The Legend (9 page)

While standing in a shadowy corner, I watched as the police officers escorted the handcuffed Hoytsworth to the transport wagon.  Detective Wu paced behind them.  Her business card came in handy after all.  Finally, it was over.

Suddenly
, through the iron beam structure below, supporting the elevated station, I caught sight of a figure on the street beneath me.  It was a female, sporting a white spring dress with orange flowers on it, sauntering away from me.  She suddenly stopped, pivoted back and glanced up at me.  It was Lolani.  She appeared to be happy; her radiant smile.  I smiled back then seconds later she faded away.  I miss her so much.

"So what do I call you?  Duane or Legend?"
  Detective Wu inquired.  She requested to confer with me.  Initially I thought it was a dragnet being that Detective Bernhardt had an arrest warrant issued for me.  Detective Wu, however, assured me it wasn't.  We converged discreetly in an alley near her police station.

"Legend."
  I replied.

"First I want to thank you for helping me close this homicide case.  I'm very sorry for your loss."

"You're welcome."

"
I asked you to meet with because I need a favor.  I was wondering…  Maybe we could form some type of a partnership.  I figure you can go places I can't and do things I can't do.  We can exchange info and help each other out."

"I don't know detective."

"You know the department offers cash rewards to citizens that help close homicide cases."

"I'll think about it." 
I replied brushing her off.  I then began to saunter away from her.

"C'mon, you telling me you're going to turn down money?  We're talking thousands of dollars to be a confidential informant!  You can't help out a rookie detective?" 
She pleaded.

"I'll think about it."
  I repeated.

"Well can you think quickly?"
  She barked as I continued to pace further.
"I'm working this case with a Sex Crimes detective and I was wondering if you could help us with it!  There is a serial killer that's been targeting teenage prostitutes!  He rapes the victims then shoots them in the chest!" 
Suddenly I recalled the homicide that occurred outside my apartment and it stopped me dead in my tracks.  The guilt of not helping the victim resurfaced.

"Do you know what he looks like
?"
I growled while slightly pivoting back towards her. 

"Yes.  One of his victims lived long enough to tell me.  He's a middle aged
white male, about six feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds.  He has a full white beard.  He wore a black skull cap on his head.  During the time of the attack he was wearing a long beige trench coat." 
She conveyed.  The description matched the man I witnessed assaulting the seventeen year old prostitute to a tee. 
"So does this mean you're going to help us?" 
She inquired.

"Maybe just this one time, detective."

"We all have wretched memories."

Prelude

"It's been five months.  Five months since my first encounter with him.  The Legend!  Yeah, I was up to no good but I was no murderer.  I was just a knock-around guy for this local drug dealer.  You owed him money, I'll get it.  You short changed him, I'll beat you down.  You looked at him wrong, I'll break your legs.  But when he wanted me to take someone out, that was crossing the line.  We all have morals and that's mine. 

The crew hated me for that.  They thought I was soft.  So, they wanted to teach me a lesson.  They set me up.  ‘Told me about this junkie that owed the boss some money.  They said she's been ducking him.  They wanted me to push her around a bit.  So I got her address and went to her apartment.  The front door was locked so I kicked it in.  When I got inside, there was blood everywhere.  I mean EVERYWHERE.  Ceiling, windows, walls, floor, television, sofa, EVERYWHERE.  Her body was battered up.  Whoever did this was a monster.  My instincts told me to get the hell outta there.  By the time I ran out into the hallway, her neighbors were already at their doors peeking out.  I guess they heard me kick her door down and wanted to know what all the ruckus was.

I didn't make it a city block.  By the time I got outside, squad cars were pulling up.  I ran but with my luck some rookie
, fresh out of the academy and in the best shape of his life, caught me.  The neighbors told the police they saw me leaving the place.  No matter how long the cops interrogated me, I refused to tell them I killed her.  I didn't.  But I still got pinned for the rap.

