Monday evening, May 25th, 1992. It was approaching 9 p.m. Both Gerald and Frank took a sick day and stayed home from work. They needed time alone to talk about things--like what the Lieutenant said about Benny. Frank went to Gerald’s house and sat in his unbelievably filthy living room, drinking Bud and smoking Kool 100’s. It was the kind of environment Frank was used to. Gerald’s four Pit Bulls were caged in the kitchen and barked like the mad dogs they were when Gerald arrived just minutes earlier. The tormented beasts calmed down when they recognized Gerald’s familiar smell.
“That nigger has me worried,” Frank said, referring to Lt. Jefferson. “He made a special trip to my house just to tell me. He could have easily called me up. I’m in the book.”
Gerald brought another cold six pack from the refrigerator and placed it on the floor next to Frank’s feet. An ashtray loaded with cigarette butts, smoked to the nub, sat on an old splintered stack of pallets, Gerald’s coffee table. Though not barking, the dogs were whining plenty in the background as the two friends chatted.
“I called Chrissy earlier today,” Gerald said. “She’s all broken up about Murphy--said Chad hasn’t said a word since the funeral.”
Frank looked around the room and put his hands to his mouth.
“Man, it stinks in here more than usual,” Frank said, who usually didn’t complain about such things. “Have the dogs been inside all day?”
Gerald grabbed a beer and lit a cigarette.
“Yeah, they have. I was just about to let them out when you came.”
“Why don’t you do that,” Frank said. “I’m sad about my dogs. The nigger cop killed ‘em all.”
Gerald opened the cages and let the dogs out through the broken back screen door. All four relished their first taste of freedom of the day and careened out all at once, scampering around the backyard like they were trying out a new set of legs. They tired after a few minutes, then settled in their dog houses for the evening.
“We’ve got to do something about that motherfucker,” Frank said while Gerald reclined on his huge soft couch.
“If you’re referring to Benny the Jew you may as well forget it,” Gerald assured his anxious buddy. “That kike doesn’t have the balls to kill anyone. He’s a scared rabbit. Motherfucker, sending us to the pen like that. No, it’s someone else. Now think, who did Tommy and Murphy piss off?”
Frank took a long drag from his menthol cigarette and chugged the rest of his beer.
“Weinstein, the Jew, that’s who!” Frank exclaimed. “I don’t think Tommy spoke to Murphy all that much. Ever since Tommy got all big with his shop he stopped talking to all of us. It’s got to be the Jew.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Gerald surmised. “What would make him do something like this after all these years? If he wanted us dead he would have done that years ago.”
It was 9:17 p.m. and completely dark outside. Tyler Road had street lights but most were broken. The city didn’t allocate any funds to fix them and no one complained. Everyone on the block liked it that way. The black of night also suited Benny and Rings. After leaving the track they drove back to the bowling alley so Rings could get his suburban. Benny told Rings to follow him. It was going to take a while. They drove to Stagecoach Road. Rings didn’t know why but he dutifully followed his new dad to that old deserted road. Rings followed him all the way to the tree. The tree. Benny’s tree. Benny had to show it to Rings.
Benny parked his car deep to the side, past some bushes and into the woods, where it remained out of sight. Rings parked his white GMC next to Benny’s. They both got out of their vehicles and Benny touched Rings on his shoulder.
“Follow me,” Benny said, escorting Rings to the Jon boat where all of the evidence was stashed.
Though nervous, Rings curiously followed Benny until they came upon the hidden boat. Benny took off the cover, revealing his pistol, tranquilizer gun, drugs, clothes, pictures--everything.
“So now you know I’m for real,” Benny said while Rings gasped and adjusted his Public Enemy cap. “It’s all here. Everything you sold me--the guns, Sucostrin, needles, the works.”
“My God,” Rings said. “Look at all this shit.”
“Take a good look,” said Benny, showing Rings a picture he took of Tommy shortly after decapitating him in the lagoon.
Rings grabbed the picture and studied it then gave it back to Benny.
