Chapter 12: Little Andy

Albert closed his eyes from frustration and regret.  A million thoughts ran through his head.  He knew the voice belonged to a small child.  Given what the voice had said, Albert also knew that the woman before him was the child’s mother.  Albert opened his eyes and stared down at Tony.  Tony would be a corpse shortly.  Albert grabbed the white bed sheet and pulled it over the young woman.  Tony looked past Albert in the direction of the doorway.

“Oh, I almost forgot.  Looks like you’re going (hic) to need Walter after all.” Tony said with a cold uncaring tone.  If only Tony understood what that would mean for the boy, perhaps Tony wouldn’t have been so cavalier.

BUUURRAAAAP!  A belch from Tony to shatter all records.

Nice one, Tony!

Albert shook his head in shame at Tony and turned around to see the child for the first time.  The child could only weigh the same amount as one of Albert’s legs.  He was five-years-old, at most.  The little boy stood wearing navy blue pajamas with some sort of yellow cartoon character that has a rocket for a head patterned all over them.   Albert stared for a moment at the boy and wondered, is there any chance that this boy could live?

“Your mother is sleeping.  What’s your name?”  Albert asked in a tone that showed heart.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” The boy stated clearly frightened.

“Andy.”  Tony slurred to Albert.  “His name is Andy.” Tony motions towards the woman, “Her kid.  Other then that I don’t know much about the little… (hic).”

Albert turned back and looked at the little boy named Andy.

“This is Albert, Andy.  He’s a doctor and he’s come to make a (hic) house call, to fix your mommy up.”

Albert thoughts rolled on like a car stuck in a round about.  Going in circles he could not decide which course to take. 

What do I do?  Return to Mel with money or one head, possibly two, but not a third.  Not this boy.  Christ!  He is only five years olds!  That is old enough for Walter to have his twisted fun with.  What do I do?  Return to Mel…

KNOCK, KNOCK!

“You doing their taxes or something in there, Al?  Come on son, boss is waiting!”

The sound of Walters voice on the other side of the unlocked apartment door gave Albert clairvoyance.  Now there was no choice as to which course to take.  Albert let his reflexes and instincts take over and did several things in about two seconds:  First, and before Tony could utter another word, Albert jabbed the needle gun into Tony’s neck and pulled the trigger.  The needle came out of Tony’s neck and he dropped instantly on his back against the bed next to the female outline under the white sheets.

Please don’t scream Andy. If you do, your dead! But Andy froze of fright.

 Second, and also before Andy could say anything, Albert spun and grabbed Andy holding his mouth shut and lifting his entire body off the ground.  Pressed firmly against his chest Andy tried a little to kick himself free, but there was no fighting Albert.

“Al, you need help in there?” The second question of Walters was louder and accompanied by the sound of the apartment door opening.

As Albert carried Andy over to the right side of the bed he let go with one hand to put the needle gun back in the case. He then grabbed the phone cord from the wall next to the dresser and pulled it right out of wall with his right hand.  All this happening well being held against his will frightened Andy more then he had ever felt before.  If Albert’s skull-palming hand wasn’t over Andy’s mouth, Andy would be heard screaming for miles.

The sound of Walter shutting the door could be heard.  Albert had little time now.  He said the only words he could think of to calm Andy down.

“I am here to save you Andy.  That man coming in here is the boogieman.  If he finds you here he will kill you, painfully.  I need you to lay flat on your face on this cot, and cover your ears while I slide you under the bed.  No matter what you may feel or hear, do not move.  If he finds you, I can’t protect you.”

Before Albert finished his whispers he felt the vibrations of Andy’s muted screams against his hand stop.  Albert took his hand off Andy’s mouth.

“Protect me?  You hurt mommy’s friend.”  Andy whispered. 

Walter’s footsteps indicated that he was just a few feet from the open bedroom door.  Just a few feet, a few seconds and Andy’s worst nightmare would begin.

“Tony?” Albert states crouched over Andy.  “I’ve come to take you and your mom away from Tony.  I have come to protect you, but the Boogieman is coming.  The Boogieman wants Tony and whoever is with Tony so you have to hide now.”  As Albert said this he flipped a more relaxed Andy on to his front and pushed the entire mattress under the bed. 

“I will protect you from the Boogieman.” Albert whispered under the bed.

Chapter 11: Collecting From Tony

The morning after Albert had left the Police Station he and Walter pulled up to the building that Tony resided in.  Walter was wearing his fat man beach clothing again.  His wrinkled freckles and his horseshoe hair is disheveled, looks like a red dust mope wrapped around his head.  Walter also appeared tired.

Must have been up late jerking off to the Golden Girls, Albert thought.

At that moment Walter was eating a gyro.  It was difficult for Albert to tell whether or not any of the sauce was getting in Walter’s mouth or if it all ended up on his white t-shirt.  Even when Walter’s simply eating he manages to completely gross Albert out. 

