by Leo Sullivan
His mind froze at the memory of these people. He walked back out into the middle of the hallway, feeling their eyes upon him, heavy with disdain. In the back of his mind he could hear Sasha pleading with him. “You!” He accused, his voice resonant in the stillness. “All of you! Because of your hatred and poisoned minds, you chose to judge me by the color of my skin--”
Doors opened wider and a few occupants stepped out into the hall, including Ms. Crabapple. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You, you old wrinkled bitch! You allowed my Sasha to die--” The old woman’s mouth flew open in shock; unable to speak, she could only shake her head in denial. “Yes, she’s dead! Now a baby is without a mother, a father without a daughter, and I… I…” The words trailed away into a guilty silence. “She was only eighteen years old,” his voice cracked. “Would it have hurt y’all to help her while she lay there bleeding to death, just a poor frightened girl tryin’ to give life to our son?” He shook his head bitterly, feeling the blood racing through his vein. And y’all call yourselves Christians and Catholics and Jews… What kinda God do you people serve?” He lowered his head as if speaking to himself, the cadence of his words slowing. “Sometimes I wonder… I wonder if y’all ain’t changed by now, whether it’s possible you ever will…
For the first time that Freddy could remember, Ms. Crabapple eased her door shut without slamming it in his face. He looked at the rest of the people in the hallway as they retreated into their homes, but none could meet his gaze. Freddy sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the world upon them.
Inserting the key into the lock, Freddy closed his eyes in the foolish hope that when he opened the door, he would find Sasha standing within, her hair tousled, eating ice cream from a container with her fingers. That hope was shattered when he stepped inside to find the place in a shambles.
Amidst the disaster stood a man pointing a gun at his chest. Freddy shut the door quietly behind him. “Nice speech, Negro,” the man said, “really, very good. Come on in,” he motioned with the gun.
As Freddy stepped into the room, he tensed at the sight of his old raggedy pistol lying on the floor.
“Don’t even think about it,” the man admonished, his words heavy with an Italian accent. “I took the bullets outta it anyway. Whatuhya think I am, stupid or somethin’?” Mario chuckled as he continued, “Ya know, boy, ever since I been tryin’ to nab your string-bean ass, anything that could go wrong, did. It’s like God or somebody is protectin’ your sorry ass. I just don’t know” Mario ruminated, scratching at the stubble beneath his chin. “I mean, I been beat to a pulp by a buncha maniac cops, arrested and nearly given a thousand years in the pen, and, oh, did I mention, I hadda kill a couple guys?” he asked, rhetorically.
“I give up,” Freddy said, slumping back against the door. “I don’t want no part of this. The jewelry is hid in the bottom of the couch and I got about fifteen grand at a friend--”
“Like hell you gonna give up after all the shit I went through to catch your skinny ass!” Mario said. “Besides, what’cha think Sasha woulda felt ‘bout that?”
Freddy stared at the mention of her name. Marion lowered the gun.
“That girl was a feisty little thing and you oughta be prouda her. You remember the time you was getting’ your ass kicked by them two thugs and she clobbered one of them right in the noggin with a bottle. KAAPOW!” he imitated, swinging the gun. “Yeah, she was some piece-uh work.”
Freddy looked at the man in vexation, somehow thinking that he looked familiar.
“You’d be a coward to give up now… Boy, if I had known you din have no balls, I wouldn’ta capped that clown when his partner was fixin’ ta cut your throat. What was his name?”
“You shot Dirty Red?”
Mario nodded.
“Hey, they tryin’ to pin that murder on me!”
“Them’s the breaks,” Mario retorted. “Besides, the police know he was shot with a rifle and that it wasn’t’ you. Senator Williams’ nephew is a cop. They’re just tryin’ to setcha up. This is all a lot bigger than you know,” he said wearily, limping over to the couch and sitting down with a huge sigh. Freddy noticed the cast peeking out from a split pants leg. “Trust me, I’m on your side now… If I wasn’t, you’d have a bullet in your head, and we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.” Mario grimaced as he propped his leg up on the remnants of a broken coffee table. “There’s a two-hundred-thousand dollar bounty on your black ass that I’m not gonna be able to collect now.”
