Dead Man Running

by Davis, Barry

  Leone took the lead. "Reverend Wiley, I know you're a busy man and we'll make this brief."

  Wiley did not respond, he merely stared ahead. His eyes settled on his late wife's prized gardenias just outside the window.

  Leone cleared his throat. "Okay. Reverend, have you ever seen this woman?" The detective pulled out a photo of the missing reporter. Wiley stared ahead.

  "Congressman Wiley? Yoo hoo? It would help if you actually looked at the photo," said Jones. He waved his hands in front of Wiley's face. Wiley continued to stare ahead.

  Leone looked at Chi. "I thought you said he was looking forward to clearing this whole thing up?"

  "We're just getting dicked around here," added Jones.

  "Reverend Wiley, if you don't want to answer our questions, we'll contact the New York District Attorney's Office who will compel your answers," threatened Leone.

  Silence, then Wiley finally spoke: "And I want all you to go out and heal somebody today! I say heal somebody!"

  The detectives looked at each other.

  "Is he on something?" asked Jones.

  "No, the Reverend doesn't take drugs," Chi responded.

  "Since when?" asked Jones. "It's been all over the news about all the shit this fucker takes."

  Leone waved the dead woman's picture in front of Wiley's face. "We'll ask one more time, have you ever seen this woman?"

  "Bring ya momma in and I'll heal her too!"

  "There's no reasons for insults!" said Jones

  "We're getting nowhere here. I'm afraid we will have to take this to the DA. Reverend Wiley, the DA will convene a grand jury and compel your testimony. Either you'll testify or you'll go to jail," said Leone.

  "And jail is not a nice place for such an obviously refined man as yourself," added Jones. "Will you reconsider Reverend Wiley?"

  The room was silent. Wiley's eyes shifted from the garden to Jones. A smile appeared on his decaying lips.

  "After I bust this nut I'll get behind you!"

  Jones bolted to his feet. "Hey, no need to get crude about it!"

  Leone stood, taking his time to assess this obviously impaired man. "Reverend Wiley, we're going to conduct our search, then leave. But we'll be back. Very soon."

  Chi stood. "Where do you want to start looking?"

  "We'll start in the basement," answered Jones.

  The detectives worked their way upstairs, finally reaching the master bedroom after a thorough and fruitless search.

  The detectives stood outside the room with Chi and Jan.

  "I think this is the last room. Whose room is this?" Leone asked.

  "This is the Reverend Wiley's room," Jan replied.

  "He sleeps in a separate room from his wife?" asked Jones.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Wiley sleep apart a lot now," Jan replied. The detectives looked at Jan.

  "And you know that how?" Jones asked.

  "Mrs. Wiley told me so. She and I are very close."

  The detectives entered the room. Jan and Chi remained in the hallway.

  The detectives flipped the mattress and looked through the drawers. Both entered the closet.

  After a half hour their search of the room was complete. Luckily Jan had replaced the damaged carpet the day before.

  "Okay, we're done here," announced Leone. The detective walked out into the hallway. "Tell your boss, we'll be back to take him downtown. He's gonna talk to us one way…."

  A rattling sound interrupted the detective.

  "What's that sound?" he asked.

  The detectives turned around, and headed towards the noise. The sound seemed to be coming from a closet whose door was slightly ajar.

  "Fred, you must have left that open."

  "I thought you checked that one, Lou."

  Jones reached the door first. As he opened the door fully a head dropped to the floor. It was Mrs. Wiley's head with the shocked expression of sudden death frozen on her painted lips.

  "What the hell?" shouted Jones. The detectives immediately drew their weapons, pointed them at Chi and Jan.

  "Don't move! Where's Wiley?" Jan and Chi raised their hands.

  "I think he's downstairs," Chi stammered, nearly as shocked as the detectives.

  Said Leone: "Given this piece of evidence, I think you are all coming downtown. Now let's go!"

  He waved Chi and Jan down the stairs. The detectives followed behind, guns still pointed at the pair.

  In the living room Wiley had remained seated on the loveseat. The group entered the room.

