by Luis Samways
‘I think that’s a good idea. But knowing you, I doubt you’ll be able to resist the urge.’
‘What urge?’
‘To solve crimes.’
‘Ha!’ Frank laughs as he gets up and stretches out, reaching for the halogen lighting attached to the cream ceiling of the narrow room.
‘Speaking of urges Frank, do I need to remind you that those pills you took before coming into hospital were not doing you any good?’ asks the nurse while scrolling her finger down the chart on her clipboard.
‘Veratril is it?’ She ponders
Frank rolls his eyes at the nagging nurse.
‘What I do to my body is my business lady.’
‘Yes…true, but I’m sure your insurance wouldn’t want you to carry on taking the pills. They did tell us that if you come in again and we find any trace element of the drug in your system then they won’t pay out. Not to mention the department does not look on favourably at detectives who self-medicate.’
‘Yeah I’m sure they don’t,’ Frank says bluntly
He scratches his head while looking out at the Boston skyline. His thoughts run away with the wind while the nurse clears up her procedural instruments. Frank turns around to see the nurse leave the room with her rolling cart of medicine. He walks on over to the bed and sits down. Resting his head on his hands as stares at the slick floor of his hospital room. He snaps out of his daze and reaches for the draw, pulling out his badge and gun. He looks at the shield and blows hot air on to it. The condensation spreads across the metallic sheen of the shield. He pinches his sleeve and starts buffing the metal.
He stops and admires his work, chucking the shield to the side as he continues looking at the floor. How long is this going to take? He thinks to himself.
Three
‘I heard he was coming back today,’ Chief Shaw says while taking a sip of his scolding hot coffee.
Commissioner Alvarez looks on in curiosity. He gets up from his seat and joins the Chief at the coffee counter. He grabs the kettle and pours himself some hot water. Snapping the plastic kettle back into place he grabs a sachet of coffee and sugar, tearing both at the same time with his teeth. He pours the sachets in one sweeping motion and stirs the plastic cup until it looks half drinkable.
‘Tastes like shit Sir, that I do know.’ Shaw laughs while taking another sip of his murky black coffee.
‘What do you mean you heard he was coming back?’ Alvarez finally says as he looks at the chief over the plastic rim of the cheap cup as he swigs another sip.
‘I just did’
‘But who told you?’
‘You know…people’
‘I’m afraid I’m going to need more then that Chief.’
Shaw looks on at Alvarez as he carries on prying him for information. His eyes dart from Shaw’s bulk to his sweaty round face. The chief didn’t like his boss’s sense of entitlement. It was extremely common for the two of them to butt heads during certain situations. Most of those situations nearly always involved Frank McKenzie.
‘Like I said Sir, it’s just office talk, nothing more, nothing less. I can’t honestly remember who first said he was coming back, but it seems everyone is saying it now, so I don’t know what to tell you exactly.’
Commissioner Alvarez puts down his blazing beaker like cup of coffee, the scolding inferno hissed when it hit the damp surface of the worktop. Alvarez smooth’s down his hair and pats himself down. His immaculate appearance clashes with the damp setting of the newly refurbished Boston PD precinct. Throughout the whole building, the place resembles a building site. It’s chock-a-block full with officers of the law and workers of the brick. Plasterers, electricians, and builders work day and night trying to fix the recently decommissioned building. Nearly every piece of furniture and fixture was replaced after the Chase bombing. Alvarez takes out his Wild West style pocket watch and looks at the time. Chief Shaw looks on in contempt at the grandeur that the Commissioner seems to imply on a daily basis.
‘Well if you’re not going to tell me Chief, then I suppose someone else will,’ Alvarez calmly says while checking the time on his pocket watch, as if he was timing the responses from the Irish Chief of police.
‘Like I said Sir, I don’t know who said it. I can assure you though that if he does come back, I’ll keep an eye on him.’
The Mexican Commissioner smiles a wide angled taut grin.