“Jesus, he doesn’t look human,” Rings gasped as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. “Oh shit, I touched it. I’ve got my fingerprints on it.”
Benny snickered. “Don’t worry about that. I’m going to destroy everything in a few days. Here, take a look at these, too,” handing Rings another set of prints. They were pictures of Tommy and Murphy being tortured.
“I took these pictures here,” Benny said as he pointed to the exact spot on the ground. “Right here! Right in the spot I’m standing now. Right here!”
“What are we doing right here?” Rings pensively asked as he handed the other photos back to Benny.
Benny took a few items from the boat then went to his car and pulled out the bag of drugs Rings brought that night.
“I need your help,” Benny said. “Can we use your truck?”
It was now approaching 10:45 p.m. Frank and Gerald were good and plastered and passed out--Gerald on his couch and Frank on the urine stained carpet. The dogs remained outside, drinking up the cool spring air and fast asleep.
Benny left his car on Stagecoach Road. Benny drove while Rings did his best to clean the inside of his messy GMC during the trip--mostly fast food wrappers. They were on their way to Gerald’s house. Benny had no idea Gerald was home. He only had one thing in mind that night--get rid of the dogs.
“I’d like to stop and tell J.J. I’m with friends,” Rings said. “He gets all worried when I don’t call.”
“Okay, good idea,” Benny agreed. “You can make a call from the Gas ‘N Go. Does J.J. know you’re with me?”
“Yes, I told him I was making a delivery. Don’t worry--everything’s cool.”
Benny pulled into the gas station and parked close to the front entrance. Rings got out.
“Be back in less than a minute,” Rings said while pulling a quarter out from his pants pocket.
Benny waited. His eyes immediately fixed at the sign next door: Gunther Tire & Auto Supply. I wonder who’s minding the store? Benny thought. Gee, I hope business is good. You know, a thing like murder can really put a damper on business. I sure hope it’s going well.
Rings emerged from the store with a smile on his face.
“What’s so funny?” Benny asked. “A girl make a pass at you or something?”
Rings got in the car, smiling ear to ear.
“J.J. told me he and Twila were arguing about money just now--says he needs a few thousand dollars to buy a powered wheelchair for Twila and doesn’t know where he can come up with the money. I didn’t tell him about the money I won. I want to surprise everyone.”
“You’re a fine son, Rings. Eddy would have been real proud of you. You’re just like him.”
Rings took that as the supreme compliment. He only heard good things about his father and wanted desperately to be like him. And what better than to hear these things from someone who knew him best.
They got back in the car and drove west down Route 12, heading towards Tyler Road. But they had to prepare.
“Rings, load up a Sucostrin dart for me please.”
“Sure Sox. What do you plan on doing with it?”
“I’ve got to take care of a dog or two. Have a few more ready just in case.”
Rings prepared half a dozen darts. He knew what he was doing and had them all ready in less than five minutes.
“I just thought of something,” Rings said. “Don’t you have to call your wife? Doesn’t she care where you are?”
Benny tucked a cold cigar in his mouth and looked at Rings like he already should know.
“What?” Rings asked. “What did I say?”
“Nothing,” said Benny. “Yes, I’m married to a pretty, smart, capable, shapely lady who gave birth to two wonderful children.”
“So? Sounds like a winner.”
“I thought so too. But she’s also a two-timer. Do you know who she was fucking around with? Tommy, that’s who. One of the guys I killed. You know that tire center next to the gas station we were just at--that was Tommy’s.”
“No shit!” Rings said. “How do you know she was fucking him? Tommy tell you?”
“She accidently left that information on our answering machine while she was talking to one of her girlfriends. She doesn’t know I know. I don’t care to call her. In fact I’m through with her, only she doesn’t know it. When Frank and Gerald are dead, then I’m gone. Outta there!”
“Gee, that’s too bad,” Rings said. “I mean, fucking around with the guy you hated most.”
“Not as bad as all that--kind of gives me the freedom I’ve been missing all these years,” Benny added. “If you ever get married you’ll see what I mean.”
