The Legend (7 page)

"Can I help you?"
  The burly male inquired as I neared him.  He must be a bouncer.  The female peered at me with a slight smirk.  Without even uttering a word, she flirted with me; her blue eyes said it all.  I bet she suckers in most Johns with that stare.

"I'm trying to get in." 
I didn't want to ask him if he just let someone inside.  He might take me for a cop.

"Twenty bucks!
" 
He requested while holding out his hand.  I didn't want to pay him for a dead end but where else could the assailant have went?  After briefly hesitating, I snatched twenty bucks from my wallet and handed it to him.

“
Say, what happened to your eyes?  They look cool.” 
The floozy asked me.

“I had an accident.”

The bouncer sifted through his pocket and retrieved a stack of twenty dollar bills.  He fixed mine with the bundle.  He then heaved the iron door open and the music amplified.  I sauntered inside and headed down a staircase where the music seemed to be coming from.  I stepped past an elderly male and a younger scantily clad female dallying on the stairs and made my way to another door.  After gripping the knob and pushing it open, it revealed a humble, apartment-sized unsanctioned nightclub. The lights are dim but the bar is illuminated by a red neon sign fixed to the wall behind it that read
"The Shack."
Red bulbs were screwed into the recessed lights and gave the nightclub a sleazy, cheap motel feel.  The walls, furniture and ceiling were painted black except for a small polished hardwood dance floor in the center of the establishment. A small crowd of sleazy women and horny men were gyrating on it.  There were several sofas along the walls where older Johns were conferring with much younger floozies.  The stench of smoked cigars was inundating.  I began to discreetly scour the establishment for the suspect.  After probing about, I spotted him at the bar flirting with a blonde bartender.   

After guzzling numerous shots of gin, the assailant stumbled into the bathroom.  I followed in behind him.  When I entered, I caught sight of him slouching by the urinal exerting much strength to keep his balance.  I passed myself off as washing my hands.  When he was done, he staggered over to the sink
besides me. Before he could turn on the faucet, I swiftly placed him in a choke hold and hauled him into a stall.  He attempted to put up a fight but he was too inebriated.  I then plunged his head into the toilet bowl. 

"WH... W
AH... WAH-DAH FUCKS YOU DOIN’?" 
He stammered.

"Where's Hoyt?" 
I demanded.

"Who?"
  He blurted out.  I plunged his head back into the bowl.

"WHERE IS HE?"
  I growled yanking him up.  Urine ran down the top of his head and face and drenched his attire.

"I don't know any Hoyt!  C'mon I'm swallowing piss and shit!" 
I dunked his head back into the bowl.

"WHERE IS HE?" 

"Oh... oh... ok... ok man, calm down... ca... calm down!  I don't know where he is right now.  The cops are looking for him.  He's laying low."

"That's not good enough.  I swear I'll drown you in
this piss.  You better tell me somethin' muthafucker!" 
I warned.

"The last thing I heard he was staying at one of his girlfriend's house over on Congress
Avenue.  Thirty four.... thirty four.... ah... thirty four twelve Congress Avenue, apartment B.  I don't know if he’s still there.  Wait a sec, I’ve seen you before.  You a cop or sum'in?" 
He inquired while peering at me.

I sifted through his back pocket and snatched his wallet.  I then
shoved the pathetic bastard to floor. 
“You gonna steal my money man?” 
He asked.  I retrieved his driver’s license and tossed the wallet into the toilet bowl. 
“If you’re lying to me, I know where you live.”
  I growled then fled out of the bathroom and bustled towards the exit. 

"It picks up in about an hour." 
The bouncer disclosed as I left the nightclub.

"I found what I was looking for."

The rust colored row house apartment building revealed to me was narrow and only three stories high.  It was one of the nicer ones in this neighborhood.  I wouldn't expect a street-level thug to be shacking up with a female that lived here.  I waited in an alley across the street as the morning sun began emerging.  I had an inclination the thug I just pressed out gave Hoytsworth the heads up.  I had to play this out vigilantly. 

While contemplating on a course of action, a man bustled out of the three floor row house and jumped into a burgundy '77 Buick Regal with a white soft top.  It was Hoytsworth.  Before I could get to his car, he peeled out of the parking spot and sped down the street.  He drove with haste as if he was warned that someone is after him.  I couldn't pursue that V8 engine on foot but I could make an effort to ascertain where he was going.

I discreetly paced to the rear of the apartment building through the alleyway.  I noticed a slightly opened window on the second floor.
  I’m guessing the row house only has three units and that must be apartment
“B.”
  I scaled up the fire escape using what's left of the night to conceal me.  The decrepit metal escape way made a grating squeal after every step.  I was certain it would've alarmed one of the residents.  I hoisted up the window and made my way inside. 

My eyes got acclimated to the dark apartment and I soon became aware I was in a bedroom.  The room was vacant but I hea
rd footsteps outside nearing.  Then the door drew open and a dark complexioned slender female wearing a lacy white bra and matching panties sauntered in.  It took her a couple seconds to realize she wasn't alone.  She frantically wailed then stormed out of the room after noticing the dark silhouette peering at her with flaming red eyes.  I pursued after her and clenched onto her from behind before she could exit the front door.  I muffled her cries with my hand and restrained her against a wall.

"Stop screaming!"
  I warned. 

"He's not here." 
She blurted after I removed my hand.

"Where'd he go?" 
I inquired. 

"Some guy
called Hoyt’s phone saying someone is coming here to look for him.  The guy said he thinks he's a cop.  Hoyt had the phone on speaker.  I heard a little of their conversation.  Hoyt grabbed his stuff and left a few minutes ago.  He said he needs 'To go to a motel or something.'  I don't know which one exactly."

"You better not be lying to me." 