‘No, you don’t have to Chief because if Frank McKenzie sets one foot in here, I’ll be the one keeping tabs on him. This is way beyond you now; this is between me and him’
Four
‘Please don’t hurt me!’ The bound up blonde woman screams as the machete wielding man strides out of the shadows. His tall and slender frame is disguised from all distinguishing marks as the black darkness of the room engulfs him. The flickering lights from the candles on the floor lighten the sharp metal blade as the man moves ever closer to the young tied up blonde. Her arms are stretched over her head as she hangs from the chain link rope like restraints. Her wrists are red raw as the friction from the brass braces grip her petite arms and gnaw at her fragile skin.
She’s been tied up for a good while, at least three days by her estimation. He keeps the rest of them locked up in separate cells, at least ten other girls. She knows they are underground, but she can’t be sure to whereabouts underground she is. Could be New York State, could be the surrounding cities. It could even be down south for all she knows. The area she’s been tied up in for a few days is dark and clutterless. The restraints she’s hanging from is the only large structure in the darkened room as if it were built specifically for keeping people captive, like an 1800’s Victorian dungeon. She was far gone, but not far gone enough to realize that she wasn’t in England. So that theory was out of the window. When she was snatched she was jogging the riverfront in Boston, then suddenly she was attacked. She remained awake throughout the whole ordeal. She was grabbed, thrown into a van, blind folded and driven for twenty minutes, then taken to a sewer grate where she was dropped in and left there for a few hours. Then the man returned and dragged her through the grimy underground catacombs to the place she is tied up in now. So England is unquestionably out of the equation, so is down south. She must still be in Boston.
The sparsely placed candles on the floor surround her like a burning circle. The heat from the tea light candles brushes her skin as she sweats, the droplets of sweat drip to the floor, making the lights flicker. He steps closer, still wielding the brunt of the machete with his thick hands. His face is illuminated in the dim light. A scar rides across his cheek. He smiles, stretching the torn scar from left to right, like a second pair of lips. His eyes glow in the dark. A hint of green penetrates his face as he opens his mouth and licks his cracked lips. The blond girl screams as she sees his overly long tongue salivate and drip as he gets even close to her. She thumps her legs against the vertical pole, trying to escape his grip. He sniffs her neck, running his branch like finger down her soft face. Her tears hit his fingers as she cries. He grabs her by the neck, squeezing hard, his grip presses down on her throat. She tries to scream, but nothing comes out. He lets go, she gasps for air. The man looks her up and down, still gripping his heavy machete. He sees her jogging bottoms and grabs her muscular leg. She screams once more but this time she feels as if there is no air left in the room. She’s panicking at what this man might do to her. He lets go and walks on backwards, still facing her, he disappears into the shadows. She sighs as she hears his footsteps disappear.
The room is dead quite. No light, no sound, nothing. She looks around, surveying the area. No escape root, no way of getting her down from the restraints. She hears something. Maybe it’s a mouse she thinks. Her neck remains taut as she struggles to see into the dark misty atmosphere. She squints and sees black, her vision blurs as she tries to refocus. Before she can, the machete wielding man pops out of the shadows with the blade held high. She attempts to plea for her life, but it’s over in a matter of seconds as
the sharp machete reaches her and slices her neck wide open. She convulses as the restraints rattle to her last dying movements. The man admires his work and looks at her withering pupils. Running his finger across the bloodied blade, he pops his blood covered finger in his mouth, tasting the fresh kill. His eyes roll back into his head as thinks about what comes next. The last thing the blonde girl see’s before she passes is another swing of the machete as the man gets down to finishing the job.
Five
‘I’m just saying Ben; get the reports in before five. I need to file the 10’s and 4’s before Wall Street closes. I’m faxing the returns over to them before New York goes down for the night…I know right…The city that never sleeps my ass…Yeah sure, I’ll catch you tomorrow…Please get the returns done. Thanks Ben.’ Henry Ledger puts the office phone down. He shuffles the files on his desk and hits the power button on the computer monitor in front of him. He buzzes his secretary.
‘I’m going out for lunch. Hold my calls until two.’
