Szharko became furious at this point, his voice now as unsteady and shaky as his balance. “We need to talk. Get in.”
Jake hopped in the passenger seat of the Escalade, and the Shark began to drive. He headed toward the Prudential Center in the Back-Bay neighborhood just blocks from Fenway Park.
He parked the black Escalade in a large parking lot below a sign that read “Boston Duck Tours 20 years of smiles.” Sal asked, “What the hell are we doin’ here?”
“I got some connections. I got us our own private boat so we can talk business without interruption.”
The two adversaries walked up a plank to board one of the large WW2 amphibious style landing vehicles used for the tours. This one, painted jet black, was named “Longfellow Bridge” after the nearby Longfellow Bridge, which got its name from the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Shark handed the driver a wad of large bills and whispered, “crank up the radio and don’t turn your head around if you know what’s good for ya.” Shark and ‘Sal’ then walked to the very rear of the large boat-like bus and sat in the last row of seats. They were approximately twentyfive feet behind the driver.
The Duck Boat driver started to proceed along the tour’s normal historic route. They passed the once-well-known landmarks that used to be known as the golden-domed State House, Bunker Hill, the TD Bank Garden, Boston Common, Copley Square, Newbury Street, and Quincy Market.
The large iron vehicle passed through an open chain link gate. The bus rolled slowly down a boat ramp into the dark and murky Charles River. The vehicle was no longer operating like a bus. It was functioning as a watercraft. The river was calm and tranquil, and other than the driver, not another soul was in sight.
Shark was still obviously agitated and became more vocal with ‘Sal’.
“Okay,” Shark said. “I got you all the way out here in the middle of the river. If you don’t come clean with me now, I’m gonna leave your ass in the river and I’m going back alone. Sal, tell me who the fuck you really are, or else you can start swimming.”
Jake looked up toward the milky full moon. It was shining brilliantly down upon himself, Shark, and the great Sir Charles. “You wanna know who I am?” Jake said. “Let me start by saying who you are. You are a piss ant little shit who lies in his bed, afraid to look in the closet or underneath the bed because you know there’s a big bad monster watching you. He’s just waiting for you to slip up and peek out from under the covers so he can chew your fucking pin head off. Well guess what? I‘m that fucking monster. And you better get your needle dick back under that blanket before your fucking nightmare comes true.”
The highly inebriated one, now blinded by fury, reached into his right black nylon sock to reveal a switchblade knife.Swinging the knife in his hand and allowing earth’s gravitational pull to open the blade, the Shark used a quick underhand stabbing motion to stick the blade about two inches deep into Jake’s rock solid lower left abdomen.
Shark let go of the edged weapon then took a step backwards, either because he was trying to admire his work or because he was in shock that the knife hadn’t penetrated deeper and created more damage.
‘Sal’ grimaced, feeling very slight pain. Pain similar to having been punched in the point of impact. He looked down at the knife, then looked up at the Shark. And then ‘Sal’ smiled.
And Jake (Sal) said, “You know what, Frederick? I think maybe you should have stayed under the covers.”
Jake pulled on the switchblade handle, extracting the steel from his gut. Then he waved the knife’s razor-sharp edge across Shark’s neck from left to right, as if swinging a magic wand to cast away the evil.
Shark’s head fell back away from the base of his neck, which was now wide open. The bloody Shark head was nearly decapitated. Jake grabbed the body and used his powerful tattoo covered arms to, with one clean jerk, hoist the blood oozing, lifeless jerk over his head.
Jake tossed the seeping carcass into the grand Charles River. It floated on top of the choppy waves for a while. Seaweed, plastic bottles and various forms of filth began to cover it. Some of this debris floated into the cavernous gap between the esophagus and chin.
Slowly the dead Shark descended into the watery grave and was out of sight.
“Driver. Turn this thing around, let’s head back,” Jake said.
The Duck Boat driver steered the now slightly lighter craft toward shore. The dark of night was now brightly illuminated and with the downtown Boston skyline behind him, Jake did not feel happy, anger, remorse, guilt nor regret.