“Nope, not me!” Rings said, confidently confirming his bachelorhood. “I like the ladies too much and they like me. Marriage is out of the question.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Benny said, smiling at Rings’ naivety. “You think you know women because you haven’t been caught yet. Here you are, young, smart, good looking and personable. No doubt women like you. But one day you’ll meet someone and say one stupid thing after another like ‘I love you,’ and ‘I can’t live without you,’ and other shit like that. And before you know it she’ll be making wedding plans and you’ll go along with it--not knowing what you’re getting into--then you’ll think it’s too late to back out. But it isn’t--only you don’t know that.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Word for word,” Benny said. “And the worst part is that she was very pretty. And you think, ‘Wow, will I ever find another girl like that!’ Okay, man,” Benny said to his clueless pal. “You know best. Just keep fixing those darts.”
They turned down Tyler Road about 11:25 p.m. Benny stopped Rings’ white suburban a block short of Gerald’s house and decided to drive behind the row of houses through the narrow alley. Benny was very familiar with these types of alleys. Until he was about five, Benny’s family lived near that part of Gary during the days it was still safe to walk the streets at night. He remembered how cluttered his alley was with the old fashioned metal garbage cans and tons of junk from everywhere. Neighbors discarded old swing sets and lawn furniture next to those silver but mostly rusted cans. Kids would have a time playing with that stuff like it was their own personal Adventureland--never mind the filth and the wires sticking out of old mattresses. And oh was it a thrill to see the old orange garbage truck slowly making its way down the alley once a week, and watching the rear loader swallow and compact massive amounts of multi-colored trash--like a giant mechanical elephant.
Benny slowed to 10 mph as he approached the back of Gerald’s house. He knew it was Gerald’s house when he saw the dog houses and mounds of trash sitting in the tall grass which was mostly weeds. He stopped behind the chain link fence but kept the motor running.
“Where are we?” Rings asked in a voice too loud for the quiet evening.
“Shhh! Not so loud,” Benny whispered. “We’re behind Gerald Hill’s house. You know, that guy who cut your daddy’s dick. He was the one. And he’s next.”
Rings was scared. “You gonna kill him now? Here?”
“Shhh! You’re talking too loud,” Benny said, scolding Rings. “He’s not home. He’s at work. I just have to get those damn dogs out of the way. I don’t want anything in my way when I come back tomorrow night.”
Benny grabbed his tranquilizer rifle and quietly got out of the car. Rings got out too, following Benny close behind with a fistful of loaded darts.
“Look at them,” Benny said, pointing to the dogs. “He’s got all of his mutts running loose in the yard. Great--now’s the time! Hand me a dart.”
Benny loaded a dart in the rifle. He knew full well almost any dose of Sucostrin would kill a mammal that small--especially a human-sized dose. One of the dogs was close to the fence and didn’t hear Benny approach as he lifted the rifle and took aim from about twelve feet.
Phhhhoooooot! “Bullseye!” Benny exclaimed with delight, nailing the angry Pit Bull in the gluteus maximus.
The dog let out a weak yelp and quickly fell to the ground. “Three more,” Benny said. “Give me three more darts.”
Rings extended his arm, handing the darts to Benny. The remaining dogs gathered around their wounded friend.
“Good. Very good!” said Benny. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”
Benny remained behind the fence as he shot off another dart--this time hitting a dog in his side. “Hey, there’s enough junk in there to kill a moose,” Benny bragged to Rings. “That pooch should be dead in short order.”
The first dog wasn’t moving and his chest wasn’t expanding. He was dead. The second one died seconds later. By this time the other two dogs were frantic and making all sorts of noise. Benny put an end to that by firing darts into them too, fumbling only slightly while loading the fourth dart. But the yelps didn’t go unnoticed. All of a sudden the kitchen light went on in Gerald’s house.
“FUCK!” Benny shouted. “Someone’s home!”
