Marzio bowed, his arm bent at the elbow as it was placed next to his chest.
“Thank you.”
He made his way up the steps. He moved so majestically I had to smile one last time.
A shot rang out as a splash of blood simultaneously sprayed up from Marzio’s head. Without a single cry, he fell to the side lifelessly onto the floor. His body remained still.
Directly ahead of me, a squad of police officers stormed out of the corridor. The hostile looks on their faces indicated they didn’t recognize me at all. My shabby appearance probably didn’t help persuade them.
Frantically, I reached for my police badge, waved it violently in the air.
“Don’t shoot! I’m a detective!”
The officers didn’t seem to believe me. They formed a collective glare as they eyed me suspiciously.
“Lead Detective Seth Moore, homicide bureau,” I elaborated.
The officers looked at each other confusedly, like they had no idea what to say back to me. The air around them, however, didn’t feel right. I sensed no friendliness from them. It was as though they still regarded me as an enemy. I also didn’t like the fact that their guns were aimed at me.
“Can I put my hands down now?” I asked. “Or can ya put ya pieces away?”
A voice called to the officers from the corridor.
“Don’t do that. Keep your guns on him, men.”
I shot an angry stared at the dim figure as it approached me. Whoever he was, he was an idiot, didn’t know a thing about me. There shouldn’t have been any room for doubt as to my integrity. Everyone, even the bad pennies who hated me, knew I was clean.
Someone hadn’t been informed, apparently.
The figure stepped into the enclosed room. Their pristine uniform immediately declared they had not participated in the effort to quell the mob. The sheen on their freshly shaved face further suggested it hadn’t bothered them.
I coughed on my own breath as I exchanged glances with Chief Barker.
“Barker!” I yelled. “The hell’s the matter with ya? Tell ya boys to put the guns down!”
Barker turned his head to the side amusedly as he held his hands behind his back. He took off his hat, handed it to one of the officers. He then noticed Marzio’s corpse on the floor in front of him.
It was a nasty sight. A dark red pool of blood formed around the mobster’s head.
Barker, however, appeared unaffected as he approached the body, tapped it with his polished shoe. He chuckled lightly.
“What did he tell you?” he asked.
“About what?” I replied.
“Anything. What did he say?”
I gritted my teeth as I pointed at the corpse. “Maybe ya might have found out for yaself if ya hadn’t had one of ya brunos put a bullet in ‘em! What kind of triggermen have ya got with ya?”
“Marzio’s death was unfortunate, but necessary. Justice had to be done. We couldn’t wait for a trial to administer it.”
“Funny,” I said skeptically. “I never thought ya the type to take drastic measures. If ya had done that three years ago, this might not have happened.”
“You’re right, Detective Moore. You’re most certainly right.”
Something wasn’t right about his tone.
Barker looked at me, observed the stack of folders tucked under my arm. A furtive grin crossed his face.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Information,” I stated. “I’m gonna find out what the low down was before this shit happened.”
“I would appreciate it if you handed it over to me.”
“Not a chance, Barker. This is my investigation.”
The officers seemed stunned by my response. Had they never seen someone show some backbone in their life?
Barker’s smile vanished. A frown as a replacement expression, he confronted me threateningly.
“I am your superior,” he warned. “I order you to hand over that police evidence to me. This is not your case.”
I spat at Barker’s feet.
“The hell, it ain’t! Whose case has it been, huh? Who else has been tryin’ to take out Marzio in the department besides me? Nobody. Just me. So don’t give me this bullshit about it bein’ the department’s problem. This is my case.”
I expected Barker to buckle, back down. He wasn’t a real cop, just a bureaucrat in a uniform. He would seek all the glory his office could yield. But when it came down to actual police work, the dirty work, he fled. The fact that he was there at all surprised me. It had to be important to him, whatever he looked for.
Barker took his revolver out, aimed it me.
My natural reflexes had my own piece leap out from its holsters. I held it parallel to Barker’s gun. The other officers brought their pistols up as well.