“Why?” Freddy asked, instantly regretting he asked. If the man wasn’t going to kill him, he shouldn’t question his good fortune.
“’Cause soon as I kill you , they gonna kill me. This thing has dragged out so long, and so many people have become involved that it’s made the Senator vulnerable. In this cutthroat business, you don’t leave any loose ends. The only thing that saved your life was you stealin’ them documents. As long as you got them, you got a chance at delayin’ the inevitable.”
Freddy bent down and stuck his hand under the couch. He pulled out a brown pouch and tossed it to Marion. “Here’s the jewels; take them back to the Senator and tell him whoever killed Dr. Utomo took the documents and photos and is leaking information to the press, tryin’ to get me kilt--”
“What’cha mean, you odn’t have the documents?” Mario screamed, throwing the pouch back at him. “I’m tryin’ to save both our fucking’ lives and you say you ain’t got the photos?”
Neither one of them spoke, there was silence.
“Okay, okay, we just gonna have’ta go about this thing like we do have the deeds and photos. One thing is for sure, the Senator sure as hell don’t have’em.”
Freddy turned away, staring blankly at a wall. He seemed to Mario to be only a shallow husk of his former self.
“Look, kid, we gotta find this dame, Marilyn Fox, the actress broad. She’s been runnin’ all over extorting money from everybody. You got any idea where she is?”
“Extorting money?” repeated Freddy.
“You damn right. That broad’s smarter than all of us put together.” Both men considered that statement in silence.
“It should be easy to find her, “Freddy finally answered. “She’s in California filming a movie.”
“Not anymore she ain’t. She seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. We gotta find her before the Senator and his goons do.”
“You think she might have something to do with the death of Dr. Utomo?” asked Freddy, his brow wrinkled in consternation.
“She might,” Mario allowed.
The moment grew pregnant with the silence of two strangers trying to unravel a mystery.
Freddy sat down on the loveseat opposite Mario. Avoiding the killer’s eyes, Freddy casually asked, “You still gonna kill me?”
Mario made a face while exhaling loudly through his teeth. “Boy, what parta this picture you don’t understand? By killin’ you, I’d kill my only chance of surviving. We have to work together ‘cuz as long as the Senator thinks I’m watchin’ you, both of us are safe. I know how the Senator works; I’ve known him since Prohibition.”
“Pro-what?” asked Freddy.
Mario made a face that said don’t interrupt me. “Back in the day, his family and the Kennedy clan made a bundle of illegal money rum runnin’. Along with working for him, I’ve done various clandestine jobs for a secret society of powerful men with whom he is associated. They will stop at nothing to achieve their collective agendas, and I have a feelin’ that the Senator’s life won’t be worth a plug nickel with those men if those documents and photos were to be publicly revealed. On the other hand, if we can find who has them, we may have some leverage to save our asses. If we were to get those documents to the authorities, the commotion it would cause would lose the Senator the election, not to mention a possible prison sentence. And who knows what those fat cats who have invested millions into his campaign will do. Once all of this is exposed, the cat will
be outta the bag and there will be no need for him to come after us. It’ll be too late.”
“Ooohhh,” Freddy murmured as his face brightened with realization.
“Here!” Mario tossed him the gun. Fredy grabbed it like a live grenade. “That’s yours,” Mario informed him. “For God’s sake, dump that ancient piece-a-shit you call a gun.”
Freddy admired the feel of the blue-steel thirty-eight in the palm of his hand. It made him feel powerful, like he was experiencing a surge of raw energy.
Mario extended his hand, and Freddy shook it awkwardly in a soul-brother clasp.
“Partners?” asked Mario.
“Partners.”
“Fred, you’re in the big leagues now. And you know what? You’re a natural. I’ve personally seen you in action, and even under the greatest pressure you’ve managed to prevail. For the life of me, I still don’t know how you and that girl ever made it outta that hospital when it was literally crawlin’ with cops.” Mario instantly regretted his mention of Sasha as he saw a dark shadow pass over Freddy’s face. Such pain would take time to heal, time that they didn’t have.
The phone rang. Freddy looked over at Mario with a confused expression. “Answer it,” Mario said, gesturing at the phone on the floor.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Thugstin?”