Benny hastily tossed the rifle in the back seat while Rings did something really stupid--he jumped over the fence to collect the spent cartridges.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Benny yelled as he watched Rings collect the useless pieces of plastic. GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”
“I’M PICKING UP THE EVIDENCE,” Rings shouted back, thinking he was doing Benny a favor--not seeing Gerald bolt out from his back door, shotgun in hand and running towards him at full speed. Benny saw Gerald lift up the shotgun and point it at Rings.
“WHAT THE FUCK YOU DOING, NIGGER!” Gerald yelled, not seeing Benny at first. “WHAT THE FUCK YOU DO TO MY DOGS?”
Rings froze in place--the shotgun barrel pointing at his left ear. Benny jumped the fence and ran towards Gerald, tackling him from behind. The shotgun flung into the air and landed next to one of the dead dogs. The strong stench of alcohol permeated from Gerald’s mouth as they fell to the ground. Though drunk, Gerald was much stronger than Benny as the two violently wrestled on the ground.
“JAB A DART IN HIM! JAB A DART IN HIM!” Benny cried out to Rings as Gerald overpowered Benny, pinning him to the nasty feces laced soil.
Rings placed a fresh Sucostrin dart between his thumb and forefinger and jumped on Gerald’s back, then, with all of his might, he stabbed the dart in the middle of Gerald’s back. The sting of the dart didn’t seem to faze Gerald as he punched Benny in the face three times with his hard fists. Each punch to his face brought back vivid memories of the night in ‘73. It was happening again.
“I knew it was you, you fucking Jew! And you brought a scared nigger along for help, didn’t you, you fucking Jew! You killed my buddies, you fucking Jew. Didn’t you Jew?” Gerald had both hands around Benny’s neck and vigorously shook it, as Benny’s helpless head bounced off the ground a dozen times. “Now you’re gonna die Jew. Hitler had the right idea. He should have cut your daddy’s balls off while he had the chance and put him in the oven, too.”
Benny was dazed, and his face was swollen and bloodied, but was still very conscious. Rings was doing his best to pull Gerald off of his buddy but wasn’t doing a very good job of it until the drug kicked in. Thankfully, it did. Gerald released Benny’s neck and fell backwards. The combination of booze, Sucostrin, and fighting was too much for him. Benny seized the moment to grab the last dart from Rings and forcefully stuck it in Gerald’s left thigh. Within two minutes, he was motionless but alive.
“I didn’t want to do this tonight,” Benny said to Rings. “I just wanted to kill his fucking dogs. I had no idea he was home. Here, help me hoist him in the back of your truck.”
Rings lowered the tailgate on his suburban while Benny dragged Gerald’s gangly body to the fence. Rings helped Benny lift the listless racist over the fence and into the covered back section.
“Get his shotgun,” Benny said while he prepared a few more Sucostrin darts in the back seat.
Rings hurdled over the fence and grabbed Gerald’s shotgun. As he picked it up he glanced at the house and saw a face peering out the kitchen window. It was Frank. The commotion woke him up.
“SHIT!” Rings shouted. “Someone else is home!”
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Benny screamed. “IT’S FRANK! HE’S COMING AT YOU!”
Rings clutched the shotgun and leapt over the fence, just making it to his car.
“You’re driving,” Benny yelled as he grabbed a handful of darts and Sucostrin and climbed in the back with Gerald. “Drive to Stagecoach Road. To our spot.”
The GMC was already running. Rings tossed the shotgun in the back with Benny and jumped in the driver’s seat. Still inebriated, Frank reached the fence, wearing a dirty T-shirt, torn jeans and no shoes. He only saw Rings but thought he heard two voices. Rings started to pull away.
“GET BACK HERE NIGGER!” Frank shouted as he glanced at the four dead carcasses then saw the suburban pull away in the dark of night.
As Rings made his way down the alley Benny looked out the back window and saw Frank scramble back to the house--not knowing if he was going to call the cops. But he didn’t care. He was all alone in the back with Gerald. Paralyzed Gerald.
It was approaching midnight. Rings mindfully drove the speed limit while driving east on U.S. 20, making his way to Stagecoach Road. Benny was preparing a few more Sucostrin darts and happily chatting with his guest.
