  “Not what.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “It’s okay. I would be too, if I had two jobs.”

  “Two jobs?”

  “Officer and detective.”

  “Goddamn it,” Detective Benny said, lurching forward and smacking the table with both hands.

  “I don’t know why you’re bringing God into this,” Chris said.

  “Son of bitch,” Detective Benny said, rocking back in his chair, shaking his head.

  Chris looked into the camera and gave it a confused shrug.