“Whadya gonna do, Barker?” I asked. “Shoot me?”
“Why, yes, actually, I am. At least if you don’t hand over the folders in your hand.”
“Ya full of it.”
“You don’t seem to appreciate the situation you are in, detective.”
I did. There were four officers, plus Barker. Five to one. I would be lucky to get my shot off at Barker before I ate a barrage of lead. I couldn’t test them. One of them might snap, fire without orders. I had to see this through.
I sighed loudly as I lowered my revolver. With a begrudged look, I handed the heavy stack from my arm into Barker’s hands. I then shot a mean glance at the officers after they refused to lower their guns.
“I did what he said, ya morons. Ya can relax a bit.”
“No,” Barker said, clearly pleased with himself. “Keep your guns on him. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”
He left me in a state of confusion as he walked over to one of the cabinets against the wall. He dropped the folders on top of it, opened the first one up. His hands furiously rummaged through the files. After a while, he suddenly stopped, studied a particular file intently. With a nod of confirmation, he closed the folder, left the entire stack on the cabinet as he returned to his officers.
“Burn it all,” he said. “Make sure everything in this place is destroyed.”
“What about Marzio’s body?” one of the officers asked.
“Leave it. It will make a good headline for the story. ‘Mob boss commits suicide in his own toy store.’” Barker put a finger to his lips as he mulled over the idea. “In fact, keep that headline in mind when we contact the papers. I’ll do the press conference myself.”
“What about the detective?”
Barker turned to look at me. My face gave nothing away. It hid the deep, dark corruption I felt over my entire body. It was like I had spent my entire career on the force with a blindfold over my eyes, only to have it finally removed.
The true reality of the situation had finally been revealed.
***
The mobster breathed out one last time before closing his eyes, his hand dropping his pistol on the floor of the tavern.
Pressing his foot down hard on the forearm of the newly deceased man, the Vigilante bent down and picked up the gun, emptying it of its clip, which he threw into his pocket.
His own gun was empty as well. He reloaded it, pressing himself against one of the pillars that were scattered throughout the room. Throwing the new clip into the butt of his Colt, he glanced around, inspecting the scene of carnage he had unleashed, not sure now whether to admire it or to analyze it.
He caught a glimpse of Murphy Connell off on the other side of the room, finishing off a strangler with his pistol.
With three rapid gunshots, the room grew deathly silent.
Murphy stood up from his downed prey, wiping the droplets of blood from his clothes. His hardened features were unaffected by the carnage. The death of his sons had made him imperious to any notion of pity.
The shooting hadn’t last long. The mobsters had had no warning to their arrival. The gunshots had been fired the instant the initial band of Irishmen had stormed the abandoned tavern
. By the time they had arrived, they had worked themselves up into a state of frenzy. Patriot songs had filled their aching hearts with thoughts of revenge, their minds with images of their lost loved ones.
Conan Connell waved to the Vigilante from across the room. His shotgun barrel sizzled like a smoking pipe. The five young lads next to him did their best to appear happy, but couldn’t help but display the angst at the sight of the blood on their clothes.
“They’re all dead here,” he said. “Have ye finished the rest?”
The Vigilante knelt down next to the body of the man he had just killed. With a delicate touch, he closed the man’s eyes. He tried not to look at the two bloodied spots on his chest, where he had managed to sink two bullets in as the man had been dealing with a jammed gun.
The Vigilante stood up, bobbing his head up and down slowly.
“Yes. It’s done.”
Conan tried to smile, but the dead bodies gave the room a somber air that would have made such signs of mirth inappropriate.
At the front of the tavern, someone started to clap. The Irishmen all turned puzzlingly towards one of the front door. There, a man kept himself hidden in the shadows which formed a finely shaped outline of him.
“Bravo, bravo,” the person said. “Well done.”
“Who are ye?” Murphy demanded. He and his boys raised their weapons at him.
“I wouldn’t do that,” the man replied.