  "Reverend, we found the severed head of your wife upstairs. Do you know anything about this?" asked Jones.

  "Amen."

  "Have it your way. Get up, we're going downtown," said Leone.

  Wiley doesn't move but he shifted his eyes upward, onto the angry face of the detective.

  "Keep them covered Fred while I cuff the good reverend." Leone holstered his weapon, and proceeded to lift Wiley off the loveseat.

  "I'm sorry to have to do this, but you give me no choice." The detective placed a handcuff on Wiley's wrist. Before he could secure the other handcuff, Wiley placed his uncuffed hand on the detective's bald head.

  Jones pointed his weapon at Wiley. "Let him go, right now!"

  Wiley stared at Jones. While keeping his eyes on Jones, with a quick jerk, he separated Leone's head from his body.

  Jones began to convulse. "God damn! God damn!" The detective fired into Wiley. Jan grabbed the detective's arm and bullets flew into the ceiling as the two grappled. Wiley dropped the head and walked over to the struggling pair. He took the gun away from both and proceeded to bend the gun's barrel.

  Jones looked on in disbelief. "What is he?"

  Jan smiled. "That's my man."

  "What are you gonna do to me?" Jones asked.

  Jan grabbed the stunned man's arm as Wiley approached. "I'm not going to do anything to you. Now Ben, he's going to eat you."

  She smiled as the detective screamed. Wiley grabbed the detective's head and twisted it from his body, ending the noise.

  Jan allowed the detective's body to fall to the ground. Wiley, his mouth opened impossibly wide, ate the man's head. Jan smiled, patted Wiley lovingly on the cheek as he chewed. Her eyes surveyed the room, finally falling on Chi, crouching in a corner, terrified.

  "Hey, Chi, I'm glad you're here."

  Chi does not move. "Am I next?" He had to speak loudly to overcome the noise of snapping bones.

  Jan smiled. "No, of course not. You're a friend. Right?"

  Chi stood, his legs jelly. "Of course."

  "Good, now get a bucket and a mop and help me clean up all this blood. Cleaning up blood is hard work."

  As Jan walked away, the loud crunching continued in the background. Chi left the room after telling Jan that he would get the cleaning implements.

  At the opposite end of the house, Chi entered the study. He softly closed the door. He walked over to the desk and steadied himself. He reached for the phone and dialed.

  Elias answered: "Hello."

  "It's me."

  "What's up, Chi?"

  "What's up is that we were visited by those same two detectives who came by the headquarters."

  "You should have called me! They're gone now?"

  "They're about as gone as you can get." There was silence as Elias considered Chi's words.

  "He killed them?"

  "Yeah."

  "Any witnesses?"

  "No."

  "Good."

  "Good? I tell you two cops get killed and that's all you have to say? Good."

  "Calm down man. Hey, I'm as broken up about this as you are. We just gotta keep our eyes on the prize, that's all."

  "Yeah, our jobs."

  "Don't forget those honeys, man."

  "And the 110Gs."

  "That's it. Remember, we'll take care of our boy once he takes care of us."

  "Election night."

  "Don't touch him till then, Chi. You want me to come over?"

&
nbsp; "No, I got things covered here."

  "Okay, I'll talk to you..."

  "Boss?"

  "What now Chi?"

  "I know I ain't the brightest penny in your pocket but ain't killing wrong?"

  "Sure it is, Chi. But just think about all the lives we can save by being in Congress. Taking care of the sick and feeding babies and all that shit. Wiley might kill a few but we'll balance it out and then some."

  "Oh, okay."

  "I'll call you later. You're doing a great job Chi. Hang in there buddy, okay."

  Dial tone. Chi pulled the phone away from his ear, stared at it for a moment, and then finally he replaced the phone in its cradle.

  With heavy legs, Chi climbed the stairs of the Wiley home. He had spent the past ten hours in exhaustive efforts to erase the fact that two men were brutally murdered there. Their possessions – the ones not stolen by Jan – have been sprinkled around the five boroughs. He located their vehicle and it now sat beneath thirty feet of water in a central New Jersey rock quarry. He replaced the living room carpet and washed down the walls. He knew from watching CSI that they have stuff - Luminol? - to identify blood on walls even after you clean up but they would need a warrant to do that, and they wouldn't get a warrant because they had no proof that the detectives had been there.

