The Dark Retribution Series

Chapter 1-2

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a statement. It was decision time. For Artie. Say what had to be said, Artie. Say it firmly and without hesitation. Let the Angel of Death, as some people whispered this man was, decide if he would help or not.

“We’ve got to take this guy off the streets. We’ve got to stop him. Stop him before he kills again. So, so I’m asking you to help us.”

Silence.

Slivers of light exploded in the interior of the cab momentarily as they slid underneath street lights. Explosions of light. Followed by enveloping, inky darkness. Surreal. Down the empty streets the cab flew. Streets walled in on both sides by long rows of old apartment buildings and brand-new apartment complexes. Sitting in the back seat of the cab Artie waited. Waited for some kind of response to come out of the front seat. Waited. And waited. Each passing second working like a carpenter’s file sliding across raw nerves.

When the dark figure in front answered the man’s harsh whisper, it almost sent Artie screaming out of his seat. But somehow, somehow, he controlled his urges and tried to react calmly.

“Why would I want to help you, Artie? You or the police.”

He blinked a couple of times. He opened his mouth to answer. But nothing came out. He realized he had no idea why this man would help him. Why would a killer hunt a killer? The only thing he could do was shrug his shoulders and shake his head in despair.

“I can’t answer that,” he admitted, smiling weakly. “I don’t know why I came down here. Desperation, I guess. If my desk sergeant or the task force lieutenant found out I was in this cab with you I’d be suspended indefinitely. Maybe even arrested. Certainly fired. But something tells me we’re not going to find this guy. Not by our normal methods. It’s like this guy isn’t human. He makes no mistakes. He disappears into the night. Leaves nothing behind. So I thought, I thought, you might be our best hope. Our only hope to nab this guy.”

Silence. Again.

The car rocking and swaying as it moved. The flashing explosions of light. The shadows of parked cars and SUVs whipping past them. The rows upon rows of townhomes and apartment buildings. All of that painted in layers upon Artie’s hyperactive conscience as the figure in front remained silent and drove.

“How do you know I am not this madman? You’ve heard the rumors. You know what I sometimes do for a living. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? So tell me, why not consider me as a prime suspect?”

Artie shook his head no. Silently. Vigorously. The one thing Artie was sure of was this; the guy known as Smitty wasn’t a homicidal maniac. He didn’t kill for some sickly thrill. Some perverted pleasure. Smitty was a professional. A master at blending in and out of a crowd. Of taking out his assignment with a cold efficiency a lot of his fellow police officers grudgingly admired. And so far, so far as he knew, this dark-eyed man had never killed an innocent victim. Each of his kills had been someone from out of the crime world. Someone who deservedly needed to die.

“I know it’s not you. I know this. These murders don’t fit your MO. They don’t make sense. Your hits always make sense. You hit someone for money. But your targets are slimeballs who need to be put down. Uh, no offense, by the way. About the slime ball thing.”

A flicker of a smile flashed across the dark-eyed man’s thin lips. But the eyes never blinked. They kept moving. Watching. Calculating.

“What do I do with this man if I find him? Do I kill him? Do I hand him over to you?”

“I dunno, Smitty. I dunno,” he answered.

Truthfully. He didn’t know.

If suddenly a street cop came walking into the precinct house with this guy cuffed what would he say? How could he explain to everyone this miraculous nab when the entire detective division was completely stumped? How could he explain this to his partner? Joe would have a thousand questions to ask. Questions he couldn’t possibly answer. Not in a hundred years. Not in a thousand years.

“You’re asking me to find this guy and take care of him. You don’t necessarily want me to kill him. But you can’t bring him in. And I can’t reveal myself to your bosses. Interesting. What we have here, Artie, is a conundrum. A social intersection of impossibilities. A most curious dilemma.”

It was as if he was a giant balloon filled with helium and a kid came along with a big needle and stuck it in him. All the energy, all the worry, the fears, the emotions, dissipated out of him and into the night like escaping helium out of the balloon. Dropping his head in defeat he stared at his hands silently. Blinking back tears of frustration.

“This is what you’re going to do.”

The voice. Not so harsh. Still a whisper. But softer. Almost gentle.

Looking up, Artie’s eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror and saw the black eyes of the killer staring at him. A flicker of hope burst into his gut. And he waited. Waited to hear what Smitty had in mind.

“Tomorrow night at exactly a quarter to midnight you’ll leave everything the police have in a folder in the back seat of this cab. The cab will be parked on the corner of Fourth and Elmore. In front of a liquor store called Bud’s Light. You know where it’s at?”

Artie nodded. He knew the place well. Been there several times to buy a bottle or two of good wine on the way home from work.

“Everything, Artie. Forensics reports. Photos. Everything. Even the doodles the detectives scribble on the notepads. Can you do this for me?”

Yes. Absolutely.

“Do it by yourself, Artie. Don’t involve your partner in this. Don’t tell anyone else about our little meeting. Don’t make me start thinking this might be a trap. Just a friendly warning. If I think you’re trying to screw me, Artie, I’ll come for you. And I’ll find you. Understand?”

Gulp. Yes, he understood. There would be no one else he’d talk to. There would be no traps. Smitty had nothing to worry about in that department.

Silence. A long stretch of terror-filled silence.

And then the screeching of brakes and the car rapidly decelerating to a stop so suddenly he was almost thrown into the front seat. When his momentum threw him back into his seat he looked up and out of his door side window. And blinked a couple of times in amazement. His house. The small ranch house sat back deep from the street, a carpet of thick green grass between him and the house. The lights to the house were off. Except for the front porch light. The front porch light was always left on. His wife always left that on for him to see his way to the front door.

He threw the back door open and started to get out. But the whisper froze him in his seat.

“Remember what I said, Artie. About not making me worried. I know where you live. I know where your wife works. I know where you hide the spare key to the house. I know about the g*n you keep under the mattress on your side of the bed. I know, Artie. I know everything about you.”

He barely had time to slam the back door closed before the cab took off down the street. Bright red tail lights lit up the night momentarily before disappearing around a street corner, leaving him standing almost in the middle of the street. He was shivering like a kid straight out of a cold shower. Shivering uncontrollably.

How the hell did he know about the g*n underneath the mattress? About the spare key? How?

Jesus.

Jesus.

He was scared. More scared than he had ever been in his life. Eyes staring into the void of the empty street in front of him he kept asking himself the same thing. Over and over. The same thing.

What the hell have I done? What the hell have I done? What the hell have I done?