“Nice to see you again,” Benny said, controlling the conversation while watching Gerald’s fearsome, helpless eyes stare at him. “Yes, you are right,” Benny continued. “I killed them both. I did. Tommy’s gone. Murphy, too. I’m the fucking Jew who did it. Oh, and the nigger, as you so eloquently stated--is driving. He’s my friend. You insulted my friend. He’s going to assist me tonight. Do you really think he’s a nigger? No, I don’t think so. I just may give you the benefit of the doubt.”
U.S. 20 was unusually quiet for a Monday evening, even though it was past midnight. Normally there were a lot of truckers on the road making their way to the expressway. But not that night. And Rings was glad of that. He just wanted the night to end peacefully.
“Look out there,” Benny patronizingly told Gerald while preparing the drug laced darts. “Look out there,” Benny stated again, knowing full well his passenger couldn’t move nor could see where he was pointing. “Isn’t it a lovely evening?” Benny put down a set of five darts. “It’s so much like an evening during a fine June evening back in 1973. Do you remember that evening? I do. I really do. Please believe me. I remember that evening. How good is your memory? Do you remember that evening? I’M ASKING YOU A QUESTION, FUCKER!”
Gerald didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.
“I hate to repeat myself,” Benny said. “I don’t stutter as much as I used to, but I still do. When I ask you a question I expect an answer. Now--isn’t it a lovely evening?”
The first two doses were slowly wearing off. Benny didn’t bring any extra rope along--thinking he didn’t need any. He had some in his Jon boat. Gerald was bound only by the chemicals. His right arm flinched and he let out a grunt.
“HOLD STILL, FUCKER!” Benny screamed. “Don’t get me mad.”
Gerald stopped moving but Benny already had a dart in his hand.
“I wish you hadn’t moved just now,” Benny softly said, his anger boiling over from a slow simmer, as he grabbed a dart and viciously plunged it into Gerald’s right bicep and forcefully kept it there until he got a reaction. Gerald’s face winced in pain--the only muscles he could move.
“Hitler had the right idea? No, I have the right idea,” Benny declared.
Rings turned left onto County Line Road then right onto Stagecoach Road. Every squeak the old suburban made was amplified by the quiet night as the trio rolled down that old deserted road towards the tree. Rings stopped when he came to the spot and pulled off to the side. Benny got out and met Rings on the driver’s side.
“Pull all the way into the woods next to my Camry,” Benny ordered. “We’ve got to stay out of sight.”
While Rings hid his vehicle, Benny walked to his covered Jon boat, sizing up the task ahead.
“That’s good, that’s good,” Benny said as Rings came to a dead stop. Benny opened the back door and studied his doomed and powerless prey. “Here, help me lift this maggot next to the boat. I just want this over.”
Gerald felt and heard everything while they dragged his body behind the Jon boat. His panicked eyes looked upward from the ground. He felt the grip of his captors release and watched while they removed the tarp from the boat. Benny pulled out a knife and his camera while handing a large roll of gray duct tape to Rings.
“Oh, nurse,” Benny sarcastically said to Rings. “Before you do anything, put these on,” he said, handing Rings a pair of latex gloves. “We have to clean your prints off everything you already touched.” Rings’ boney fingers squeezed into the stretchy gloves. “Now wrap this around his mouth three times. But make sure he can breathe through his nose.”
Rings pulled three feet of tape from the roll, and cradled Gerald’s head between his knees while he coiled three tight loops of tape around his victim’s mouth. “You wanna suck a big black nigger dick?” Rings asked, noticing how close Gerald’s mouth was to his crotch.
“That’s good, now drag him here,” Benny said. “I want to take some pictures first.”
Benny already had a fresh roll of film loaded in his antique camera. He pulled his lantern from the boat and set it high on a branch. The bright glow of the lamp exaggerated Gerald’s unfeeling shark-like eyes while Benny steadied the lens and snapped a picture.
“That’s only one,” Benny said while winding the film to take another black and white. “Pull his pants down. All the way down. I want to get a shot of his dick while it’s still in one piece.”
