Evil Origins

chapter SEVENTEEN

  Renaud

  Drouillard Road wasn’t exactly barren, but it sure seemed that way as I made my way down the street. The city was affectionately called the Earth’s Rectum and if that was the case Drouillard Road was the shit stain, but I had always liked it here. Mind you, my memory of the place was long before the city had been hit by hard times. Hell, I don’t even think Detroit was considered the crime capital of America back then. Those days, a lot like my own innocence, were long gone and never to be recovered. I was headed towards Baby’s Hideaway, which wasn’t exactly the classiest bar but unless things had changed drastically since I had left it was still the place where the less than savory types hung out. That’s where I would find the ones who almost ran me over at Jenny’s place and hopefully that would lead straight to Jenny.

  I found the Lincoln parked right across from the bar. Not a lot had changed since I was here last. The old place still towered over the surrounding buildings. Not that it was a giant place, an old two story with a square front and an arched doorway. It had that old-time corner store feel to it with giant windows that popped out and surrounded the door. As far as I could remember, it had always been a crappy bar that attracted bikers, criminals, and two-bit whores. The building looked worn, that was for sure. Even from this angle I could see the smooth, weathered bricks that desperately needed mortar and possibly few coats of paint since giant patches had begun to peel off.

  Surprisingly, even here in what some called a shantytown, somebody always found the inspiration to add beauty to a place like this. The side of the brick building had a portrait surrounded by a giant white circle. It was the image of a 1934 V8 Ford like you’d expect old time gangsters to drive. The details were so clear that even though there were bullet holes etched into what appeared to broken glass and guns firing from the windows with blood splattered everywhere, in my eyes it was still a work of art. It seemed to me that this mural was a bittersweet tattoo on the face of the city. Such skill went into its construction and yet it was still a true representation of what happened to the city. I loved it, though. It felt real and true even if I missed the events that lead to it.

  The bar was locked up like Fort Knox, with bars on the windows and the doors sealed shut. I wasn’t surprised since it was 4 AM and only the naughty ones stayed out all night, as my mother used to say. I always wanted to be a naughty boy, but never had the chance. At the time when most men get wild and crazy, I was courting Jenny. In a way, loving her had saved me from this life even if it essentially ended it too.

  The Lincoln wasn’t exactly an exotic sports car, but it was meant for power and speed. Oversized tires and a raised hood were the first indication. This car was meant to blend in to the general public until it was time to let it rip. Examining the car didn’t provide any clues to where the car had been, only that this was one man’s pride and joy.

  I slipped around the side of the bar and made my way towards the back of the building through a trash-filled alley. Garbage was scattered all over the place and the horrible stench of fresh vomit was everywhere. This wasn't anything special though. You can find a hundred alleys like this in any city. What was truly special, or at least what used to be, was hidden in the basement at the back. I turned the corner and saw two giant tattooed men standing on either side of the door with their hands crossed, glancing from side to side like they expected the devil himself to jump out at any minute. It was easy to see that both men were once powerhouses with rippling abs and mountain sized arms, but time had stolen that away. They were still giants, but where muscles once bulged only loose skin dangled. Even their tattoos looked like ink spots rather than terrifying skulls or whatever that might have once been. The thing that really stood out was the “1%” forever etched in their necks. A few years from now when their bones turned to dust, they would regret that one percent. Everybody did when they had to face their demons. The one percenters the most, though.

  "This is a private party. Invitation only,” growled the larger one as he flipped his long, lanky grey hair back and looked me over.

  "I am not looking to join the party, I’m just looking for somebody," I replied as I pulled a small stack of twenties out of my pocket. Money always had the effect of opening doors and loosening lips, in my experience.

  "If you are looking for whores we don't have any here,” he said quietly, staring at the stack of cash. Handing me a business card, he continued. "Just go to this address and pick on the one you want. Text her and if she is available you’re all set."

  The smaller of the two smiled at the words pick the one you want. It was hard to believe now that ordering a hooker was just as easy as ordering take-out, or maybe it had always been this way and I never noticed. I had died before I had even started to truly live or have a chance to doing thing like that, so I wouldn’t know.

  I flipped through the bills one by like I was counting them, never letting my gaze leave his.

  "I don't need cheap hookers. I am looking for someone specific."

  When I hit the hundreds I could see his interest pick up and he tightened his grip on his arms and snorted, "Do I look like have information?"

  I stopped at the two-thousand-dollar mark and responded, "No, and it doesn't cost a mere quarter to talk to you."

  Rolling his eyes, he sighed and started talking.

  "Ok, you tell me who you’re looking for and I’ll tell you if I know them." Snatching the money and slipping it into his pocket, he barked "And no refunds!” as he leaned against the wall.

