The Legend (12 page)

"Have you h
eard about the 'Harlot Murderer’?”

"I... Yeah... E
veryone has." 
He muttered.

"You know anything about it?"

"I... How would I know?"

"I'm just asking."

"I... Maybe... I heard some dame talkin’ in a bar the other night.  She said something about how she was with the last victim before she was killed.  She got a glimpse of the John that picked up the floozy.  She said he resembled the Harlot Murderer but since he hasn't killed anyone in about a year, she didn't pay it too much mind.  She did jot down his license plate number on her forearm with lipstick just in case but she's afraid to go to the cops.  Her boyfriend was just locked up for murder so she isn't too fond of them right now.  That's all I know."

"Who was she?"

"I dunno man.  I wasn't really paying attention.  She had pink pigtails.  That's all I know.  Pink pigtails.  You ruined my night you know that."

"
That’s all you got for me?"

"Yeah man, that's all." 

After an hour of knocking heads together, I found out the prostitute with the pink pigtails went by the
handle
"Cotton Candy." 
She's a waitress by day and strips part time at Lacy's Gentlemen's Club after hours.  She's also a seasoned prostitute and she's pretty popular with the Johns. 

It's minutes to four
in the morning.  Lacy's just let out for the night.  Patrons dressed in tuxedos sauntered out of the narrow three floor brick building just as the elevated train rumbled over them.  Valet scrambled to get the high-priced luxury cars from the rear alley to the red carpet entrance.   The freshly waxed vehicles reflected the red neon lights from the vertical sign fixed to the front of the establishment.  The only time you’ll see people from Uptown in this neighborhood is when they come to some sleazy hole like Lacy’s.

Cotton Candy, sporting a racy
schoolgirl uniform, and a husky male, wearing a lime green polyester suit, stepped into the rear alley for a cigarette smoke.  The floodlight above the rear door gave some visibility in the dark alley.   

"You know Candy, next weekend I'm hosting a big poker game at my club.  A lot of money is gonna be comin' in.  You're one of the popular dancers.  I'd hate for you to not be there." 
The husky male muttered while holding the butt end of the cigarette with the corner of his lips.

"Why wouldn't I be there?" 
Cotton Candy asked while exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke.

"I heard about your side gig.  I hear you're real good at it too."

"And..."

"I wanna sample."

"Your wife is inside." 
Cotton Candy said while pointing towards the back door.

"She's countin' money.  She's gonna be a while."

"Lacy, this isn't like you.  You're like a father to me."

"Yeah, you're right.  Maybe it's the alcohol.  But the proposition still stands."

"Lacy, I can't.  Not with you.  Your wife has been good to me." 
Cotton Candy pleaded.

"Then you're fired."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You can't do that to me Lacy."

"Yeah I can."

"Lacy, I need the money." 

"Then
let’s take a quick walk behind the dumpster."

"...Okay." 
Cotton Candy reluctantly uttered.

"I have a better proposition.  How about you take a hike and let me have a word with the girl?" 
I growled while sauntering out of the dark alley and revealing myself.

"Who da fuck is dis
costume clown?" 
Lacy barked while snatching the cigarette from his lips with his left index and middle finger.

"Leave..." 
I reiterated.

"I ain't goin'
nowhere pal!" 
Lacy responded.  He sifted in his inner blazer pocket and retrieved a vintage shaving blade.  He unfurled it and clenched it in his right hand.

L
acy tossed the cigarette to the ground, hoisted the blade over his right shoulder and approached me. 
"C'mon tough guy!" 
He urged while gesturing me to fight him.  He cautiously inched towards me while sizing me up.  Then, without warning, Lacy darted in my direction and swung his blade at my face.  I caught his wrist in mid-strike, spun around and launched him over my shoulder in a swift judo move.  Lacy was hammered onto the concrete alleyway.  After a lengthened groan, he struggled onto his knee.  Before he could get back to his feet, I pelted him in the face with a fierce roundhouse kick.   He was knocked out cold and collapsed onto the ground.  He lied sprawled on his back. 