"I'm not."

"Sit down and don't move." 
I directed while pointing to the sofa in the living room.  She complied.

I
made my way back into the bedroom and ransacked it for the modest indication to where Hoytsworth was headed.  There was a vintage red push-button phone on top of a dresser with a caller ID box attached to it.  I skimmed through the numbers. 
"Hoyt!" 
He called her numerous times over the past couple days.  I flipped my cellphone open and stored his number in it. 

I sifted through her dresser drawers and my hands ran over a weighted object.  I grabbed it and drew it out.  It was bundled up in a black grocery bag.  I uncovered it and revealed a
sawed-off .22 caliber rifle. 
"The murder weapon!"
  There was also men's clothing along with the firearm in the drawer.  I ferreted out a pair of jeans and felt a key chain in the front right pocket.  It was a souvenir from the Meridian Motel on Lincoln Ave.  Perhaps the modest indication I was searching for.  In the same pair of jeans I also came across two tickets in the rear pocket.  They were to a funk concert on the Fourth of July.  Might be something I should take note of.

Just as I found the
leads, I overheard the sound of the apartment door slam shut.  I knew she'd bail I was just wondering what took her so long.  I placed everything back how I found it.  Then I scaled out of the bedroom window, down the fire escape and fled into the alley.

While heading towards the subway station, my cellphone started to vibrate.  I was betting on it being my parents calling me.  They should be up by now.  I retrieved my phone and to my surprise it was Detective Bernhardt.

"Detective?" 
I answered.

"You've been busy haven't you?  Interrogating people.  Looking for Hoyt." 
He uttered.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The streets are talking.  Some guy running around with bloodshot eyes appearing out of nowhere and pressing people out.  Dunkin' heads into toilets?  Breakin' into people's apartments?" 
He conveyed.

"You have the wrong person." 

"No no no, I'm no rookie.  Don't insult me.  I've been doing this for twenty years.   You also match the description of a mugger who slashed someone on the subway.  They said you stole their wallet." 
He disclosed.  Those lying bastards tried to rob me!

"I'm sorry detective.
I don't know what you're talking about."

"Leave the cop stuff to us.  You understand that!" 
He barked.  I slapped my phone shut.

Just as I exited the subway station, I caught sight of a narrow seven story brick building across the street.  It has a vertical red neon sign fixed to it that displayed
"Meridian Motel."
  Through the windows I noticed the rooms were illuminated with red lights.  There were dark silhouettes of busty women erotically gyrating their hips inside them.  On the sidewalk before it was a line of prostitutes wearing scantily clad skirts and tube tops. 
"You look'in for-rah date sweetie?" 
They badgered as I stepped past them towards the entrance.  

A
middle-aged scrawny clerk sat on a stool inside a Plexiglas booth gawking at an adult magazine.  He sported a bad comb-over that made me feel a little sorry for him.  A pair of vintage black glasses frames, probably from 1960s or earlier, rested just above the tip of his pointy nose.  The thick lenses magnified his eyes.  Adjacent to the booth is a six foot three, two hundred fifty pound burly security guard posing a tough guy facade with his arms crossed.  There’s a stand in the corner of the lobby displaying several key chains resembling the one in Hoytsworth's pants pocket. 

"Yes!"
The clerk agitatedly greeted when I fronted the booth.

"I'm looking for a guest by the name of Hoyt
or Hoytsworth."
I inquired.

"You a cop or sum'in?" 

"No."

"C'mon, get out of here." 
He blurted brushing me off.

"Excuse me."

"You wanna room or not?  I'm busy." 

"I'm looking for..." 
I started to say before he interrupted me.

"You stupid or sum'in?  You wanna room or not?" 
The clerk barked.  Speaking to him through this window wasn't getting me anywhere.

I bustled around to the door and gripped the knob.   It was locked. 
"HEY... HEY... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" 
The panic-stricken clerk barked.  I paced back a couple steps then charged the door with a sturdy kick.  The flimsy door is on the brink of giving way.

Just before I delivered a second strike, the security guard clenched me from b
ehind in a bear hug.  His grip was firm and I couldn’t free myself.  He then lifted me off the floor and pitched me into a wall.  Before I could get back to my feet, I was snatched up by my sweater and pinned against it.  The security guard held me with his left hand while cocking his right fist back.  I couldn't allow him to deliver the knockout blow.  I've come too far to get caught now.  Just as his hand came forward I had enough slack to elude the punch by tilting my head to the side.  The security guard's fist cracked against the wall behind me.  After a lengthened agonizing moan, he staggered back a couple of steps then faltered to his knee.  He clenched his right hand.  It appeared to be broken.  

I turned back towards the
Plexiglas booth.  The clerk snatched a vintage red rotary phone, shaped like a high heeled shoe, off a desk then rested his back against the door.  He frantically dialed a number.  It didn't take a brilliant mind to figure out he was calling the police.  I raced towards the door and bashed it with a vigorous kick.  It broke off the hinges and the impact knocked the clerk across the booth.  The phone fumbled from his hands.

"Is Hoyt staying here?" 
I growled.

"Th... Th... T
hat's the log with all of the guests." 
He stammered while his unsteadied index finger pointed to a binder on the desk.

I
snatched the binder then sifted through the pages but was unable to find his name.  I checked, double checked and triple checked until I was certain I didn't overlook anything.  My eagerness tapered off; I was lead down a blind alley. I bustled out of the lobby before the police showed up.

The sunlight deepened my headache.  It prevented me from keeping
my balance.  I staggered through the congested downtown rush-hour sidewalks jostling past pedestrians as they gawked at me. 
"Are you okay?"  "Do you need an ambulance?"
  I was drawing too much attention.  I needed to find a place to lay low.