He gets up from his plush office chair and grabs his suit jacket that’s draped over it. He wriggles himself into it and takes a deep breath. He turns around and see’s Boston in the massive office window, akin to a pent house view. He brushes his sweaty hands on his sides. His office door swings open. He quickly turns around and see’s three men enter. They are all wearing Italian suits. They are well built and have a scouring purpose on their faces. The lead man, a brown haired business type with a grey streak through his hair extends his hand out to Henry.
Henry remains confused and takes a few steps backwards. The front man still has his hand extended. He moves closer to the scared business man as both of his companions close the towering office door behind them and stand guard side by side. The door closes with an echoing thud, like bars on a prison cell. The front man with the grey streak finally puts his hand down, a smile still donned on his brown storied skin.
‘I’m Antonio Bandello,’ The Italian man says, standing tall in his expensive suit. His eyes dig a hole into Henry’s conscious and fills it with dread. The golden butterfly cufflinks the big man is wearing catch Henry’s eyes. He immediately knows why they are here. He relaxes and walks forwards, tilting the office chair away so he can shake the burly man’s hand. Antonio smiles as he grips the business man’s hand with a firm and colossal grip.
‘I was expecting you three hours ago,’ Henry says while sitting back down in his office chair. He waves Antonio to the seat in front of his desk. Antonio sits down and lays his hands on the large oak desk. He taps his fingers a few times in a rhythm of terror as Henry tries to collect his thoughts.
‘Yes, I know. There was a hold up. We do apologise for the inconvenience Mr Ledger,’ Says Antonio in his thick husky voice.
‘Don’t worry about it. So, are we on schedule?’
‘Yes. We are searching everywhere for the missing merchandise’
‘Have you come up with any leads?’
‘No.’
‘That’s unacceptable Antonio’
‘Let me remind you whom you are talking to Henry.’
Henry swallows hard as he looks across at the large man. Antonio grips his cufflinks, rubbing his wrist with his fist clenched tight.
‘You don’t need to remind me of anything Mr Bandello. Just remember we need to find our property’
Six
‘I don’t know how it got there. I just turned up, and that was there. Right on the floor, nearly a hundred people were gawping at the box. No one called it in though,’ Officer Santiago tells Detective Mullins as he lights up a cigarette under the crime scene tent. Forensics was adept and precise as usual. They had erected the white tent in record time. It was already up when Mullins had arrived, twenty five minutes after officer Santiago showed up on the scene.
‘Sorry Detective, you can’t smoke in here. It will contaminate the scene,’ a woman says while putting on her protective mask.
‘I doubt it,’ says Mullins as he opens the zipper on the large tent and throws the butt out. He zips it back shut and turns back to Officer Santiago.
‘So let me get this straight. You turn up on the scene and see around a hundred people surrounding a toppled giant Christmas tree…’ Says Mullins
‘It’s not unusual for the tree to blow over, but this call was specifically about someone actually tipping the tree over.’
‘Right…and no one even rang about the box?’
‘Nope, must have been shock sir.’
‘I guess,’ Sighs Mullins
‘Well they did find a Christmas gift box with severed limbs in it. That would shock me as well.’
‘Human limbs?’
There is an awkward silence in the room.
‘Yes…Why do you ask?’
‘I thought maybe they could have been artificial. Some sort of Christmas prank, maybe a scare tactic.’
‘Unfortunately they are real sir, by the looks of them, female. CSI are saying that from what they have seen already, the woman in question was most likely young. Maybe five foot one, a hundred pounds. Around eighteen years old.’
Mullins looks on, impressed.
‘Wow they can tell all that from a set of legs?’
‘Nothings certain until an autopsy is done. The only thing is, about sixty per cent of the body is missing.’
Mullins brushes his hand through his sleek hair.