Rings did what Benny asked.
“Hey Sox, he’s moving! What should I do?”
Benny walked over to Gerald and stuck another dart in his thigh. “Jesus, man, your metabolism must be in high gear,” Benny said while looking at Gerald. “You’re going through these drugs like Mickey Rooney went through wives. Don’t you know these things are expensive?” And with that, Benny jabbed him twice as hard with a second dart, the needle breaking off in his leg. “NOW STAY STILL, FUCKER!” Benny shouted, then swiftly kicked Gerald in the balls three times, one kick for each punch Benny received an hour earlier.
Benny went back to the camera and snapped the picture. Rings was getting anxious to go home.
“Can we finish up now?” Rings politely asked. “It’s getting late.”
“Yeah,” Benny said. “We’ll be out of here in five minutes.”
Benny got fifteen feet of rope from the boat and made a strong noose. While carrying his lantern, he walked another fifty feet into the woods and threw the end of the rope over a sturdy branch. With the help of an adjacent tree, he climbed up a few feet to tie off the rope so the noose was seven feet off the ground. He left enough slack from the noose to reach from the ground. Then he walked back to Rings.
“Here he is, Rings. This guy right here,” Benny said, making sure Gerald heard every word. “This is the creep who cut your daddy. He did it, Rings. This piece of shit killed your father. He was the one, Rings. He did it.”
Gerald’s eyebrows lifted up as he learned who his other captor was. Eddy’s son! The overdose of Sucostrin made it difficult for him to breathe. Gerald’s dark eyes were as big as silver dollars while he gazed at Rings towering over him like a big black statue.
“Give me your knife!” Rings venomously said to Benny. “I want to do the honors.”
“Here,” Benny said, handing rings the knife and two ghastly pictures of Gerald’s mutilated buddies. “Show him these first. I think he’s a man who appreciates good art!”
Rings put the pictures in front of Gerald. Benny grabbed the photos from Rings.
“I just remembered,” Benny said in his usual sarcastic tone. “You forgot to apologize to my friend over here. If I heard right, it sounded like you called him a nigger. But feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”
Gerald’s mouth was still hopelessly bound by the strong duct tape and couldn’t answer.
“HE’S NOT A NIGGER,” Benny yelled, scolding the racist. “And neither was his father, Eddy Moss. No he wasn’t. Eddy was a friend of mine. He was a dear, dear friend of mine. And so was his girlfriend, Twila. You must remember them. You must remember both of them. Now, I’ll give you one chance to free yourself from this horrible mess you’ve gotten yourself into. But you have to do me and Rings here one favor: You must apologize for calling him a nigger. YOU MUST APOLOGIZE NOW! NOW! RIGHT NOW!”
Gerald tried to close his eyes. He knew he was doomed.
“I SAID NOW! APOLOGIZE NOW! NOW! NOW! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Rings looked down at Gerald.
“I don’t think he wants to answer you,” Rings said. “Maybe he needs some encouragement.”
“I think you’re right,” Benny agreed. “But we better encourage him right away. Those drugs I just illegally administered are already starting to wear off. Here, I’ll hold him down and you do whatever.”
Rings stretched his right leg backward for a warm-up, then furiously kicked Gerald’s scrotum five times as hard as he could.
“I’M A NIGGER, HUH?” Rings shouted after the first kick. “A NIGGER?” Another swift kick. “A NIGGER? A NIGGER? A NIGGER?” Kick! Kick! Kick!
Gerald’s sac was completely split open and his balls were leaking out.
The two dragged Gerald’s alive but bloodied frame fifty feet to the rope. Rings pulled Gerald’s pants down the rest of the way to his feet. It took both of them to lift Gerald up and thread his head through the noose. Benny grabbed the slack and tightened the noose around Gerald’s cold throat. Rings balanced Gerald on his shoulder while Benny went back to get his camera and lantern. Benny came back and placed the lantern high on a branch.