Why is he even here?  There’s no kids here.

But Walter called him earlier and insisted that Albert pick him up.  Walter said he was hungry for the gyro, but Albert had other suspisions.  Ever since Albert had taken that young girls life, Walter had been acting strange… needy, one might say even nervous.  Couldn’t tell right now though.  He was eating that gyro as joyfully as a kid takes to ice cream on a hot day.

“Stay here,” Albert, said to Walter, “I’ll ring you up if I need you.”

Walter answers Albert by chewing with his mouth open and letting more of his gyro spill on to his shirt.  Albert stood with the car door open.  Albert gave Walter a ‘you’re so fucking gross’ look and shut the drivers’ door.  Albert opened up the trunk of the black sedan and reached in to pick up a gun, folded white garbage bag and a second silver colored gun.  Albert tucks his custom axe/scythe under his right arm.  He put all the items carefully into a two-handled leather bag that looked like a large bowling ball case, zipped the bag, put it in his right hand and shut the trunk door. 

* * * * *

            Albert knocked twice on the brown apartment door and put his arm at his side.  He then heard a familiar voice from the other side say, “It’s open.”

Albert opened the door and let himself in.  The apartment was small and cramped, a few steps up the entrance hall where a large dent in the wall tells the tale of exactly one day earlier and Albert is standing where if he goes left he is in the living room which is adjoined by the kitchen and the dining area.  If Albert went right, he’d find himself in the only bedroom there is.  Albert went right. 

There was Tony, sitting on the edge of the bed in his underwear.  Just a small, balding, hairy-bodied Italian guy with a moustache staring at Albert as Albert walked in.  Albert placed the case in his right hand on the four-drawer dresser.  Daylight was pouring in and reflecting from the buildings outside the four windows in the room. 

“Well this is good Tony.  You didn’t run so that must mean you had the money all along and now I know what to do with the empty space in the case here,” Albert gestured to the leather case on the dresser.  Tony didn’t say anything.  “You do have the money right Tony?”

Tony shakes his head, while turning behind himself and grasping a handful of the white bed sheets in his hands.  Tony pulls the bed sheet towards Albert like he is unveiling the latest year of a famous automobile.  In one fluid motion what is underneath the white bed sheet is revealed: A young woman.  Fair and light-skinned, her pretty blonde head and shut eyes resting on a white pillow like she is dreaming her favorite dream.  Her skinny, right arm is at her side and her left arm is across her unmoving stomach.  Exposed to just underneath her navel, Albert can’t help but notice that her average sized breast aren’t moving… and they’re quite nice.

Is she alive?  Albert takes his eyes off the young woman’s fair form to think to himself, Tony, you sic- ass, you been screwing a corpse?  Before Albert can ask anything aloud Tony spoke.

“I didn’t do anything yesterday or today to get Mel his fucking money.  Could of borrowed, stole and hustled for it, but… All I did was drink and fuck.  Though I think she drank more than I did.  I tried to feed her enough sleeping pills in her drinks to put her down before you fuckers got here.  But she passed out cold couple hours ago well I was working her from behind.  I’m a gentleman so (hic) I didn’t finish.”

Albert nods in funny way, of course, very gentlemanly indeed, Tony.

As Tony was talking Albert noticed that there were empty bottles of every sort all over the place.  Albert couldn’t help but feel that Tony had did what anyone who was given one day to live would have done, except Tony screwed up.

“She’s still alive (hic) … a bit anyway.” Tony slurred as he turned to look at the unmoving female form.

“She’s kind of…comatose…I guess.”  Tony just stares at her before saying quite loudly, “Damn!  Would you look at those titties, Al.  Are those, (hic) are those not the best looking fucking tits you ever seen?”  Tony’s drunkenness is quite apparent to Albert at this point.  “If I had a nickel for every tittie…”

Tony’s sentence trailed off as his right hand reached back for the girls left breast. 

“You know what this means don’t you Tony?”  Albert’s voice stopped Tony from groping the unconscious girl.  “See, I brought my case with me and if I’m not putting Mel’s money in the case then I have to put…”

“….Yeah, I know.  I know.  You have to put my head in the case.  I know all about you and your precious fucking case.”  Tony bellows indignantly.  “You and your sense of simplicity (hic).  Your sense of fucking…(hic)…justice or whatever.” 

Albert was taken aback by what Tony was saying.  Never had anyone had such balls to speak in this way before they die.  Some put up a fight sure, but most of them simply begged for their life or mercy.  Tony was looking death straight in the eye and saying-

“Go fuck yourself.  That’s right (hic).  I wanted to stay alive and conscious enough (hic) long enough to tell you, Mel and that twisted fuck Walter…where is Walter?  Is he in the hallway?”

