Chapter Four
Night has fallen again, as is the rain. Not that it makes any difference to me. Some of my wild cousins live in the crap. I peek around the corner of the alley I've been hiding in, checking to see if the two goons I've been following have come out of the greasy pawn shop across the street yet. I can still see the black guy's Mohawk, as purple as the band around my fedora. I don't know why, but I've always like the color. Ever since those church people came to the orphanage at Christmas and handed me that purple teddy bear when I was three, I've been attached to it. I've read that purple is a power color that represents royalty and a taste for the finer things in life. Shit, that leaves me out! I'm not classy enough for that, not anymore.
But back to those punks in the pawn shop. When I got to the precinct earlier today, I was lucky enough to find files on these guys. Good thing these two idiots are stupid enough to get caught, but bad for the city when a secret contact of theirs pays their bail money. You would think after over two dozens felonies between the two of them, that someone would wise up and send them to federal prison. Just shows you how corrupt and money driven this city really is.
Mr. Purple Mohawk over there, checking out the stereos, his name is Bebop. His white buddy with that screwed up grin on his face is Rocksteady. They've done everything from snatching purses to car jacking to robbing liquor stores. All petty things, nothing that would save them from becoming shower meat in prison. Except for the new thing they can add to their long list of accomplishments: Murder, in the first degree.
I watch as Rocky grabs the Asian guy behind the counter and shakes the shit out of him, which by the look on the old guy's face, I think that could be a literal statement. He pulls out a handgun, shoves it into the man's face, and I'm sure from the way his wide mouth is moving, he's screaming something like 'Give me all your fuckin' money before I blow your goddamn brains out!' I told you, ten years. I know how guys like that work.
The old man throws a sack at them and drops behind the counter as Bebop opens the door and looks around. He waves Rocksteady out, who continues to hold the gun at the guy until the door is closed and they're halfway down the block. They disappear from my sight, but their laughter is still loud enough to be heard three streets away. I think now would be the time to make my move.
I tail them for fifteen blocks, sticking to the shadows as Leo always said to do. They stop on the corner of Lerie Avenue and 12th, have a small conversation while splitting up the stolen money, then part ways. Bebop heads right up 12th , then turns into an apartment building that should have been condemned years ago. Rocksteady heads left down Lerie, and I know exactly what he's goin after. This section of the city is well known for the drug and prostitution rings, and I bet the shell on my back that Rocky here is going for a little of both.
I hurry down 12th , passing by the hookers and their nightly advertisements, and turn into the building Bebop had entered, taking care to step over the guy near the door who's laying in pool of vomit, and is either passed out or dead. Can't tell. The stairs creak loudly as I climb them, my senses bombarded by the scents of urine and marijuana. The disturbing silence that greeted me at the door carries to the second floor, the only noise is the distant cry of an infant. I stop at the base of the stairs and wait until Bebop's shadow tramps down the hallway, then move up the stairs once again. He enters the room at the end of the hallway, slamming the door behind him.
"Shuddup out there!" Someone shouts from across the hall as I pass by. I stare into his door, noting that the frame looks a termite feast in the making. I reach for the door handle, and I'm surprise to find it unlocked. Idiot. Why the hell would you keep your door unlocked in a neighborhood like this? Unless, you knew you were being followed... by a cop...
The click of a trigger echoes from behind the door and I immediately pull out my revolver. Bebop flings the door open and the spray of bullets begins.
"No fuckin' ghost's gonna come after me!" His Jersey accented voice screams out as he chases me back down the hallway. I bust through another apartment door, scaring the couple inside, who by the look of things, were about to shoot up something highly illegal. They duck down to the carpet at the sight of my gun, and I fire back at Bebop, who himself has ducked back into his apartment.
"Youse supposed ta be dead, you fuckin' pig!" Bebop screams again with another load of bullets.
"Sorry!" Was the only thing I could think of. I'm kinda under a lot of pressure at the moment. You try to think of something witty to say while someone is shooting at you. The firing suddenly stops, which means either Mohawk is out of ammo, or he escaped. Either way, that asshole is mine!
I peer around the door, straining to hear any sounds, but I can only hear that baby downstairs. I stand up and slowly creep along the crumbling drywall, the peeling brown paint falling to the ground as my coat covered shell scraps along it. I stop just short of his door, holding my breath as I pull it back. Just as I thought, he's gone. I look into his apartment, gun raised and cocked as I venture in. The floor is covered in clothing, beer bottles, drug paraphernalia, food wrappers. I don't really need to go further, this place is a fucking pigsty! I maybe be messy, but at least my mess is organized. The open window catches my attention, and as I move closer to it, I can see Bebop's frantic body scurrying down Lerie Avenue. A smile spreads across my face. That's okay, pig-boy. I know exactly where you are headed.
Rocksteady's building is basically a carbon copy of his buddy's place, except the noise level is ear shattering. The place is crawling with hookers and druggies, and what a sight for a visitor to the area to walk in a find the couple by the stairs engaging in a provocative sex act. I climb the stairs, which feel like they are going to fall out from under me, and stop at the second floor. This level isn't as noisy, except for the second door on the left, which is wide open and the occupants inside are yelling things about a certain cop who should be dead and how they got the wrong guy, blah, blah, blah. Gee, I wonder if they mean me?
I stand in the doorway, the sight on my revolver pointed in-between Bebop and Rocksteady, who is naked from the waist up, his gut hanging over his unzipped camouflage pants. They stop talking and turn to me, and Bebop puts his gun back into the air.
"See! I told youse he was still alive!"
"Alright, scumbag," I growl through my gritted teeth. "Put the gun down and get down on your knees." I take a step forward.