"What are you doing?  He's gonna fire me!" 
Cotton Candy hollered.  She trotted towards the husky male in her stiletto heels.  She kneeled over him and caressed his face as it began to swell up.

"No he won't.  You're too valuable to him.  I need your help." 
I growled.

"I know you.  You bea
t that guy up in the bathroom at The Shack years ago.  I’ll never forget those eyes.  I heard you roughed up a friend of mine too.  Bailey." 
She uttered with her back towards me.  She continued to tend to Lacy.

"
They had it coming."

"You gonna rough me up too?"

"I just want to talk.  Word is you ran into the Harlot Murderer?"

"How'd you... I... I don't..." 
She stammered.  She stopped tending to Lacy and pivoted back towards me.

"I'm not a cop."

"But you work for them."

"I just want to know his license plate number."

"I..."

"
Help me get this guy off the street.  You don't want blood on your hands.  It's not a good feeling.  Trust me, I know."

"Promise me I'll never hear anything about this if I tell you."

"You'll never see me again."

"It's... I
t's jay-pee-six-nine-one-zero.  He was driving this large sedan.  A dark color.  Maybe black.  It was one of those old cars.  You know, from like the seventies with the huge trunk and hood.  Are you going to catch the Harlot Murderer?  He has a lot of us ladies worried."

"I'm going to try.  And with the lifestyle you live, the 'Harlot Murderer'
should be the least of your worries."  
I growled then fled down the alley and absconded into the night.

I ran the license plate number by Detective Wu. 
“I could lose my job for this.  This is violating someone’s right to privacy.  So do me a favor and don't do anything crazy, you copy?  The tag number came back to Mark Fitchett.  He's lives over on 4th Street. Eight sixty four, apartment eight. If you find anything, give me a call."

"... Mark Fitchett..." 
That was the name Detective Wu got from the license plate number.  Either the floozy was wrong or Albert is borrowing a friend's car.  Nonetheless, it's worth looking into.

On the ensuing night, I watched the apartment windows for an hour.  The blinds are tattered.  All of the lights are off.  There wasn't even scintillation from a television screen.  None of the cars parked out front had the license plate number I'd gotten.  I'm guessing no one's home.  I couldn't help but to think Albert might be out pursuing another victim.  It was unsettling.  I gave the detective my word I wouldn't do anything crazy but another teen's life could be in peril.  

A loose brick was being used as a door stop on the roof.  A scraggly looking shirtless male, with unkempt blonde locks and ripped jeans stood by the door taking in a marijuana cigar. 

"Damn, this is good stuff bro.  I didn't even smoke half and I'm seeing things already." 
He uttered as I walked past him into the building.

Albert must fancy these run-
down buildings.  The conditions in this one is just as bad as his last.  After treading past the empty alcohol bottles and beer cans, I came upon the listed apartment.  The door was locked, expectedly, but I jimmied it open with my pocket knife.  I caught the foul stench immediately.  After feeling for a light switch I noticed his filthy habits haven’t changed.  Empty takeout food containers were discarded on the kitchen counters and in the sink.  

While sifting through the countless prescription pill bottles in the kitchen
cabinet, I heard muffled moaning coming from a back room.  I followed the sound down the apartment's lengthy dark hallway to a bedroom.  I felt for another light switch and flipped it on.  There were vile inscriptions scribbled on the white walls and ceiling just like Albert's previous apartment.  It was written in the same bold and jagged handwriting.

The moaning continued and it appeared to be coming from a closet.  Suddenly
, there was a gentle tap coming from within the door.  I approached it and tactfully pulled it open.  A husky elderly male, bound and gagged with duct tape, was wedged inside.  He was wearing a dingy white tank top, light blue pin stripped boxers and knee high argyle dress socks.  Before I could peel the tape off his mouth, I caught the sound of a hammer on a revolver cocking back.  I turned around just in time to catch the barrel of a vintage black snub nose revolver pointed right at me.  I thought Albert wasn't home.  I sprang behind his bed a half a second before he let off three shots.  He then darted out of the bedroom. 