“He’s in the car.” Albert replies coolly.

“Yeah and to tell (hic) Walter and all of ya’ll to go fuck yourselves.  This last twenty-four hours of my life have been the best twenty-sex hours of my life.  I am going to die right now (hic) the happiest fucker on the planet.  Mel can’t take that from me, can he Al?”

Albert reached for the lamp on the dresser and turned it on.  “No, I guess he can’t Tony.”

“Fuckin’ right he can’t.” Tony finished indignantly as Albert walked to the right side of the bed and pulled the solid white blind all the way down past the base of the window.  Albert didn’t even notice the small mattress and white woolen blanket protruding from under the bed.

“I’m not the bad person here Al (hic).  Life just kept kicking me in the teeth is all.  Should of stayed away from the likes of Mel I guess (hic).  Gambling away his money…stupid!  Twisted fuck.”

            Albert listened and walked silently to the wall opposite the right side of the bed and pulled the blind of that window down as well, then the one above the window next to it.  Tony watched Albert and continued to speak.

“You know I am nice guy right Al?”

“Sure Tony.” Albert replied low and sarcastically as he walked to the left side of the bed pulled the blind above the window there down as well.  The only light in the room was coming from the lamp on the dresser.

‘I am a nice guy.  I don’t have much but I got a… good karma.  Do you know what karma (hic) is?”  Tony doesn’t wait for a response before he says, “Karma for what I’ve done, I have always been there for people Al.  I am always helping people (hic).  I am!”

“Sure Tony.”  Albert says again, sarcastically.  Albert’s back at the dresser and he’s searching inside his case for something.

“I don’t worry either about revenge.  About trying to fuck over the people who keep (hic) fucking me over.  I know that their lives are going to punish them for me.” 

Albert was listening, but he was also removing his large suede trench coat and putting on rubber gloves.  He stood before Tony, whom was still seated at the edge of the bed in front of the unconscious girl.  Albert reached in case.

“You will be pushed…a…I mean punished by your life Albert (hic).  You’re life is going…”

In one move Albert pulled the silver gun-looking thing out of the case and held it to Tony’s neck.

“Shut up Tony or I won’t give you any of this.”

Tony looks at the silver gun down through the corners of his eyes.  It’s a needle gun, with a compressed air delivery system.

“You’re going to use that to knock me out.”

“No Tony, this substance is going to kill you.  The sunspot being that whatever is done next won’t hurt at all…for obvious reasons.”

“Why? (Hic).” Tony asks with wide eyes.

Albert was seriously annoyed by this question.  He pushed Tony by the throat into the bed mattress, pinned Tony down, knelt over him and continued. 

“Cause you stupid cunt, I’m not the sick fuck everyone thinks I am.  I kill you with out this shit, it’s going to hurt a whole fucking lot.  All right?!?!?”

Albert lets Tony up and stands back in front of the dresser.

“Should I shoot her up with this as well?”

“Yeah!  You probably (hic) should.” Tony replied after a little thought.

Albert walked to the side of the bed where the young woman lay half exposed and still in a dead sleep.  Tony watched as Albert lifted her arm to inject the needle.  Albert looked back at Tony and Tony looked away from Albert.  Albert pulled the silver trigger.  A short popping sound is heard from the quick release of air.  Albert pulled the needle back to his side.  She didn’t even flinch.

Albert stood facing the girl and asked, “Any famous last words Tony?”

Tony doesn’t answer, he just stares at the floor in front of him, hands entwined between his hairy legs.  Albert stares sympathetically at Tony for a moment before the silence is broken.

Albert remained with his back to the doorway. A small innocent voice was heard from the doorway behind Albert.

“Mom?” 

Chapter 10: How to Fight Pure Evil

After the girl lay dead on the floor and Walter began to throw a temper tantrum, Albert slumped frozen.  He paid no attention to Walter.  With his right hand he pulled back the girls blindfold.  Her eyes miraculously seemed to be have said that she was at peace.  She did not appear to be afraid like she had for the last few hours.  Albert took his index finger and thumb and pulled her eyelids shut.  That was when Albert started to feel a rumble in his stomach.  His throat felt terrible.  As though microscopic organisms were having a trillion-man march up his throat towards his nasal cavity.  Albert stumbled out of the locker.  He felt weak.  Walters rants and screams suddenly had the volume turned down.  Maybe it was the gunfire.  Once outside the locker Albert grabbed a piece of the wall.  Not since the time Albert had to torch his Fifth Avenue had this happened. The toilet was too far.  Albert bent over. With an involuntary flex of every muscle from his abdomen to his jaw, Albert threw-up.

            Albert lifted his head and whipped his mouth.  Suddenly he was not in the warehouse anymore.  He was in the Commissioners office sitting in that terrible chair.