He felt NOTHING…
Chapter Twenty-Six - Dead Beat
Jake returned to the mother ship and slept like a baby that night, into the following morning. Upon his waking, he welcomed the start of a fresh day. It would be the first of many days
which held the spectacular promise of a Shark-less serenity.
As Jake was on deck basking in this new light, Vinny returned from his business trip. He
was immediately suspicious that something out of the ordinary had occurred.
“Hey Ja I mean Sal. Have you heard from or seen Shark lately? That son of a bitch won’t
answer my calls. Some of my Hartford people are telling me that he may be taking more than his
cut on some of our services rendered.”
“Yeah, Vinny. Last night he came around here all drunk and messed up. He said he needed
to talk to me about some stuff. So, he drives us out towards the river, and we get on a Ducky boat,
then he starts accusing me of this and that.”
“And… How did that go? “Vinny questioned.
“Let’s just say that when I was ready to leave, he felt more inclined to take a late-night
swim. Who am I to tell him he can’t?”
“Oh fuck, Jake….”
As the next few days went by, Jake resumed his role as Vinny’s driver. Jake escorted the
head of the DeAngelo family throughout Boston and further parts of New England in his shiny
black Caddy with the limo tint glass.
Vinny’s associates seemed to be nicer than usual to Jake. For that reason, Jake was
extremely cautious about walking into any rooms with plastic tarps strewn across the floor. “Vinny, why do I have the feeling one of these associates of yours is gonna step in behind
me with piano string in their hands and try to tune me up?” Jake asked.
“Actually,” Vinny replied. “Word got out on the street about you and Shark. This is their
way of showing you respect. They all hated that squirrelly little cocky fuck Shark. It was just a
matter of timeuntil one of them did whack him. So, they are glad he ‘went for a swim.’”
Now somewhat relieved and less concerned about getting ice-picked, Jake went on doing business as usual. However, the following week, the media began to pick up on the report of a possible homicide investigation. This investigation followed the discovery of a body wedged up in the propellers of a large ferry boat in the Charles River.
DeAngelo’s sources also began to warn him that the local police and feds were in contact and working together. They were closing in on the wanted escapee fugitive from Texas, Jake Hathaway.
The authorities all believed that Hathaway was currently in the area, and they also recently learned that Hathaway had been friends with Vinny DeAngelo back in high school.
“I guess the jig is up,” Jake said after Vinny gave him the news. “I guess it’s time for me to fly.”
Jake wasted no time grabbing his handful of personal effects and throwing them into his black Swiss Army backpack. “Come on, man, I’ll give you a ride,” Vinny said as the two jumped into the Escalade.
It was now early evening. As they drove down Landsdowne Street, the two compadres observed a white female standing on top of a small red Toyota Yaris stopped in the middle of the street. The female appeared to be in extreme fear and was screaming something at the top of her lungs.
Meanwhile, a white male, also apparently in his early 20s or so, was standing in the roadway in front of the car. It appeared as if the vehicle had broken down there and he was attempting to repair something under the popped hood.
Jake and Vinny remained in the stopped Escalade. They peered down the dark adjacent alley to see three shapes dragging slowly toward the curly headed brunette male. The young male remained still, as if frozen in fear. And upon further review, when they emerged from the darkness of the alleyway and onto the lit roadway, the three staggering forms were not intoxicated winos - they were DEAD!!!
Jake ope ned the Escalade passenger door and prepared to exit. Vinny cautioned, “dude, what are you doing? It ain’t worth it, man. We need to get you out of town before the cops show up and identify you.”
Jake said, “they’re just kids, Vinny. I can’t stand by and watch them die. What if they were your kids?” Vinny jumped out of the vehicle prepared to help with his Ruger .45 pistol in his right hand. He was ready to blow the DEAD away. Jake realized Vinny was right about not wanting to make a scene. He left his Beretta in his waistband when he realized that firing shots would be loud and draw much undesired attention.