“YOU KILLED MY DADDY!” Rings yelled as he jumped away, leaving Gerald to hang by his neck. A sickening snapping sound was acutely audible after Gerald dropped--his feet just inches off the ground. The knife fell out of Rings’ hand, but he picked it up and slashed Gerald’s dangling cock--a geyser of blood splattered the air.
“Look, he’s trying to kick,” cried Rings. “He’s still alive!”
Rings moved out of the way while Benny took a picture.
“Let’s put everything back in the boat before we finish him off,” Benny said. “He’ll keep for another couple of minutes.”
Benny and Rings tossed everything back in the boat except for the camera. Benny had planned on developing the film at his office. Benny then went to his Camry, opened the trunk and got out his pistol, loading three bullets. He also grabbed a small flashlight.
“Let’s put him out of his misery,” Benny said, switching on the light. Rings followed close behind as they walked to the suspended Nazi worshipper.
“That gun’s gonna make an awful racket,” Rings said. “Why not just stab him a few more times?”
“I would have if he wasn’t bleeding so much. My plan was to take him to the Lagoon and finish him off. We can’t do that now. I don’t want to leave a longer trail.”
“We can still dump him in the Lagoon,” Rings bravely said. “I think that’d be a real cool thing to do--you know, so he could be like the others.”
“One problem with that,” Benny said.
“What’s that?”
“The cops are probably there. My guess is Frank called them. The lagoon is the first place they’ll look.”
“You may be right,” Rings said.
“After the third shot I want you to drive home--straight home. And I’ll do the same. No, better yet, I’m going to my folks. They live just a couple miles away.”
“Okay,” said Rings. “We’ll leave after the third shot.”
Benny shined the light on his pistol and aimed it at Gerald’s head--his eye’s still flickering with life.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!” Gerald’s chin slumped to his chest. The bullets left a five-inch crater in his skull. Most of his cerebral cortex was fertilizing the shrubs below.
Both men jogged back to their cars. Benny put the gun, camera, and flashlight back in his trunk.
“Leave his shotgun here,” Benny said. “I almost forgot about that. Take the shotgun and toss it underneath his feet.”
Rings did as he was told and ran swiftly back, not wanting to be alone with the corpse.
“Now let’s blow,” Benny said as they both got into their cars. “I’ll call you early tomorrow morning.”
Rings got to County Line Road first and turned left, then right on U.S. 20, heading towards downtown Gary to be safe at home with J.J. and his disabled mother. Benny turned right onto County Line Road towards his folks. He was profusely perspiring from the experience and lit a half smoked stogie he pulled from the ashtray. He was just about to turn left towards the sand dunes onto Pottawattamie Trail when he saw two flashing squad cars speeding up from behind about two blocks away. He quickly made the left and veered off the wrong way on a one way street which was about a hundred feet down. He floored the engine and peeled past the small solitary three story apartment building just to his left, then swiftly turned left again into an old abandoned lumberyard, cut his lights and turned off the engine. A few seconds later he saw the two squad cars zoom down Pottawattamie, heading towards his Nobel, his old grammar school.
Shit! They know, he thought to himself. I think they know. I think we were followed. That guy I saw at the track. I know it was him. He tipped them off.
By this time it was almost 1:00 a.m. Marsha knew he wasn’t at home and the Post Tribune was sure to print headlines about a missing man the next morning--somehow associating it with the two murders. One thing was sure: Benny couldn’t go to his folks. Not even to sniff around. So he waited a half hour. He left when two ferocious, loudly barking German Shepherds ran up to his car, gnashing their teeth, and waking up the neighbors. Benny had to pee but was afraid to get out of his car. Someone in a third floor apartment turned a light on and peeked out the window through the drapes. That’s when Benny pulled his sun visor down and drove back towards County Line Road. He looked both ways and didn’t see any cops, or for that matter, any cars. He turned right onto County Line Road. For the first time during this mission he was really scared. He knew he had his camera and gun in the trunk. He knew he still had a few darts tucked in his jacket. He also had the feeling he was being followed, but he didn’t see anyone. As he drove down County Line Road his brain erupted with a vivid flashback to that night in ‘73. I got three of those fuckers now, he thought. He drove another mile. “Yes, three are dead,” he muttered to himself. “One to go!”