“The dead Mafioso say otherwise, if they could speak.”
The Irishman chuckled, then snapped his fingers.
Barely a second passed, and the tavern was suddenly full of policemen as they emerged out of hiding places from every conceivable section of the room. They snarled like vicious watchdogs as they barked at the plain-clothed Irishmen. The Vigilante, however, they ignored. The trepidation in their steps as they walked past him, however, suggested they were well aware of his presence.
“What is the meaning of this?” Conan demanded. “We are not criminals! We be legitimate citizens!”
“You took the law into your own hands,” the man said, still lurking in the dim area. He then sauntered over to the Vigilante as though strolling along in a park.
The Vigilante looked at the man silently as he recognized Police Commissioner Elroy.
“We killed these men,” he stated. “They are the remnant of Marzio’s crime organization.”
Elroy raised his head high with pride as he studied the Vigilante closely. He seemed full of aplomb, a satisfied smile forming on his face. He then observed the band of Irishmen in the room, who had been herded like cattle over to the old bar counter.
Elroy held his hand out to the Vigilante. “I must say I never thought I would ever utter these words, but it is somewhat of a privilege to finally meet you in person.”
The Vigilante stared at the hand, but declined to shake it. He took a full step closer to Elroy.
“Tell your men to let my comrades go,” he insisted. “They are not criminals. They helped stop the riots. They are heroes.”
“Yes, but heroes are not as simple as they appear to be. One man’s hero is another man’s villain, in my opinion.”
The Vigilante was quiet. He gazed at Elroy to determine the true meaning of his statements. As he sensed the surreptitiousness in it, he grew alarmed. He stepped back, aimed his revolver at Elroy.
“Tell your men to stand down, or I will do it for you.”
Elroy wasn’t the slightest bit afraid. His lack of fear confused both his own officers and the Irishmen who watched fixedly to their leader.
“Are you threatening a police commissioner?” he asked.
“Define ‘threatening.’ One man’s threat is another man’s warning.”
“Are you implying you intend to harm me in any way? You do realize what you are doing? I hope you do. You are trying to intimidate an officer of the law, and worse, a police commissioner. That is a serious crime.”
“Do you have a warrant to arrest these men? If not, then what you are doing is illegal. Let them go.”
“I’m giving one final chance,” Elroy said emphatically. He waved a hand in front of the Vigilante. “Consider my offer. I won’t make it a second time.”
Brimming with rage, the Vigilante drew close to Elroy’s face, his breaths pouring onto his face.
“Neither will I.”
Elroy nodded in acknowledgement. He looked over towards his officers. As he raised his hand to issue a command, his voice called out without a sense of direction.
“You can come out now,” he said.
Instantly, a man swept through the door. Before the Vigilante could respond, the man had a revolver to the back of his head.
The Irishmen and policemen both inhaled sharply.
“My God, one of them uttered.
The Vigilante turned slightly to look at the men. His azure eyes widened as he looked at the man’s facial features. It was the same as looking into a mirror.
The countenance was the same as his. So was the revolver; Webley-Fosbery Automatic. The attire matched his; trench coat, heavy trousers, boots, gloves. Everything was the same.
But as he looked more carefully, he realized the imposter wore no mask. The face was real.
The imposter smiled; the expression carried with it a sense of personal animosity.
“We’ve met before,” the imposter said. “Remember?”
The Vigilante’s mouth lowered deliberately as he recognized the boyish voice of Ross Noble, come back from the dead.
***
Barker leaned against the wall as the officers poured gasoline around the room. His arms crossed, he looked amusingly over at me as I remained silent in the center of the room.
“Nothing to say, detective?” he asked.
“Plenty,” I replied. “But frankly I ain’t got the heart to say it.”
“Surely you must appreciate some of our methods.”
“Appreciate? No. Despise? Yeah.”
“You must then be impressed with our efforts to rid this city of crime.”