            “You killed her didn’t you?”  The Commissioner said frankly.

            Albert realized that while he was telling the story to the Commissioner he at some point stopped talking and only continued to tell the story to himself.

            I did kill her, Albert thought.  But that was what he was supposed to do.  Walter was supposed to kill the girl.  Walter always had to kill the younger witnesses or their kin.

            Not until that night did Albert realize that Walter wasn’t just killing off the young ones.  He was torturing them.  The kind of horrors that await the blackest soul in the darkest pit of hell couldn’t hold a torch to the things Walter had been doing.

            Had been doing?  Christ!  How many had there been?

            The thought made Albert hang his head in shame.  For his blindness there was no redemption.  

            The Commissioner stared across the desk waiting for an answer that would never come.  They both had nowhere to go from here.  If the furnace at that warehouse of death could talk it would say, “they were all in here until their ashes were collected and thrown to the wind.”  But the furnace at the warehouse can’t talk.  Albert could talk, however, if he did right now it would be only him that gets put away for good.  The objective was to put away Walter and Mel.  But without a sworn statement from Albert himself Mel could not be dragged into court.  Albert did not want to put his name out their as a conspirator against his soon-to-be former employer for one second. 

            I’d become a dead man.  Albert ran several senario’s in his head.  All but one ended with his own ashes being scattered to the wind.  It seems that without a body, a smoking gun or a witness statement you’re trying to catch air in a fish net.

            “What’s the solution Albert?”  The Commissioner asked.  “You’re clearly not going on record for crimes committed at Mel’s request.  We have no bloody glove or prints.  What do we do that could put away Mel and… (ahem)… Walter?”

            Albert thought about it long and hard before hand and the answer hit him like a swift kick to the balls.

            Tony, Albert thought.  If he can’t pay, and I know he can’t, he has to die.  Bring the boss the head, bring the police to the boss, and…

            “Tony.” Albert said to the Commissioner.

            “Ah, yes!  The snitch.  What can he do?”  The Commissioner asked.

            “He can die.” 

Chapter 9: Rip the wings off an Angel.

The panic stricken line of faces momentarily thins around Albert.  Smoke rises to the sky in the distance but his eyes go blurry.  Something unseen weakens him.  It is as though the very earth beneath his feet is trying to fall away from him.  There’s a bus stop bench.  Albert slumps on the bench.  His conscience has weighed him down.  Thinking back to the Police Station where he sat and thought back to the sight of those innocent, lifeless eyes.  His stomach churns just like it did that night.

Albert had stood in the entrance to the meat locker.  Staring at the girl he immediately felt his hand going for his gun.  His gun, like an eraser, could clean the sight from the world, but not from his mind.

The blood splattered wall, table and floor.  This sweet Angel had every limb free but one.  Her right arm, pale as death, was locked tight into a table vice.  The vice was bolted to a butchers counter.  The rest of her body slumps on the floor in a pool of her own blood.  Albert could see her left arm without a hand white from blood loss.  A rectangle with tiny diamond indentations permanently pressed into her wrists.  A long, grey, plaid skirt, with white stockings and a matching white school shirt.  .  Her hair was tied back yet appeared disheveled.  She was blindfolded with a piece of cloth ripped from the back of her own shirt.  Her head hanged low as she sobbed in pain. 

Albert took in the sight of her.  He took his hand from his gun and knelt next to her.  She could sense that he was there.

“Who is that?”  She cried words broken.  “Please… I can… I can’t… take anymore.”

“You’re not going to.”  Albert spoke so softly he surprised even himself.

Walter stood in the doorway.  Surprised by the sight before him, though he felt differently about it then Albert.  Showing this kid mercy?  Why? 

Albert spun the crank of the vice and her right arm came free.  Stained with the same bruise as the left she leaned into Albert for comfort.  Albert lifted his arms in confusion at first but then wrapped his arms around her.  His enormous left hand eventually gripped softly her right shoulder and his right hand held her head against his chest.  His black trench coat draped the floor behind him like a cape.  Walter saw this and couldn’t help himself.

“You want to hold her hand too, Al?”

The girl lifted her head and began to scream aloud.  Tears strolled down to her open mouth.  Albert turned his head and saw a smile on Walters face.

You’re not human, Albert thought.

The girl let her screams subside from lack of strength to continue and put her head on his chest this time raising her chin a little.  Albert turned back to her and looked directly down into the soaked white cloth covering her eyes.  She opened her mouth and whispered softly to Albert, “I want my Daddy…. Please.”

I’m afraid I can not…” Albert whispered back.  Did she not know shy?

Another single tear came out from under the right side of her blindfold.  She knows now.

“Kill me.” 

Albert didn’t want to do it.  But then he considered that if he didn’t, his employer would have him killed in manner much messier then the young woman in his arms then.