One day
, while sitting in jail, a cellmate told me he heard my charges got dropped.  He said the police were going to release me.  He wasn't lying, they let me go.  There I was thinking I was going away for life but I was given a second chance.  Later on that night, while walking up the front steps to my apartment building, he approached me.  Those red eyes.  It scared the crap outta me.  He called my name.  That growl; I’ll never forget it. His voice sent chills down my spine.  I caught wind that just before the lady got battered up, she ripped a button off her killer's shirt.  The Legend found the button near the area where her body was lying.  He somehow traced the button back to a shirt that belonged to a guy they call Bailey.  Bailey wore these fancy silk Italian shirts.  When he found Bailey, I heard he beat Bailey up so bad Bailey confessed.  Then I was let go.  A little button got me off a life sentence.  Unbelievable!

That night T
he Legend told me that I had received a 'Second chance at life.'  He said to 'Make it count.'  I walked away from the street life.  I own a barbershop and everything in this shop is legit.  Those eyes, I'll never forget them.  Call me paranoid but every once in a while I see those eyes looking down at me from a rooftop.  Like he's watching me.  Making sure I don't stray.  Well, he has nothing to worry about."

- Ludlow the Barber

Victim number eleven.  She was discarded in a narrow dark alleyway between 18th and 19th Street; left on top of a pile of filthy black garbage bags.  The serial killer shows no signs of remorse for them. 

Suddenly h
er chest languidly rose, then set.   She peered at me with her gaping green eyes.  She was in a state of moribund.  It emitted eerie feel.  I gently pulled the mask from my head; I’m the last person she’ll see alive. 
“You’ll be at rest soon.”
  I comforted her.  Seconds later her chest stopped rising but she persisted to stare at me.  She succumbed to the gunshot wound.  I caressed her eyelids closed.  The guilt is too much to bear.  This could’ve been prevented if I had only called the police that night.

I started looking over the body for a lead.  She's just like the others; late teens and by her outfit, I'd bet money she was prostitute.  There
were hemorrhages forming around her eyes, mouth, stomach and wrists.  Her knuckles were swollen and there appears to be specks of blood underneath her fingernails; must've came from fighting back.  Her underwear was torn.  It wasn't hard to catch because her silver colored skirt barely went past her groin.  Then I noticed it.  The infamous single gunshot wound to the chest.  I continued to search her and found smudged motor oil on the bottom of her clear platform shoes.  There's an auto mechanic garage a few blocks from here.  I suddenly got an earful of sirens wailing.  My investigation has come to an end.  I left the victim to pursue my lead. 

The auto mechanic garage was closed for the night but the ladies of the evening posed out front and solicited for dates.  They're all dressed just as sleazy as the victim.  The squad cars rac
ed past them; blaring sirens and igniting the block with red and blue strobe lights.  It wasn't too long before they put two and two together; one of their own has just become the eleventh victim to the serial killer.  The ladies abandoned their posts and trotted to the subway station in their clear platform shoes.

I suddenly noticed a security camera mounted on the auto mechanic garage that was angled in the vicinity where the women were soliciting.  It seemed likely it grabbed something
pertinent.  I decided to look in on it.

A rear window was left unlocked.  It was large enough for me to slip inside.  I'm convinced this place is rigged with a silent alarm system so I had no intentions to linger around.  I came upon a door with the decals
"Manager's Office
" adhered to it.  The surveillance footage would most likely be in there.  I clenched the handle but it wouldn't budge.  A swift swipe with my pocket knife granted me entry into the office. 

The security cameras continued to record.  I rewound the footage until I spotted the victim posing with her hands resting on her hips in front of the garage.  A vintage wood paneled station wagon, with a
"For Sale"
sign adhered to the rear window, pulled up just before her.  She approached the passenger side window with an erotic gait in her steps.  She leaned inside and the two engaged in a brief conversation.  I assumed they came to an agreement when she set foot in the vehicle.  Her door wasn't even completely shut before he suddenly peeled off.  The station wagon was too far from the security camera to make out the license plate number.  However, wood paneled station wagons are scarce nowadays.