“Spare me, ya lyin’ son of a bitch. Ya nothing but a hood in a cop uniform. That’s all ya are. Nothin’ but a hood in blue.”
Barker frowned. My jabs were intentional. I needed him to lose his cool. He had to make a move. I couldn’t do it myself. If I acted, I’d get shot dead.
“We destroyed Marzio’s entire syndicate in less than two days,” Barker stated. “Far better than taking another fifteen years.”
“Doesn’t make it right what ya did.”
“Me? All we did was give those hoodlums a dose of their own medicine. It’s amazing what happens when you mix various narcotics together and administer them simultaneously. It produces quite a response from the person, or persons, when they suffer from an overdose.”
“Yeah. They kill people and don’t give a shit what they do. Easy for louts like ya to say. Ya didn’t get bumped off. Ya sat in ya office and drank whiskey while the rest of us took the brunt of it.”
“It had to be done, Moore. There simply wasn’t another way to do it.”
I chortled as I reached for a cigarette. Half of me wanted to lash out at Barker, take my chances. I’d get shot, no doubt, but maybe I’d get a hit or two before then. Other half o me offered a better idea. If the conversation dragged on long enough, a solution might arise.
That was it. I had to keep up the talk.
I blew a long, tapered cloud of smoke into the air as I glanced at Barker curiously.
“So whose idea was it to have Shoupe murder all those people on Rantoul Street? You or Elroy?”
***
The Vigilante stood next to the Irishmen lined up against the bar counter. The officers stood opposite to them like a firing squad. Elroy held Ross near them, a restraining hand placed on his shoulder. By then, it had become apparent to the Irishmen where the police commissioner’s heart truly lay.
“So ye used us,” Murphy said, his fists clenched. “Ye used us for ye own wicked purposes!”
>
Elroy seemed somewhat miffed by the remark. He wiped some dust off his uniform as he took off his hat.
“You make it sound so…simplistic. This city’s problems were not simple, my good man. They were so complicated, so entrenched, it was impossible to get anything done. Everyone and everything was controlled by Marzio.”
“Including ye,” Conan stated. “Am I right?”
Elroy glowered at him. “You have no right to judge me, or anyone else in my position. It is easy to say how things should be when you are merely one out of thousands, but when you have power, authority, responsibility, nothing is easy, nothing is effortless. We had to do what we had to do to survive. Sacrifices were made.”
“Like the people on Rantoul Street?” the Vigilante said. “Were they simply sacrifices on an altar?”
Ross huffed, motioned to attack him. Elroy pulled him back, ordered him to remain still. Barely able to control himself, Ross’s complexion reddened as he panted loudly. The devastation the warehouse fire had wrecked on his face had been extensive. Apart from his distinct voice, he was unrecognizable in his disfigured state. His skin had been terribly scarred. His hairline now went far and deep into his forehead. His hair, which he had grown out, fell down to his shoulders. The smell that emanated from his blackened hair indicated he had colored it with soot.
Elroy pointed at the Vigilante casually. “You truly are an individual. When you first appeared, we thought nothing of you. So what if some freak kills thugs in Shingleville? What difference does it make to us? We figured Costa could handle you. But he didn’t. It was when you killed him that we realized how much power you truly had. The newspapers couldn’t stop writing about you. The stories of your ‘exploits’ circulated everywhere. The way people talked about you, it was as though you were a mythical hero, a saint. A strange saint, to be sure, a guardian angel.
“And then it dawned on me what message it sent to the city. We, the police, couldn’t handle Marzio. So a citizen had taken it upon themselves to do it for us. And he succeeded, to an extent. He did what we had ‘failed’ to do, because he didn’t have the same responsibilities as we did. You can imagine what possibilities that opened up. We couldn’t have you running around acting as your own judge and jury on our behalf. You took away a right, a responsibility that was exclusive to us. It then became a ‘right’ for everyone. If something didn’t change, what use would police have been? Chaos would have reigned. Law and order, the pillars of society, would have collapsed. It would have been anarchy.”
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