“Kill me please.  I… I can’t l-l-l-live like this.”

“…” 

Albert looked at the bloody stumps where her hands should be.  She’ll never recover from this, He told himself.  She’ll be in therapy for years, but every time she does something with a pair of hooks her mind will bring her back to this night.  She’ll cry for all the wrong reasons cause of this when she tries to dance again.  A man will never ask her to spend her life with him while presenting a ring.  She’ll never be able to hold her own child.  Oh, God… What can I do?

“Kill me…”

I can’t.

Albert let his left arm slip from her right side and threw the back of his coat to the right.  Resting in the back of his pants at the base of his spine a 9mm.  Walter could see this and wanted to stop Albert.  Albert held the gun in front of him for a second.  He heard Walter take one step forward and then pointed the gun at Walter…

Click off the safety.

Click!

Slide the bullet into the chamber.

Ka-Click!

Shoot the bastard.  Let the girl hear him die.  Just… pull the trigger.

            Walter appeared unafraid.  Before him knelt on the ground by the butchers table was Albert.  In his right arm, the girl with no hands, in his left hand a gun pointed at Walter’s forehead.   Albert’s eyes were hateful and rested on either side of the gun barrel from Walter’s perspective.  This changes everything.

            Ease the trigger back.  Breath.  Let every child he has done this to have their revenge.

“Please kill me.”  She whispered half-dead already.

Albert turned his head back to the girl.  The gun followed as if by itself.

“What do you think your doing?”  Walter said loudly.

Albert simultaneously turned his head and saw the anger show through on Walters face.  He also let his right hand fall to the floor.  Her head balanced for a moment on the barrel of the gun.  Albert closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. 

The sound rang out like cannon fired instead.

Her pain was over.  She was gone.

Chapter 8: The Soundtrack of Madness

Albert snaps out of his free roaming flashback and reminds himself of why he had entered the police station in the first place: Walter Dwyer.  This crazy old man made the Manson look like a sitcom family.  Walter always had to tag along with Albert on family jobs.  Albert has but one rule when it comes to his work: No kids.  That doesn’t work for Mel,

I’m not trying to make orphans here Al, Mel would say. 

So Mel would call upon Walter.  The only person willing to take care of the little ones that can’t get on the big rides at Disney.  He is the most twisted, disgusting, deranged, sick-psychopath Albert or anyone ever had the displeasure of coming across.  The scream of Walter’s last and quite young victim fills Albert’s darkest nightmares.  For his unpredictable nature and psychopathic tendencies that make him very non-humorous, all Maroni’s men agree that making friends with Walter is simply not an option. 

The one and only time Albert had to stand by while Walter slowly mutilated a young girl is still fresh in his mind: The high-pitched screams and Walter mocking her pain with a smile.  The sound of a dull knife slicing through flesh and bone was like someone taking to the trunk of a tree with a butter knife.  Walter’s sickest pleasure was using dull instruments.  He felt the difficulty made the suffering all the sweeter. 

On that occasion a few weeks ago Albert had waited outside the abandoned meat locker that was inside the seemingly abandoned warehouse where Mel had done much of his business.  Albert did not want to be there but this time around Walter insisted.  It was as though he felt that if Albert hung around he might learn to enjoy what Walter was doing. 

Enjoy it!  Albert thought, Like it was a popular show on the telly and I just needed to give it a chance.

No, not partaking without trying is not a reason to assume that Albert is close-minded, just sane.  Walter went to work on the girl immediately.  Her screams were, literally, piercing.  As though Albert was cleaning both ears at the same time and accidentally shoved sewing needles into his eardrums instead of cotton swabs.  The faint sound of a knife cutting through flesh accompanied her screams, Albert could not get his headphones on fast enough.  Guilt and pain rushed through his blood as he set his Mp3 player to random and pressed play.  Music was a poor substitute for his old addiction to painkillers.  But music was the only substitute at hand.

A song by Muse started Albert’s wait…

A song by Metallica followed…

Pink Floyd…

A dance tune by Daft Punk…

A Classic by Hendrix…

And Zeppelin…

And so on…

 Albert likes a variety of music but mostly rock.  Strangely his favorite, The Beatles, never played despite the fact that every song they ever made is on his players’ hard drive.  It felt like he had listened through a whole concert before Walter reappeared from behind the cold steel door.  The silhouette created from the light behind gave only detail to the fact that Walter is short and quite over-weight.  As the guitar solo of a song called “Bat Country” ran in Albert’s ear he took in more detail of Walter as Walter drew closer to him.

Walter is balding and the horseshoe pattern hair around his head is reddish-white.  His skin is very pale.  When sleeping he could just as easily be thought of as dead.  He was wearing a butcher’s apron that just barely covered his big belly.  Behind that a full-body plastic raincoat, a Malibu style orange t-shirt tucked into a large pair of beige slacks. 