Just about
a year and a half has passed since the first victim and ten more has followed.  The serial killer has single-handedly brought this city down onto its knees.  Although all of the victims have been prostitutes, females dressed in club attire feel they might be mistaken for one.  They are now reluctant to gallivant through the streets during the evening hour.  The nightlife establishments have taken a financial hit.  Many of the sleazy downtown clubs that once hosted hundreds of patrons are now boarded up.  The after-hours diners are now closed before dark.  The many prostitutes that solicited Johns in the back alleys are now scarce.  Police patrols are heightened.  In fact, the majority of people seen outside during the late night hours are officers.  Some roam the streets and alleys on foot, others are in squad cars. 

Angry residents have protested against the incompetent mayor and police chief.  From nine in the morning to five in the evening, boisterous demonstrators march before the four downtown police stations hoisting signs.  They have also petitioned for the officials' resignation. 
"The people of this city elected this mayor and he's done nothing but run this city down!  He can't keep us safe.  And if he can't get the job done, we should be able to elect a new one!  Kick him out of office!" 
An infuriated mother barked while being interviewed by a local news journalist. 

Today marks
ten months since Lolani’s death.  I remember the shooting as if it were last week.  Detective Wu insisted that I’d be compensated with the department’s reward money for leading her to Hoytsworth’s whereabouts.  I refused it at first.  I didn’t do it for a paycheck.  My funds, however, were running dry so I decided to take her up on her offer. There was a caveat; I had to enlist myself as a confidential informant for Capitol City Police Department.  In order to do that, I had to take care of an outstanding arrest warrant issued by Detective Bernhardt.  Detective Wu took me in.  Fortunately for me, she also testified in trial on my behalf.  She informed the judge that I have assisted her with closing the
“Dry Cleaners”
homicide case.  With the detective's testimony and having no prior offenses, the Capitol City Superior Court Judge was generous.  She placed me on probation in lieu of jail time.  She also placed a stay away order on me.  I can't be within a hundred feet of the Meridian Motel, the clerk or his security guard. 

The following morning,
"The Harlot Murderer Strikes Again"
fronted the cover page on the Capitol City Press in a sizeable bold font.  A note found underneath the victim was posted in the article:

"Oh you should've seen the fight in this one.  This by far will be my favorite.  You would've enjoyed it too.  Maybe I'll start documenting my work.  Hmmm... Wouldn't that be something to watch?  Maybe then you will notice how talented I am.  It is time for me to bid adieu.  I will see you next time.  I don't know what the future will bring nor can I give you a time or place but we will meet again and again and again and again and again...." 

The station wagon had a
"For Sale"
sign taped to the rear window.  I decided to skim through the classifieds.  To my dismay, the vehicle wasn't listed.

Lines at the newsstand spanned a city block.  Residents wanted to be kept up to date on the developments of the investigation.  The police, howeve
r, aren't revealing too much; partly because they don't want the
"Harlot Murderer"
to know where the investigation is going. 

Anyone looming around town in wood paneled station nowadays is going catch eyes.  I'm certain many have come upon it.  I just needed to get someone to talk.  It's now minutes after midnight.  The thunderstorm isn't showing any mercy.  A shirtless elderly male wearing a black leather blazer, with matching pants and biker cap just stumbled out of a
sleazy underground nightclub called the
"Shack."
  He's staggering aimlessly through the alley.  Suddenly, he faces a brick wall and rests his right hand on it to keep himself steady.  He unzips his pants with his left and begins to urinate.

"We need to talk ol' man." 
I growled just as he began to zip up.

"Oh... G
eezus..." 
He stammered while flattening his back against the wall. 
"You scared the dickens outta me!"

"Have you seen any wood paneled station wagons around town?"

"Are you... The Legend?  I heard about... I didn't think you were... You're real?"

"Ol' man, answer my question."

"Wood paneled... Ahhh... Yeah I have seen it.  I see it every now and then." 
He disclosed.

"Where?"

"No place in particular... just here and there."

"In this area?"

"Yeah, around here.  Around downtown."

“You know the owner?” 
I inquired.

“No, I don’t.”

