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.
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