Albert took in the sight he had hoped never to see.  As the light melted away the darkness covering Walters front Albert could see what he was missing.  Walter’s chest was covered in blood.  Albert pulled one headphone out of his left ear and could hear the girl screaming again. 

What?!?!  Albert thought, she’s still alive.

Walter was smiling and in his chubby little hands he was holding two items equal in size.  Albert did not want to believe that he was seeing them but there was no denying what his eyes were relentlessly telling him.  They were hands.  Two precious, little hands that ought to have a teen fashion magazine in the left, and a cell-phone in the right.  But those hands were in the hands of one sadistic old fat bastard.  The sight of Walter playing with those two small, severed hands almost caused Albert to vomit.  Albert heard the singer in his right ear and the little girl’s screams in his left.

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU DOING TO HER?” Albert got up from his chair with authority and pulled the headphone from his right ear.  The music was gone.

“Oh, come on and see Al.  I could always use another hand.”  Walter laughed and gestured to what he was holding.

Albert started to march towards the locker and the screams got louder.  Once at the entrance Albert pulled aside the plastic draping and looked at what was crying for mercy on the other side.  

Chapter 7: "Rats! They're everywhere."

Albert himself does carry a leather bag full of goodies designed to make an obvious crime scene useless.  Albert’s means of despair are his two angry hands which when clenched have broken many a man’s jaw.  Albert also carries a S/W 9mm pistol, like Joe’s.  In fact, Joe gave Albert the pistol.  None of the other men know why, but they do agree that maybe Joe should have given Albert flowers, candy or a puppy.  Albert’s most famous means to an end is his axe, which looks more like a cross between an axe and a scythe.  The amber wooden handle is about two-feet long.  The head goes in two directions:  The axe side looks like it’s used for chopping wood and the other side of the top is a curved blade like a sickle.  The weapon looks like calligraphy “P.”  It also looks incredibly dangerous even for the person using it. 

“Are you the ‘Jawbreaker’ Albert?”

Albert is the person known to everybody as “Jawbreaker,” but he gave the Commissioner no answer.  Again, Albert had no intention of confirming or denying his secret identity.  The Commissioner picked up on this and moves on.

“Then there’s the big man, Melvin Maroni.  There is no file that we keep on him.  No secret document for privileged eyes only.  You see, you don’t become the king of the underworld without a few dirty cops on the payroll.  Dirty rats!  They’re everywhere.  I don’t need to tell you that sniffing those rats out is harder then… do you know who they are?

“Who?  Your dirty cops?”

“Yeah!”

“Sorry, mate.” Albert says honestly, “Only the governor knows all the players at the match.  He code names them too, but I never paid much attention to that.”

  

“Of course,” the Commissioner does not believe Albert.  “Well my predecessor decided before I joined the team that the best way to confuse the rats is to put the cheese all over the maze.  Essentially give the information we had to the entire Police force.  Even embellish the facts a little.  You see, anytime there was a file on Mel it somehow went missing… a long with anyone leading investigations against him.  This method became a double-edged sword.  Officers investigating Mel could remain anonymous and it confused Mel’s men on the inside, but it also gave Mel his notorious reputation here in town.  The average citizen feels they know more about him then the police do.”

Albert can’t sit in the chair anymore.

“Mel simply inherited the business from his Grandfather.  It seems the old geezer could not give the business over to his own son, what being dead and all.”

“Dead?” Albert sat forth serving the duel purpose of emphasizing his shock and giving his ass some relief.

“Only after he went completely insane.”  The Commissioner reassured Albert.  “He was committed to the Fairview Asylum for the Criminally Insane.  While there in the 70’s he was subjected to various forms of experimental treatments including the ever-popular electro-shock.   But to no avail, he died by hanging himself with his own underwear in the bathroom.  Sick bastard just let his feet out from under himself in the stall doorway.  If he wanted to live all he had to do was stand up.  During their grief Mel started to be groomed for the role of Don.  At a very young age too, Mel went into this game with enthusiasm it seems.  On his twenty-first Birthday, which we refer to as Black Friday, the Families enemies disappeared off the face of the Earth and all properties, lumber yards, Casino’s, abandoned or otherwise were put in his name over night.  Two years later Papa Maroni passed away and Mel’s empire engulfed the entire city.  The rest, as they say, is History.”

“This is all well and boring copper, but the reason I am here has nothing to do with me or any of the men you may just mentioned.”

“Really!” The Commissioner leans back in his chair again and crosses his arms.  “Then why are you here, Al?”

“That sick wanker.  The child-torturing killer.  Walter Dwyer.”

            “Who the hell is Walter Dwyer?