The ol' man didn't give me much of a lead.  Neither did other stragglers wandering the stormy streets at this hour. 
"Hey man, I don't know what to tell you.  I've seen it around but I don't know who the owner is!"
 

Just when I
was about to call it a night, a man leaving a liquor store caught my inquiring mind.  He bustled down the street while clenching a six pack underneath his right arm.  He's wearing a navy blue jumpsuit with an
"Al's Used Tire Shop"
patch stitched onto the back.  The tire shop is located at a discount gas station.  If anyone would know anything about the wood paneled station wagon, it would be him.

"You have a sec?" 
I asked following the man inside his apartment building.

"Holy crap!  Who the hell are you?" 
The man lurched then stumbled into the hallway wall.  The six-pack can of beer slipped from underneath his arm.  Two cans burst as they struck the black and white checkered-tile floor. 
“Got-dammit!  I just bought that!” 

"I'm looking for someone."

"Are you nuts?  Who the hell do you think you arrahhh... Wait a sec...  I’ve seen you before... That comic book superhero.... The Urban Legend!" 
He chuckled. 
"What is this?  Halloween?  Wait, where's your grappling hook and stun gun?" 

"I'm looking for a guy that drives a wood paneled station wagon." 
I growled.

"You must be outta your cotton pickin' mind clown.  What are you gonna do if I don't talk?  Gas me with your 'Truth Serum'?  Move outta my way pal."

"Answer me!" 
I demanded while pitching a right jab into the wall just inches from his head.

"Whoa... W
hoa!  Easy big guy!  Wood paneled station wagon?"

"Yeah
!"

"I know the guy.  Names Albert... He lives over on Senate Drive... I can give you his address.  I was just over his place
replacing a flat tire for him.  He said he got it from driving through an alley or sum'in'." 
    

I'd pass this four level apartment building for an abandoned one.  Some of the windows are boarded up and the brick face is covered with graffiti.  Hustler's clenching twenty dollar bills were hunched over the front steps laying money on a craps game.  Unfortunately, I don't see a wood paneled station wagon parked anywhere on the block. 

I made my way inside from an unlocked roof door.  It wasn't long before I caught the malodorous stench from a faulty sewage draining system.  I'm trying my best to be stealthy but every step I take makes the stairs creak.  Suddenly a passing elevated
train rattled the entire apartment building.  It caused paint chips from the flaking ceiling to fall.  I wouldn't be surprised if the air in here is filled with lead.  Albert's apartment is on the top floor.  I navigated around buckets catching the leaky rain water from the passing storm. 
"4B."
  This is it.

Albert's door was locked evidently but a swift swipe from my pocket knife granted me entry.  The apartment had a foul odor of rotting food.  I felt for a light switch and suddenly noticed his filthy habits.  There were
Chinese food takeout containers left on his kitchen sink and counter.  Roaches began to crawl out of the cartons then scamper into the cabinets.  The hundreds of maggots continued to eat the remaining pieces of meat.  A continuous cracking noise came from the flickering fluorescent light bulbs. Horseflies began to circle around it. There was several empty orange prescription bottles discarded on the counter. 
"Benazepril, Warfarin, Digoxin..."
  They were the same medications my grandfather used to take for his high blood pressure and heart.

The kitchen light gave some visibility into another room.  I stepped inside of it and immediately caught whiff of moldy carpet.  I could make out in the center of the room a single
light bulb suspended from a wire in the ceiling.  I yanked a cord besides the bulb and the light abruptly revealed large red rancorous writings on the white walls and ceiling of the living room:
"Die, Death, Murder, Kill Them All..." 
It was written with a red marker that was scribbled to make the letters bold and jagged.  It covered the entire room. 

I contin
ued to survey the room and noticed dark moldy blotches on the beige carpet.  The only furniture in the living room was a knocked over coffee table and a deteriorated green vintage floral sofa.
 
Various brands of playing cards were discarded on the floor besides the coffee table.  After a more thorough look I noticed all of the cards were Queen of Hearts and the hearts were punctured out.