Jake used both hands to reach into the inner pockets of his black leather full-length coat. Within a split-second, the hands reemerged. Each hand was now bearing a large-wooden handled steak knife with a ten-inch blade.
“I got this.” Jake stated as he placed himself between the stragglers and their millennial prey. Jake efficiently began to carve up the DEAD, making mincemeat of the feet draggers. At one point he paused to catch his breath when the twentysomething guy angrily shouted, “what the fuck, man?!”
Jake looked at the kid, who was obviously pissed off about something. Then Jake glanced over at the twenty-something-year-old girl, who jumped down from the vehicle with a video camera in her hand. She was aiming it at Jake and Vinny and yelling sarcastically, “thanks for ruining our shot, jerkoffs. We gotta eat too, you know.”
Jake was astonished that he was now catching heat from two kids he had just saved from creatures.
“We didn’t need your help, old man. I was about to test my latest homemade weapon, this PVC pipe bow-andarrow set, on those creatures for our YouTube series and our vlog.”
“Are you serious? You both risked your lives for a lousy video?” Jake quizzed, stupefied.
The male responded, “You don’t get it, dude. Do you know who I am?”
“You mean besides a dumbass?”
“Who are you calling a dumbass, you musclebound moron? You have no idea what’s going on in this world today. I am Graham Pruitt, better known to our countless viewers as the 'Urban Survivor.’ Every week we show a new video where I demonstrate new survival techniques or utilize another improvised weapon to live another day in this zombie-infected Armageddon. We are out here struggling to survive and you just cost us some advertising money and a meal.”
“Advertising? You mean people actually watch that stuff?” Jake queried.
“Ohhh, wait a minute. You’re not planning on releasing that video, are you? Probably not since we ruined it for you, right?” Jake reasoned.
The female, otherwise known as Nunu, replied, “We can still work with it. Maybe edit it up and do some feature story on how even old peoplecan defend themselves.”
Jake chuckled maliciously, then held out his open hand and roared, “give me the fuckin’ camera.”
Nunu and Graham looked at each other and laughed. They darted into the Yaris as Nunu sped the compact car down the alley, squealing around garbage cans and narrowly avoiding dumpsters to escape before Sal and Vinny could even get reseated in the Escalade.
“Did that really happen?” Jake quer ied. Now fearful of the possibility of being identified by the police, Jake and Vinny climbed back into their ride. “Okay, so much for good deeds. Let’s head south to Little Rhody.”
Graham and Nunu whizzed down Lansdowne and parked at the rear of Janice’s shelter. They ran up to the back door, where Anthony greeted them and welcomed them inside.
“Are Mack and Duy still here? We think we might have just had a run in with their buddy that they are looking for!” Mack had been standing beside the once bed-ridden Dew-man. Duy was now on his feet again and feeling nearly like his previous, energetic self. They both heard the youngsters enter and heard what they had been carrying on about.
“Y’all saw Jake?” Mack asked in a hopeful tone.
“Let’s just say we saw a big muscled-up white dude probably in his 30s, with blonde hair and wearing a suit, and he was with another shorter and chunky guy about the same age, also wearing a three-piece. They were in a black Escalade, and the big guy ruined our weekly vlog by killing some DEAD that we were gonna shred ourselves.
“Gotta admit though, it was impressive. He went through them creatures like they were made of butter. Looked like he was enjoying it too. Oh yeah, and the shorter fella kept mentioning something about leaving before the cops showed up. Look we got a video of them.”
Mack and Duy began to watch the video that Nunu had captured. Duy perked up. “Oh shit! That’s Jake! What the hell happened to his hair?”
“Well, it sounded like he was planning on leaving the area after the encounter with our zombies. He may be long gone by now,” said Graham.
Mack said “Dew-man, you think yer gonna be strong enough to head out in the morning so we can get back on his trail?”
Duyassured, “I think so.”
“Hey, Anthony,” Graham announced. “We finished working on that weapon you had asked about. I think you’re gonna love it.”