“Yes…”
“I wish to express my condolences to you for the loss of your girlfriend,” a familiar voice said. “Is there anything I can do, Please do not hesitate to ask. All of my vast resources are at your disposal, my young friend.”
Placing his hand over the receiver, Freddy silently mouthed to Mario, “It’s the Senator.”
A sudden chill ran up Freddy’s spine and the rage and frustration that had been locked away in his soul erupted form an overlong confinement. “You’re goddamn right there’s something you can do! Call off the muthafuckin’ hounds and get my mother out that damn nuthouse--”
“Mr. Thugstin, as we speak, your mother’s case is being prepared for review before the Illinois First District Court of Appeals this very afternoon. As you know, I have friends in very high places.” The Senator changed the subject. “Son, I need those items from you that--”
Freddy cut him off, taking advantage of the desperation that he heard in the Senator’s voice. “I want you to give Sasha the most beautiful funeral there ever was…”
“Sure! No problem! You just name it,” the Senator ingratiatingly responded. “What kind would you like? Cost is no object.”
Freddy thought for a moment, and Africa leaped to mind. “I want you to give her a funeral fit for an African princess.”
“A what?”
“A funeral like for African royalty. Just do what I ask you to do and I’ll give you back what belongs to you.”
“What about the money you requested?” queried the Senator.
“Oh, yeah, I want it all in small bills.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is not a TV show--”
“No, Senator, what is ridiculous is what you have done to me and my family!” Freddy slammed the phone down.
“That was very fuckin’ dumb!” Mario spat. “The only reason you’re still alive is because of those documents, plus they think I’m keepin’ an eye on you. Don’t push it.”
Freddy considered saying something, but then thought better of it and turned, walking out of the room.
As he entered the bedroom, everything suddenly became too much to bear. Sasha’s soiled, bloody nightgown lay crumpled on the floor, discarded and torn like the very life she lost. Next to it were her furry Bugs Bunny slippers. Bending down, he picked one up, memories suddenly flashing, transcending time, sending him sprawling with the painful sentiments of just how much he loved her. “Sasha,” he cried in a sorrowful plea. “Oh, God, it’s so hard to let go.”
Freddy sat in the middle of the bedroom, misty eyed, holding the shoe to his chest as if it contained her very life. Mario watched through the partially open door. Shaking his head, he turned and walked away.
Chapter Thirty
The next day they took the Benz and headed for the south side of Chicago, to the Ritz Hotel. They both agreed that it would be a good place to start their search for Marilyn Fox.
Mario talked as he drove and Freddy had to concentrate in order to keep up with the man’s fast pace and at times broken English. “A few months ago, I accepted an assignment from my employers. I learned that a man by the name of Billy Dawson had failed in his attempt to use Marilyn Fox to set you up. It seems this dame got the hots for you--” Freddy’s mind flashed back to when he first met her while sleeping on a crate across from the Ritz. “--and Dawson bein’ the amateur that he is, never even suspected that she feelings for you. She used delaying tactics to save your life and, for whatever reason, as fate would have it, you stole them documents and that changed the whole cha-cha.
When Dawson tried to kill you, nobody yet knew that you had those photos, but when the Senator found out, he put a stop to the contract and I was brought--”
“But I just don’t understand,” Freddy interrupted. “Why did he want to kill me?”
“The realtors and land developers from as far away as China want build a multi-million dollar cancer research center there with sophisticated laboratories, world renown scientists and state-of-the-art hospital facilities. Bein’ the only one of its kind, the Senator can funnel millions in government grants through the place directly into his pockets and the pockets of his crony pals.” Mario turned off the expressway.
Freddy was awed at the magnitude of what he was hearing. “Then why didn’t he just kill me when I was at his mansion with Marilyn?”
“Powerful people always have other people do their dirty work,” Mario explained. “Besides, I think in his own psychotic way, he got some kinda perverted pleasure outta you bein’ there. He probably figured he could whack you whenever he wanted, but unfortunately for him, the whole thing backfired on him. On toppa that, Marilyn and the Senator’s nephew have been extortin’ long green outta him. Me, I think her and the cop are lovers. They was supposed to follow you while I was in the slammer.” Mario pulled the car up in front of the hotel.