Albert fled out of the apartment and down the hallway stairs.
  His trench coat flailed behind him.  Prying eyes peeked out of their apartments after hearing the gunshots.  Albert ducked out a back door.  He exited into an unlit narrow alley behind the apartment building and ran for a few yards before starting to pant heavily.  His pace steadily slowed down until he came to a stop.  He leaned against a brick wall while vigorously stroking his chest.  His complexion reddened.  He began to hunch over and coughed harshly.  Seconds later he glanced back towards the apartment building then started to sluggishly pace down the alley.  He was still hunched over and continued caressing his chest. 

The debilitating fire escape gave away my whereabouts.  After hearing the grating squeal, Albert glanced up and noticed me twenty feet above him.  He fired three more shots and attempted to flee.  All three rounds
ricocheted off the steel apparatus.  I calculated his pace then leaped off the fire escape and tackled him onto the ground.  He lost his hold on the revolver and it skipped several feet along the concrete alleyway. 
"It's over!" 
I growled after swiftly getting back onto my feet.

Albert enduringly rolled onto his back.  A stream of blood rushed from his forehead down the center of his face.  It began to stain his full white beard.  He continued to stroke his chest and his
panting worsened.  Albert struggled to get onto his feet. 
"Stay down!  You need help." 
I implored.  However, my plea fell on deaf ears.  Albert lunged towards me and pitched a languid uppercut at my face.  I weaved past his lazy punch.  He persisted with another sluggish right hook.  I ducked underneath the punch then clenched him around his waist.  In a swift judo move, I used his momentum to heave him over my back.  Albert plummeted onto the concrete ground behind me and hollered in agony.  He rolled to his side and attempt to stand a second time but faltered back onto the ground as his head collided into a dumpster.

"It's over Albert, stay down!" 
I growled.

"It's never over.  Go ahead and lock me up, someone else will continue right where I left off.  You fool!  This contrariwise society brainwashes people like you.  You're so lost.  I'm not the one you want.  I'm just the product of the tormentors.  I'm innocent!  It's the very people you're protecting that made me.  They made the 'Harlot Murdere
r.'  I'm the victim, not them!  I was the one being bullied.  I’m the one with the wretched memories..."

"We've all been victims Albert.  We all have wretched memories.  Not just you."

Detective Wu raced
through the narrow alley in her unmarked Crown Victoria.  The squad car toppled over metal garbage cans and the wheels sent puddles of water several feet into the air.  She stopped abruptly just before Albert.  The headlights illuminated him.  He was lying on his back and his bulking potbelly rapidly rose and set as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.   Detective Wu bustled out of the unmarked with her service weapon drawn.  She sauntered towards Albert, holstered her pistol then handcuffed his wrists behind him.  She suddenly noticed his vintage black snub nose revolver on the ground several feet away.  The detective retrieved her radio from inside her blazer and requested a transport wagon and an ambulance. 
"I don't need a doctor.  I've been seeing them my whole life and look at me... I'm still sick."
  Albert hollered.

On the following morning, the once unsettled citizens of Capitol
City have been put at ease. 
"Harlot Murderer Caught But Dies Hours Later From Massive Heart Attack,"
fronted the cover page of the daily paper.
 
Albert sat behind bars for three hours before suffering from a violent cardiac arrest.  Detective Wu told me the station officers heard
"Bloodthirsty"
cries coming from his cell.  They found Albert lying on his back, clenching his chest and screaming vehemently. 
“They said his face was as red as a tomato.”
  She informed me.  His eyes were bloodshot and the protruding veins on his forehead and neck were throbbing.  Seconds later he was still with no signs of life.