  Chi made his way to Mrs. Wiley's bedroom. He didn't bother to undress or bathe. Those things could wait until after he got some rest. He removed his shoes and lay on the bed. His eyes wavered, and then closed. Soon, Chi entered into a dream:

  He was at a rap concert. The audience went wild as a pulsating rap beat hits their ears. The volume increased as the Harlem D Lites hit the stage. It was Mookie and Hamid, each dressed to the nines with retro Jets jerseys, ten times too large baggy jeans, white sneakers and baseball caps cocked to the side. Dancing as the booty girls were Jan and Mrs. Wiley, each dressed in halter tops, skin tight leather miniskirts and knee high boots. They did their booty best as they danced around the two men.

  Mookie and Hamid started rapping to the beat, while prowling the stage.

  HAMID

  You gotta hack him, gotta wreck him.

  MOOKIE

  Don't ya let no sucka protect him yo.

  HAMID

  Take that hatchet and cut off his head.

  The booty girls motioned like they were swinging an ax.

  MOOKIE

  Ya gotta keep hacking till ya know he dead.

  HAMID

  You gotta hack him, gotta wreck him.

  MOOKIE

  Walk up to that sucka and ya smack him.

  HAMID

  I say ya hack him up.

  MOOKIE

  Hack him up.

  HAMID

  Hack, hack him up to death.

  MOOKIE

  Whip, whop, wham.

  HAMID

  Hack him up, don't you freeze man.

  Suddenly the DJ spinned another beat. Wiley came on stage, break dancing. He danced for a minute, finally disappearing.

  The beat returned as before and the D Lites took over again.

  MOOKIE

  Hack him up.

  HAMID

  Back him up.

  MOOKIE

  Hack him up to death.

  HAMID

  Then ya pack him up, him and his bad self.

  MOOKIE

  Hack him up.

  HAMID

  Hack him up to death.

  MOOKIE

  Whip, whop, wham.

  BOTH

  Boooy!

  Chi leaped awake, his body drenched in sweat. He grabbed his shoes but did not place them on his feet. He would do that later, after he had left the house.

  EIGHT

  Chi sat at the kitchen table reading the Times online. There was ample coverage about the two missing detectives. Chi was surprised that the cops had not come to the Wiley home looking for their men. He wondered about this – perhaps they didn't tell anyone where they were headed yesterday, given the high profile of the suspect.

  Jan stepped into the room. She wore an expensive jacket that Chi recognized as belonging to Mrs. Wiley and, by the smell of things, was wearing the dead woman's perfume.

  "Chi, I have to head out for a minute."

  Chi looked up from his laptop. "Don't say head."

  "Anyway, I have to go home to pick up my dress for Election Day."

  "Fine. Where's Wiley?"

  "He's up in his room resting."

  "Resting? But he's dead."

  "He still needs his rest, silly."

  Chi shrugged, remembering that he really didn't want to piss off this woman, given the fact that she seemed to be able to control the very dead and very deadly Reverend Wiley.

  "I guess so, it takes a lot out of you, eating two people and all."

  "Yes, it does. Try to keep things quiet around here."

  Jan left and Chi returned to his reading. He paused, made sure he heard the Wiley's Benz being started, then driven away. He gave it ten minutes in case she forgot something. He took a sip of his coffee, which he had spiked with the reverend's JD. He took a deep breath, stood and gulped down the rest of his courage. He went to the basement to retrieve the object he had snuck out to purchase after his disturbing dream.

  Jan entered the Arabian Magic Shoppe. A young woman looked up from the counter as the door chime sounded.

  "Can I speak to Hamid?" Jan asked. She instantly disliked the woman – beautiful in her own right, Jan felt threatened by the young woman's tall, thin frame, swarthy skin, dark luxurious hair, and generous hips and bust.

  "My grandfather is in his back office." She lifted a panel at the end of the counter to allow Jan passage. "He told me to send you back when you arrived."