Freddy snapped his fingers when he suddenly realized something. “That’s the white guy I seen kissin’ her in the police car the night I first met her.”
“Who?”
“Marilyn,” Freddy replied.
‘Well, kid, there’s another key player in all this, and I’m afraid this may come as a big shock to you.” Mario shut off the engine and turned to Freddy. “Just remember, cum is thicker than blood, and don’t you ever forget it!”
“What?!” Freddy said, confused.
Mario exited the car quickly, deciding that it was not a good time to rattle the kid anymore than he already was, considering all that he’d been through. “Remind me to tell you later,” he said as they entered the hotel.
They took the elevator up to Marilyn’s suite. Freddy rapped softly on the door and placed his ear against it. When he heard someone approaching on the inside he started to ease the gun from the small of his back. Just as Mario was about to object, the door swung open.
The first thought that entered Billy Dawson’s mind was, “Damn, I shoulda checked the peephole.” The second thing that entered his mind was the bright flash and sharp pain of a nickel-plated thirty-eight smashing upside his shiny bald head, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor.
Freddy was on him with a vengeance. “Now, punk muthafucka! Remember me?”
“Oh, shit!” Mario hissed. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him after checking the hallway.
Freddy was viciously pistol-whipping Dawson. “Yeah, ya bitch-ass nigga!” Crack! Left me for dead, dinya?” Crack! “Shot me inna back.” Crack! Crack!
Dawson lie down on the floor whimpering, pleading for his life. With each new blow more blood flew from the gashes on his head. “Please, I’m just an old man,” he begged, his face a mask of blood.
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br /> “Yeah, and game ain’t based on sympathy.” Crack! Two teeth went flying.
“Look kid, he ain’t no good to us dead,” Mario reasoned, calmly standing behind Freddy. “Billy D, tell us where Marilyn is.”
“I dunno--” Crack! Freddy broke his nose, a splinter of bone protruding from a bleeding gash at its bridge.
“Where’s Marilyn?!” Freddy shouted into his face.
“I swear to God, I dunno--” Crack! Freddy crushed his left cheek, leaving a dent the size of a golf ball.
Damnit, Mario thinks to himself. This was starting to get ugly, even by his ruthless standards.
“Pussy muthafucka! Why’d you try to kill me?” Freddy demanded.
“They ordered me to…” Freddy flinched and Billy cringed away. “Puhleeze don’ hit me no mo’--” Crack! Dawson’s head was now so knotted and bruised that it looked like an abused pumpkin.
“The Senator and some lady are behind it all… Puhleeze, you gotta believe me.”
“What fuckin’ lady?”
“I swear to God, I dunno,” Billy whined.
Freddy turned to look at Mario, his eyebrow arched in curiosity. “Are you talking about Marilyn? Tell me what’s up with her?”
“She… she’s my daughter,” Dawson finally admitted.
Freddy’s suspicions were at that moment confirmed. “Then why the fuck you trippin’ on me in the restaurant that first time I met you?”
Dawson ran his tongue over the gap where his front teeth used to be. “Because I saw she was attracted to you, and that woulda ruined all our plans.”
“What plans?”
Dawson hesitated, and the gun came crashing down again. “Our… our plan to… to kill you,” he stuttered on the edge of consciousness.
“Why you actin’ like Marilyn’s husband and agent if you ain’t?” Freddy wanted to know.
So Billy Dawson told him about the church.
In 1957 Pastor Leroy Butler was driving his brand new Cadillac one rainy morning when an eight year old girl stepped from behind a school bus into his path. He swerved to avoid hitting her, but it was too late. The little girl was killed instantly and his car crashed into a telephone pole. It took hours for the rescuers to cut Pastor Butler from the cage of mangled steel, and when they finally did they discovered the unconscious preacher’s pants around his ankles and the broken neck of a well known homosexual wedged between the steering wheel and the preacher’s lap. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to what the preacher had been doing at the time of the accident. Moreover, his blood alcohol level registered three times the legal limit. Out on bond from two counts of manslaughter, the preacher absconded with all the parishioner’s money, jumped bail, and with the help of Bob Williams, Pastor Leroy Butler became known as Billy Dawson.