Earlier in the month, Anthony had graciously hooked Graham and Nunu up with some free tattoo sessions. He gave Nunu a six-inch squared black ink scene of Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, on her left backbone.
Nunu had always wanted this symbol on her as a remembrance of her mother, Suzann. Suzann had passed just a few months earlier at the age of forty-seven, as a result of a heart attack. Suzann had been a devout Catholic who had loved animals and rescued them whenever she could. When she saw an animal that had been run over by a car or otherwise dead in a street or elsewhere, Suzann would make the sign of the cross and be deeply saddened within.
Graham had opted for a black circle tattoo with black flames within, on his right bicep. When Anthony asked what this symbolized, Graham said it was a “ring of fire.” “Oh, are you a big Johnny Cash fan?”
Graham said, “somewhat. But this is more a symbol of the world we live in today. It’s like a black hole straight to hell. Even the flames are black, there’s no light or warmth at all anymore. This place is cold and barren, and it’s spreading like wildfire. If this isn’t the end of the world, I’ll be friggin’ shocked.”
“Okay, Anthony, here it is!” Graham produced the masterpiece he had cre ated in the metal shop in the basement of Fenway. The shop had formerly been used to repair the metal seats, poles, railings, and stairs of the ballpark as needed.
Anthony picked up the weapon. It was once a police baton with a handle that expands with centrifugal force. “So, we cut off the metal striking end of the baton, and in the hollow center I welded and secured a double-sided dagger blade. So, when you swing the baton horizontally, it will expand from three feet long to about four and a half feet long and the spring-loaded dagger blade pops straight out and locks into place. This will make it much easier for you to be able to reach up with it and poke a zombie right between his eyes.
“And when you’re done, one push of this button will cause the blad e to gently submerge back within the depths of the baton. The expandable portion will then retract back to its compact position.”
Anthony inspected his new plaything. He realized that if the rechargeable batteries in his nail gun and power drill should ever die on him, this weapon could be removed from the ring on his belt and save his life. He began to smile and chuckle. “Oh, this is so badass! “
Graham and Nunu
had a surprise for Mack as well. “Mack, we made Roscoe something as well. Check out this little gadget,” Graham announced.
He reached behind him to grab hold of the object and pulled it toward him for show and tell.
Obv iously proud of his creation, Graham began to describe the item. “I took an old police flak jacket and tailored it to fit Roscoe’s neck and body. Attached to the neck cover is an extension that serves a couple different purposes.
“First of all, it is a mu zzle intended to prevent him from biting those nasty things and inhaling or ingesting all their blood and nasty decaying flesh. I’m not sure if that would affect animals the same way it does with humans, but you never know. That shit can’t be good for him. But in preventing him from being able to chomp on his enemies, we took Roscoe’s only weapon away from him, and his ability to defend himself and you guys.
Graham continued, “so, we had to find a new weapon for him. Look at the four mini daggers spot-welded onto the snout area of the muzzle. They are located precisely where his main four incisors, used to tear and rip, are located. So, when Roscoe acts as if he is biting these creatures with his own teeth and shaking his head side to side and all up in these monsters faces, he’s still gonna be shredding them to bits with these blades. Just be careful because these daggers are not retractable. For those, you will have to wait for version 2.0.
“The only negative aspect of this Kevlar vest is that it adds five pounds to him. That will slow Roscoe down slightly. But I think the rewards will positively outweigh this one negative.” Mack expressed his heartfelt gratitude. “Man, that means a lot to me, to Roscoe. And Jake would be extremely happy to know we are doing everything we can to keep his partner safe. Thanks, Graham.”
West Greenwich, Rhode Island. Year 1 month 6 ATBI Jake told Vinny to drop him off at the side of Nooseneck Hill Road in West Greenwich, Rhode Island. Jake’s hair was still dyed blonde, and he had shed his three-piece suit in favor of something that would be a little more appropriate for his hometown. He felt much more comfortable in what he wore now - that same thrift store get-up that he purchased when he first arrived in the Boston area.
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