  "How did he know that I would come?" Jan asked as she stepped past the beauty.

  "This is a magic shop, Ms. Sugerfoot. If you're interested we have a buy one, get one free sale on clairvoyance potions this week." The woman smiled and Jan's enmity deepened.

  "Just show me where he is," she spat.

  The woman led Jan down a long hallway. The building didn't look this long from outside.

  She finally reached a white door and knocked twice.

  "Come in," the familiar voice said from inside. Hamid's granddaughter opened the door and gestured for Jan to enter. Once she was inside the door was closed.

  Similar to the hallway, the office was impossibly large. The floor was marble, the walls trimmed in gold leaf. Hamid stood behind a desk made of beveled glass.

  "Please have a seat, Ms. Sugerfoot."

  Jan sat in what seemed to her to be an antique chair – or as much of an antique as a girl reared in the South Bronx could recognize.

  "Let me get right to it, Mr…"

  "The last name is Hidar but please call me Hamid."

  "Do you read the papers or watch television, Hamid?"

  "I do."

  "So you know that Ben Wiley is polling at around ninety percent in the Fourth District?"

  "Yes, I know that the zombie that I created, that you folks have conspired to impersonate a distinguished politician named Ben Wiley is far ahead in the polls."

  Jan nodded. "I need to know where you stand, Hamid. Are you friend or foe?"

  "Do you mean do I intend to blow the whistle on this impersonation?"

  "Yes, that's what I mean." Jan held the old man's eyes.

  "You can save the evil eye, Ms. Sugerfoot. A zombie, like a dog, typically picks out one human being as his 'alpha dog', so to speak. It took me only a few moments in your presence to look beyond the timid persona that you were portraying to understand that you would be Wiley's alpha." He sat straighter in his chair, brushed an invisible piece of lint from his silk sleeve. He raised his eyes back to Jan's. "You have control over this being I created but don't presume that you can walk in here and threaten me with the destructive power of that being. First, zombies cannot attack those who created them, nor their creator's family. Second, this is not my first
rodeo, as they say. You make a move on me with your one undead and I will send a dozen back at you."

  Jan sat back, lowered her eyes for a moment.

  "I didn't come here to threaten you."

  "Yes you did and I admire your, if you'll pardon the expression coming from the mouth of a Palestinian, chutzpah. To answer your question, revealing my creations is bad for business. Pretty soon every half assed magician will be creating zombies and the price will go down."

  Jan nodded. "Thank you, Hamid. I have plans for Ben Wiley, big plans. I think he can become president of the United States."

  She expected the old man to laugh but he did not. He stood, walked over to a cedar cabinet and removed two bottles, one pink and the other green.

  He sat down behind his desk and pushed the bottles toward Jan.

  "Is Elias on board with this?"

  "He will be or he's lunch," said Jan.

  "I would like to help you but it comes at a price."

  Jan gestured to the bottles. "Are these your help?"

  "Some. Your basic zombie has limited flexibility and mobility. The pink will revitalize Wiley's muscles and agility. It will also arrest his decay, removing his stench."

  Jan smiled broadly.

  "Yes, Ms. Sugerfoot, he will be able to perform sexually. Just make him wear a rubber because I hear zombie babies like to eat their way out of the womb." He smiled.

  Jan unconsciously rubbed her belly. "The green liquid?" she asked.

  "The green commands his higher functions – thought, speech, and creativity."

  "I don't want him too capable, if you know what I mean."

  "He won't be – he'll be a typical politician, pliable, programmable, easy to manipulate and persuade. He continues to have no soul so they'll be no moral dilemmas to harm your plans."

  "He won't spout the nursery rhymes and the shit he said while he was boning that white hussy, will he?"

  Hamid shook his head. "That stuff is never completely eliminated but over time it will occur less and less. May I suggest that a Tourette's syndrome defense may be used if Mr. Wiley says something truly offensive or inappropriate?"

  "That would work," replied Jan. "Now, talk about the price."

  "Ah, very simple. I want Wiley – be he congressman or president – to use his voice in support of my people."