Chapter 6: The United Nations (continued)

Gaining ground on the hospital and reminiscing about the past few days gives little comfort to Albert.  The events that lead him back to his addiction run through his head with out letting up.  A theatre of cruelty set to auto-play in his mind.  The girl Walter took away and slaughtered, Tony and his girlfriend… what else could motivate Albert to do the right thing?  Was he doing the right thing?  More important to Albert then any of these things to consider is…

Will I get away with this?

Albert’s mind takes him back and answers that question for him.  The turning point of whether or not he would succeed replayed in his head without him even knowing about it.

Albert was still stuck in the Commissioners office.  After walking into the police station of his own will, Albert, was beginning to feel like he was trapped on an island with a talkative 80-year-old librarian.  Without a care for the bored expressions on Albert’s face the Commissioner opened the next file and continued.

“The second gunman’s name is Tala.  Tala is a butcher.  His weapon of choice appropriately is a two-and-a-half-foot machete that dangles by his left arm under his heavy black leather trench coat.  Like Joe, however, he also carries a 48 AL auto/pump Shotgun.  Has a broad and strong build and stands just a half-foot shorter than you.  Probably the sickest and oldest man in Mel’s service.  He is an animal.  Before you came along, someone sent someone else to the back room of a restaurant.  That restaurant was a front for the Japanese triads.  This person killed everybody in there.  We believe that person was Tala.  Witnesses only heard a symphony of screams, shotguns blasts and a machete cleaving flesh.  One person said they saw Tala emerge from the poker room with his shotgun, machete and entire body covered in blood.  There was even blood in his long black hair… braided, out of tradition… I guess.  Native American, year-round-tan, about 5-7, and dark eyes.  That witness by the way… gone!  Despite his menacing appearance matching the equally messy crime scenes he leaves in his wake, it seems Tala actually has quite the sense of humor.  The few time we’ve heard his voice during our interceptions he manages to make the other voice laugh.  Tala has the worst phone name going.  Why do you guys call him “Wolf?”

“He said it was a translation of his name,” Albert replies, “I think he’s just putting us on.”

The Commissioner let out an audible nod and opened the last file.  Albert knew that if this file was not about Walter then the Police really did not know why he was there.

“Then there’s Reid.”  The moment the Commissioner said his name Albert knew he would have to offer a little knowledge about the fat sick man to the fat policeman.

“Reid is an African American man whose time in America has not shaken his heavy accent.  His first weapon of choice was not a choice at all.  For Mel’s employment we gather that it is Reid whom uses a laser sighted assault rifle to pick off Mel’s enemies from a mile away.  Reid is the sharp shooter we’ve been looking for isn’t he?”

Another rhetorical question, the Commissioner continues.

“Reid wishes he wasn’t a criminal.  Seems like if there were another one on your crew that would side with you Albert it’s him.  We did some digging.  Reid doesn’t even like guns.  Unfortunately, for him the first AK-47 assault rifle that he ever held was given to him by the cold dead hands of his own brother.  A story therein that Reid, I’m sure, does not like to tell.  But that’s a story all too familiar to anyone who comes out of Sierra Leone alive.  Mel took the illegal immigrant in and in exchange Reid’s skills as a marksman are at Mel’s disposal.  When we suspected Reid to be an accomplice of Mel’s we tried to have him deported.  But that never got past immigration.  It seems that Mel has friends there too cause Reid is now 100% citizen of this… (ahem) fine country.  A fact we’re certain he is not aware of.  Reid uses the laser-sighted rifle, but also always carries the same shotgun as Joe and Tala.  Because of his keen eyesight and skills as a sharpshooter, Reid has been identified as  “Raptor” true?”

Albert nods.  Oops.

The files are all read.  Like the outbox of a happy accountant during tax season the Commissioner leaned forward as if to ask, did I leave anything out?

Albert wondered…

“What do we know about you?”  The commissioner answered an unasked question.

The Commissioner can read minds.

“Nothing to write home about,” he said seemingly at ease.  “The phone calls never referred to you.  Oh, we knew you were involved but unlike your classmates you never got busted for something stupid like slapping your girlfriend.  You are the last puzzle piece we need to fit.  At all the crime scenes someone has made it impossible to identify for certain who has been killed and by who.  Imagine!  Being a police detective and walking into a bloodied room where it is quite clear a murder has taken place.  But there is no body.  Forensics shows up and it is impossible for them to use any of the gallons of blood strewn about the place to identify a victim cause the blood has been tainted chemically.  Fingerprints can be taken but without a murder weapon or a body to match it, all the fingerprints one could need, become useless in a court of law.  This tells us that your work for Mel was and has been given to you directly, in person.  Which means that whatever he has had you doing he did not trust to tell you over the phone, not even in code.  If this is true then it makes you the most legit, valueable, eye-witness a D.A. could ask for.  All we got on you is your nickname… we think…  A silenced witness once mentioned a guy known as “Jawbreaker.”