"Hows about you drop your gun and I blow yer head off!" Rocksteady pulls his piece out of his back pocket. Hmmm, two against one. I've been in positions worse than this one. What I need is a distraction so I can move in closer.
"What the hell is gonna on out there?"
Ah, the angels above are singing in praise!
The blonde prostitute that Rocky picked up comes out, wearing black see-through lingerie. She eyes the guns in the punks' hands, then turns and gasps at the revolver in mine.
"Evein' ma'am." I tip my hat to her. "N.Y.P.D."
"Holy fuck," Her brown eyes blink twice, and I lunge at her, pushing her into the punks. She screams as she falls into Rocksteady's arms. He drops his gun, which fires upon hitting the floor, and the stray bullet hits Bebop directly in the back of his hand. He lets out a long string of cuss words and falls to his knees, clutching his bleeding appendage in his lap. Rocksteady tosses the hooker aside, slamming her into a table and dumping the lines of coke onto the floor, and he tries to grab for his gun. But, unfortunately for him, I'm right there in his way, the barrel of the revolver pushing against his temple.
I don't think I could have planned that any better.
"Sit back, asshole," I shoved the revolver down harder in his head. He obeys, but only after mumbling the F-word at me a few times. I back off of him, keeping my eyes on him. I know Bebop and the knocked out hooker won't be going anywhere anytime soon.
"Now then," I pull up a chair and sit backwards in it, taking off my hat and setting it on my knee. "I have some questions that need to be answered. First off, why did you kill that bartender from the Red Diamond?"
"Kiss my ass, copper!" Rocksteady spit at me. "We's ain't sayin' shit!"
I shook my head. Poor, stupid thugs. "Okay, I'll ask you again. Why did you kill my brother?"
"Fuck off!" Rocksteady screamed, almost jumping to his feet, but before he could register what was going on, I dropped my gun back into the holster under my arm and place my thumb securely on his neck, just above his Adam's apple. I don't think he really knew what I was about to do to him.
"I was trying to do this the easy way, but since you made it very clear that you don't want to talk," I pushed my thumb deeper into the thick skin of his pale hide, and Rocky began to cough.
"What the fuck are ya doin'?" He cried out through a struggled breath, and I pushed harder.
"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, and if you give me the answers I need, I'll make it easier for you to breath. Understood?" His bulging eyes shook as he nodded. "Good. Why did you murder Mikey?"
"We got...got the wrong...guy..." Rocksteady sputtered out. "We was supposed ta get you!"
No kidding. Next question. "Why? Why was I the target?"
"I-I-I don't know!" Wrong answer, Rocky. I dug my thumb back into his neck and his hands waved about.
"Why was I the target?" I growled. I was getting impatient, and I knew that if I kept this up, the squad would be carrying Dumbass here to the morgue instead of jail. Rocksteady was slowly going, and my anger was allowing me to watch him die.
"We's don't know, okay!" Bebop lifted his head up from the bloody mess in his lap. "The guy that sent us ta get youse didn't say why! He just gaves us the money and told us to off youse!"
I released Rocksteady, and he fell over, clutching at his neck as he gasp for air. I lifted my leg over the chair and knelt down beside Bebop, but replaced my gun to Rocksteady's head, just in case.
"What guy? Who is he? What's his name?" Like I've got all night to play Twenty Questions. "Tell me!"
Bebop winced from the pain, twisting his face in all directions. "He never told us. He just had black hair. That's all I remember!"
What the hell? Black hair? That narrows it down to the millions of Italians and Asians living in Manhattan! I dropped my eyes to the floor and rubbed at my aching head with my free hand. "Do you idiots at least remember where you met him at?"
This time around, Rocksteady answered, his voice a bit warbled as his crushed wind pipe began to open up. "Dakota...Sports Bar." And with that, Rocky passed out cold, leaving his buddy shivering in pain.
I sighed as I stood and looked around for a phone. Dakota Sports Bar, why does that place sound familiar? I found the phone near the cockroach infested kitchen, and I placed a call to the station, citing that I was a neighbor who was complaining about the noise coming from apartment 2B. A big lie, I know, but I can't risk my cop buddies finding out about my mission, seeing as how I'm working the beat and not a detective anymore. And I don't think any of my victims over there are going to say much, seeing as how two are passed out and one is in a lot of pain and losing blood rapidly. They'll all be lucky to remember their names in the morning.
The hallway is still empty as I move out of the apartment, but the distant sound of wailing sirens tells me I need to pick up the pace and get out of there. I scurry past all the scum and run through the shadows before ducking into an alley. The lights of the police cars cause the animals inside to scatter, and I laugh as they run by me.
As I move down the alley and light up a smoke, it suddenly hits me. The Dakota Sports Bar? Guy with black hair? Holy shit. I dropped the cigarette and head up the next street. That sports bar was the place that we used to all hang out at back in the day. Raph was the one who would drag me, Mike and Leo there for drinks. It's where we first met April, who was a waitress there. And we met her through... Casey Jones.
I waved down a taxi, telling him to take me across town to the Dakota. He gave me a strange look, as does everyone who sees me for the first time, but quickly shrugged it off as he hit the gas. The cabby's a New Yorker. I'm sure he sees all kinds of weird shit.
The wind coming in through the open window picked up the smoke from my newly lit cigarette, and as the memories sneak up on me, I shake my head sadly. Damn, Casey. It happened so long ago, man. It wasn't my fault April left you and came running to me! And you think killing me is going to send her back to you?
"Oh, Case. Why can't you let things go?" I muttered to myself as the smoke curled out of the cab and into the night air. Jealousy is a bitter monster that will eat you alive.