  Pointing to the street, I asked "Do you see the blue Lincoln parked across the street?" I could just barely see the front of it, but I figured whoever owned it was well enough known that just mentioning it would bring a name to mind. "I need to know who the owner is."

  He reached into his pocket, the little chain that hung off his wallet jingling as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He plopped one into his mouth and lit it, revealing one of those cast-iron rings that could be bought at any fair ground or flea market. His was a horned skull with cheap plastic gems for eyes. When things went bad I would need to remember to watch out for his right hook.

  "Now listen, friend. It's not who was driving the car that you need to worry about because any number of assholes could be driving that car. It's who owns the car that counts." Taking a drag and making circular motions with his mouth to make smoke rings, he added "Now if I was you and wanted to grow old, I would just walk away.” He mimed doing so with his hands. "Take my advice, brother. Whatever they took from you, said to you, or did to you isn't worth dying over. The owner of that car will kill you. He is the guy that bad men fear. I am bad enough and tough enough. Spent most of my life in the Kingston Pen and I would not want to cross him."

  "I am not that smart." I could see the other guy tensing up as he glanced at his friend. His hand was slipping into his pocket and turned slightly. "I really need that name."

  "And what is so important that you are willing to face the devil himself over it?" He was sliding his hand into his back pocket, but I think it was the fear in his eyes that scared me the most. If even the idea of the owner scared a hardened criminal, then Jenny was in bigger trouble then even I imaged.

  I slowly lifted my arms in the air watching both men flinching as I did, "I’m just showing you that I am unarmed. My beef isn't with you, but the owner of the Lincoln."

  "Listen brother, I can't tell you who owns it. It would be like setting you up for murder. I am a killer, but I never killed women, kids, or random strangers. Everybody I ever hit had it coming."

  "Just give me the name."

  A streak of silver cut through the darkness as he screamed, "Get the hell out of here before I kill you myself!" His friend already had his fists clenched around a pair of brass knuckles and was waiting for the word to pound on me.

  "Relax, friend. My beef is not with you." Both men were getting too irritated and nervous for my liking so I decided to end this now. Opening my hands and letting two little
red gems attached to a silver chain drop I whispered, "Scistumagisremittererelaxat corpus, et sentissuavior." Both men immediately leaned closer trying to hear what I was saying more clearly. "Scistumagisremittererelaxat corpus, et sentissuavior," I repeated. As they were lost in the words and concentrating on the gems I kept whispering. "Vis ad relaxat. Ad amicum. Vosrelaxat. Scistumagisremittererelaxat corpus, et sentissuavior."

  Most people think a good spell is in the words and it's true to a point. It's not the words themselves, but how you see them and can direct the magic inside of you. There were key words, so to speak. Everyone had their own trigger words. Mine were just a little older and had been handed down through the ages. They were both standing there, so relaxed that their bodies waved slightly from side to side. If they were any more relaxed they would certainly have fallen over.

  I asked them again.

  "I need to know who owns the car. Can't you tell me who owns that Lincoln?"

  One of the men smiled and said, "The King owns it, but most times his brother Handsome Johnny drives it." Giggling, he added, "But he isn't really a gangster. Johnny is just a pretty boy who follows his brother’s footsteps. He's a pussy at best, but his brother would kill me for saying so."

  Keeping my tone reassuring I asked, "And where do I find Johnny and his brother?"

  "Most nights here playing poker, but they didn't come tonight. They have bigger fish in the pot, I guess."

  "What kind of big fish are they cooking?"

  Still smiling he responded, "Don't know. I’m just the doorman and you live a lot longer if you don't ask too many questions."

  "Thank you. Now can I get into the poker game?" I wanted to see if I could arrange a meeting or at least send a message to this man the king.

  He was almost in tears as he whined, "You can't... It's by invitation only and the door doesn't open until the game is over. Even if I pound on the door screaming that the cops were here it wouldn’t open until the game is finished. Our job is to escort anyone who owes more than he has on him home to get it or if need be, to make an example out of him." Obviously there was a back door someplace or an old rumrunners tunnel. Nobody ever admitted that they still existed, but they were definitely there.

  The smaller balding guy with the piercing over his eye was smirking and laughing like there was a joke that only he knew about. It was more of chuckle and he kept looking over to my new friend.

  "What's so funny?" I asked.

  "I was just remembering a freeloader that couldn't pay his debt."

  "Tell what was funny about this freeloader."

  "We brought him home and waited. No money. He asked the King for a week and still no money. So one day we wait until he is out with the family and when he comes home we grab them."

  "And after you grabbed them what did you do?" The bigger of the two started weeping as the memory came to him, but the smaller one just kept smiling. No remorse in his heart at all. I had seen too many of his kind and they all got more pain than they might have deserved, but I never felt sorry them. Hell is a hothouse filled with fire and brimstone and we all build it brick by brick as we live our lives.