‘I’m sure the rest of her will turn up somewhere’
Seven
‘Don’t go turning up in some gutter now will you Frank?’ The pudgy dark desk clerk says as Frank signs the release forms. He smiles down at the bulky Detective as Frank rolls the pen back to the clerk; the man’s heavy finger taps the rolling pen to a stop. Frank rips the yellow copy from the clipboard and hands the white copy over to the man. He winks at the friendly man as he reaches for a cigarette in his tanned leather jacket, pulling out the bright red and white pack that’s familiar to most Americans. The heavy man winces as he looks around at the packed hospital foyer.
‘You can’t smoke in here Frank. It’s a hospital,’ the desk clerk says in a firm but informal way.
Frank grabs the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and flicks it at the dark man’s chest, it bounces off the blue hospital scrubs he’s wearing and hits the glistening pearl white tiles at his feet.
‘I’m thinking about quitting anyway,’ Frank says.
He turns around and makes his way out of the hospital towards the sturdy automatic doors. They open up with a swoosh and suck in as the cold Boston air hits Frank’s face. The desk clerk looks on in admiration as Frank turns around to give him another look.
‘I’ll see you real soon Frank, real soon,’ the man laughs as he waves Frank off.
‘Whatever Charlie, keep up the good work,’ Frank says as he walks through the stout doorway and out of the hospital. He sighs as he looks up at the rain clouds forming in the Boston midday sky. He darts his vision to his right and lets out another mouthful of air. The taxi rank is empty.
‘Fuck waiting for a taxi. I’ll walk home,’ He says to himself. He steps a few feet forward and stops still as he sees a yellow cab in the distance approach the Hospital.
‘Taxi it is,’ Frank says to himself as he sticks his hand out, hailing the slow moving cab.
The car turns into the Hospital’s rounded road and veers towards Frank. It slows down as it approaches him. The bumper hits the kerb as the wheel flicks onto the pavement. The windows are deep black, tinted beyond normal. Frank catches the name of the Taxi Company on the driver’s door. He doesn’t recognize it. Before he can react the back window rolls down, a pair of gloved hands pierce through the frame. The back of the cab is as black as the cars windows, as the gloved hands toss something bright out of the window. The mounted car swerves to the left and launches off the pavement. The tire tracks kick up smoke and dust at Frank as he watches in amazement at the speeding Taxi as it bolts back out towards the hospital entrance and disappears into the horizon.
Frank
looks down at his feet and spots a box shaped package wrapped in Christmas paper on the floor a few feet from him. It’s tied up with a bow and shines in the afternoon overcast sun. Frank kneels down on the ground and runs his finger across the paper wrapping on the box. It feels sleek and wet as he watches the corners of the package redden. He gets back up and reaches for his phone. He presses speed dial as he watches the blood trickle out of the package at his feet.
Eight
‘Good tea, I like it milky, and it seems as if you have gotten the right sort of formula…so to speak,’ Humphries says as he takes another sip.
The white china echoes off the sleek marble table as he gently puts the delicate cup back on the table’s stonewashed surface. Humphries is a striking man, the sort of man that fits well into a suit, the type of man that could only be envisioned in a high price two piece tux. There have been days when he has been spotted wearing nothing but a polo shirt and shorts, but even on the golf course he looks pristine. His trademark butterfly cufflinks clang on the table as he taps his finger on the rim of the sturdy china. He looks across at the bewildered Henry Ledger as he sits across the other end of the table. Humphries nods the tea wielding waiter away. The large doors to the conference room shut forcibly as the waiter disappears out of the room. Ledger looks on nervously as he rubs his hands on his trousers trying to get rid of the clammy feeling in his hands. Humphries smiles at Henry as he takes yet another sip of his tea, this time taking his time enjoying the rich taste in his mouth. He finally looks at the folder in the middle of the long stone desk. He reaches his arm out and grabs it. He casually opens the folder and rolls his eyes down the documents. Humphries’s face changes from a placid look of enjoyment to a stern look as he glances at Henry over the file in his hands.
‘So, its grim news then,’ Humphries says as he flicks the documents back on the table.
Henry Ledger swallows hard as he looks at the smart businessman in front of him.
‘Well sir, the numbers are off,’ Says Henry
‘I can see that, but why are they off in the first place?’