Chapter 5: The United Nations

“It seems it wasn’t long before you, Albert, stood in front of Mel’s other henchmen to become Mel’s personal favorite.”

            The Commissioner pulled over a stack of files from the side of his desk and opened the top one.  The wall behind the Commissioners dark brown desk seemed to be made of file cabinets.  The only area in the office that didn’t have a cabinet or staff post pinned to the wall was an open-blind window.  Through the window was the lovely scenery of a weathered red brick wall.  What’s left of the bare walls that could still be seen were a faded lime green.  As though the walls themselves had banned together to hold off from turning grey for as long as possible.

“The other men in Mel’s service include three uniquely gifted and psychotic gunmen and Mel’s personal driver.  The drivers’ name is David.”

            The Commissioner leaned back in his beaten lazy-boy chair as though telling his grandson a bedtime story.  He looked down his nose through rectangular glasses at the file.  The file was so close to his face that all Albert could see were his eyes.

“David… is not a big boy like you, Albert.  He tries to be intimidating but he stands only as high as your chest.  All but one of the henchmen, do.  But David here seems to have something, however unspoken, to prove.  Arrested only a handful of times for assault, aggravated assault, carrying a concealed weapon and resisting arrest.  As far as we can tell though he never discharged as single round from his weapon of choice.  He carries a custom hard chrome Desert Eagle .50AE caliber with a shiny white finish and gold bow and arrow emblazoned on the handle.  The bow and arrow logo represents David’s favorite past-time, archery.  It’s the only weapon we ever caught David with and despite it being confiscated on occasion he always manages to get it back.  I guess he leaves his real bow and arrow at home, huh?”

The Commissioner looked up from the file at Albert.

Nothing.

“Shaved head, tanned Caucasian, and is always wearing two necklaces under his usual white dress shirt.  One necklace is the cross and is a symbol to David of his father, Michael, who was raised a Roman Catholic.  The other necklace is the Star of David and it symbolizes David’s mother, Rose, who grew up in a very proud Jewish family.  So proud was Rose’s Jewish family that she was excommunicated by the lot of them when she married David’s father.  God only knows how the Roman Catholic Church felt about the union.  David’s parents are still together to this very day, and David is always wearing a thin-framed pair of dark sunglasses and an equally thin and dark-brown goatee.  David never talks, especially to us.  He is like a machine.  He is told where to go by Mel and he goes there.  Because of his quiet nature and the color of his gun we’ve identified David as being referred to as “Casper” in our intercepted phone calls.  Did I leave anything out?”

“David’s mother was a Jew?” Albert asked.

“Yes, still is actually, Albert.  Excommunicated… for love.”  The Commissioner appeared to be surprised that there was something Albert actually didn’t know.

Touching, Albert thought

The Commissioner moved the file aside and opened the next one.  He leaned back in his chair and continued.

            “The leading gunman of the three-gunman crew is Joe.  His weapon of choice is a 48 AL auto/pump shotgun and he keeps a loaded S/W 9mm tucked in the left side of his black blazer, at least that’s where it was when we arrested him outside a nightclub last year for beating his old girlfriend.  Joe is only 28 years old and could only be leader because he is the only other Italian in the group… or because he is Mel’s nephew.  Joe has all the makings of a… Quote “hot-tempered-moron,” words from Mel’s own mouth describing Joe after the old Uncle bailed him out… again!  Joe is third generation American.  Joe looks like your average Italian mafia don, but a don he is not and when talking to him one on one in interrogation we found that his tough guy Brooklyn accent magically disappeared.  When Uncle Mel showed up, Joe’s ‘Michael-Corleone-accent’ somehow resurfaced from his voice box.  Joe’s father, Vincent, doesn’t even have an accent and it seems even less to do with the family business.  Unfortunately, looks like his son has just watched the Godfather trilogy one too many times.  He has full black hair that he grows out and gels down into a clumpy mane. 

            “Joe and me aren’t exactly mates.” Albert added.  “He does see himself as our leader, but I get my orders from his Uncle and I never do anything Joe asks of me.”

            “So he has no say-so when it comes to you and it bothers him as his ambition is to rule the ‘family business’ when Mel is no more.  Is that about right?”

            “Indeed.”

            “So because of his misguided leadership skills and his fake Brooklyn accent everyone refers to Joe as ‘Da Head’ or ‘Head’ over the phone.

            “… Which is short for ‘Dick-Head.’

            The Commissioner laughed, “Seriously?”

            “Absolutely!  Nobody likes Joe.  He is our crews resident fuck-up.”

            The laughter continued for a few moments but only from the Commissioners side of the desk.  As Albert prepared to hear the profile of two more people that the police have had their eye on he realized that there had been no mention of Walter. 

Do they know nothing about the Godfather of the sick and twisted, Albert wondered.