  "You see, this guy had a beautiful daughter." There was something in the twinkle in his eyes that made me hate him. Not just want to hurt him, but literally hate him like I have hated no other.

  I didn't need to hear the whole story. Some images, once they got stuck in your head you could never get them out.

  “Silence,” I said firmly. Both men froze in place as I stared them down.

  I drove my hand into the smaller man's chest as I said "Combustio!" placing the image of a white flame firmly in my mind. I could feel the heat from my hands growing hotter and hotter as the flame started to expand and burn away his flesh. His mouth opened as he prepared to scream, but he went quiet when I repeated myself.

  "I said silence." His face contorted in pain and went pale as he started gasping for air. The agony must have been unbearable as his body started burning from the inside out. I could stop him from screaming out with force of will, but even if I wanted to I couldn't stop the pain. His flesh became dust and fell to the ground like fresh snow to be caught by the wind and scattered everywhere. Even the bone was turned to dust and the dust was lost amongst the dirt and trash that laid along the alley.

  My legs shook as I had used up most of my strength. Dropping to my knees, my whole body trembled and my head started to pound like I had had a hangover after spending three days drunk. I struggled to clear my eyes knowing I should have saved my strength, but I had no regrets. We must all pay a price for our sins and now his penance was beginning.

  “It seems like you are allowing too many distractions to get in the way of your real reason for being here,” a familiar voice whispered from some place above me. I scanned the roof tops trying to find Murlin, but she was just as ellusive as she was beautiful. “What purpose is there in chasing down a ghost from the past that belongs in the past? Master, you are allowing her to distract you from your true purpose.” She slid down the building and transformed into her human self. The one that she let the world see to protect herself.

  “I am not doing it for her.” No, I was doing it for Mike. That look in his eyes was pleading for me to find her. That look told me that she was his unattainable love and even though he'd never hold her or kiss her she was still his love.

  Before I had a chance to finish she snapped, “No you are doing it because she, like this city, is a piece of the past you are trying to reclaim. It’s like finding a lost pair of jeans in the bottom of the closet or your underwear in-between the couch cushions at an old boyfriend’s house. No matter how much you want squeeze you ass into them, they never quite fit right.”

  "I am not trying to reclaim any past glory. I don't think my past is filled with anything that I would consider glorious." I thought maybe once for a heartbeat, I had felt loved but the pieces of the puzzle never pointed to glory. She did have a point though. I was running out of time and time was precious to me now.

  “Yes you are, but we can argue this subject later. What are you going to with him?” she said with a disgusted look on her face as she pointed at the remaining man.

  He was still standing there weeping and trembling staring down at the little pile of sand that used to his best friend. There was regret in his eyes as the memories came to life and that it was that regret that saved his life. I hadn’t actually thought about what I was going to do with him. Obviously he had list of crimes to pay for as long as his arm, but it was that look of regret and heartbreak that made it impossible to kill him. Every man has the right to clear his heart of the burden of his sins if he truly feels regrets for his past actions and deeds. I have walked through the valley of the dead. It’s a bitch. It’s like walking from the desert and stepping into a volcano and then the horrors start. No, I would give him a chance to wipe the slate clean.

  Pointing at him I asked, “Are you responsible for any unsolved crimes or have any warrants out on you?”

  Dropping his head like a child he muttered “Yes, many unsolved crimes.”

  “Go to the police station and confess them all tonight. Every last one.” I was sure that he would spend the rest of his life in prison, but we all needed to pay for our sins. Why should he be any different?

  “Yes sir,” was his only response and he slowly started walking towards the end of the alley at a slow, sluggish pace. He was emptying his pockets, dropping a couple of knives, a pair of brass knuckles, a couple of small packages which I assumed were drugs, and a small handgun. I had made the right choice. Prison was so much better then leaving him on the streets.

  Murlin snapped, “You can’t be kind if you are going to do what needs to be done.” Pointing at the man walking away she snorted, “Him, Jenny, and even Mike are just distractions. You cannot afford distractions. Not if you are going to do what must be done before he comes to claim you.”

  “I am not distracted,” I snapped, still watching him walk away
. Distraction or not I made a choice and would follow it through until the end.

  A blinding light broke through the darkness. The light was so bright that I could barely see his silhouette off in the distance. I could barely see the other man’s bulky figure through what appeared to be smog and light. “I need to confess my sins,” he screamed. “My soul hangs in the balance.” I brought my arm up to protect my eyes, but it didn’t help me see what was going at us. I knew that it was a car creeping through the alley towards us. There was the sound of metal being tossed around as it came towards us.

  My eyes were still adapting to the eye-burning light when I heard Murlin scream, “Get out of here.” The engine roared as if a whole herd of horses trapped under the hood had been set free to stampede right over me.