It was 1:12 a.m. Stagecoach Road was coming up just to his left when he saw a pair of headlights in his rearview mirror, a block away, but gaining on him. It wasn’t a squad car. He didn’t know who it was. He turned sharply to his left onto Stagecoach Road, mashing the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Gravel and dirt peppered his windshield as he sped down that dark road for half a mile and didn’t see lights approaching. Satisfied he wasn’t followed, he drove to the tree and parked his car deep into the woods. It was pitch black. The moonlight didn’t help. He got out and opened his trunk, removing his pistol and camera. He grabbed his flashlight but didn’t turn it on. He was cold. Benny zipped up his jacket then took the remaining darts out of his pocket, clutching them with his left hand, and holding the other items with his arms. He looked around--all the way around and didn’t see or hear anything. He switched on his flashlight and shone it towards his boat. In the distance he saw Gerald hanging by his neck and swaying with the breeze. He lifted the cover off his boat and gently placed the camera and pistol on a slat, then covered the boat again. The wind kicked up. He pointed his flashlight at Gerald and saw him swaying even more in the wind. Suddenly, a massive gust took hold of Gerald’s grisly corpse and spun him around like a top, nearly breaking the branch. The body stopped spinning and came to a sudden halt--facing Benny. Gerald’s eyes and mouth were wide open as if he wanted to say something. Benny ran to his car and started the motor, still holding on to his flashlight and darts. He was about to pull onto Stagecoach Road when he saw two bright headlights quickly advancing his way. He put his car in reverse and backed into the woods, then turned off his lights and engine. He watched from a distance as he saw the strange car’s lights illuminate the road in front of him, slowing to 5 mph. There was just a driver inside--no passengers. But the driver looked familiar--like the person Benny saw at the track. It just can’t be him, Benny thought. How could it be? Benny remained still. Then, the car stopped. Right in front of the tree.
Shit, I’m dead, Benny thought to himself as he saw a large man get out of the car heading his way, clutching a gun. I’ve got one chance. I’ve got to make a run for the boat and get my gun.
The man had a gun and a large flashlight which he shone in the trees. The beam highlighted Gerald’s mutilated body hanging from the branch.
Upon seeing the light, Benny lowered his head and shimmied over to the passenger side door and quietly opened it. He curled down the best he could then slid down to the cold dead leaves below. He measured each move in a desperate attempt to remain unnoticed. But it was impossible. He heard the man walking briskly towards him. Benny stood up and sprinted to his boat.
“STOP! I’VE GOT A GUN!” the man yelled.
Benny had nothing to lose. He hurriedly uncovered his boat and grabbed his pistol, completely forgetting he shot all three bullets.
“SO DO I!” Benny screamed back, brandishing his weapon, directly pointing it at the man.
“PUT YOURS DOWN, NOW!” the man demanded. “I’M A COP!”
Benny didn’t obey. “No!” Benny said, moving closer, within talking distance--his steady hand still holding his depleted weapon. “You’ll have to shoot, and so will I.”
The man took one step closer, gun still pointing at Benny.
“I know who you are,” the man said, recognizing Benny after all these years. “And you know me. I’m Lieutenant Mitchell. When I read about the murders in the Miami Herald I knew it was you, Benjamin. Give yourself up.”
Benny kept his eye on the lieutenant and refused to lower his gun.
“I can’t do that, sir. I’m not going to jail.”
“Give yourself up, Benjamin. It’s the only way.”
Benny suddenly remembered his gun was empty. The only thing he could do was become a moving target. He certainly was faster than the chubby old ex-officer. So he threw his gun at Lieutenant Mitchell, hitting him on his right shoulder, then made a dash for the woods. Lieutenant Mitchell raised his gun and fired a shot, narrowly missing Benny’s head. He shot again, and again--missing each time. Then, thinking he was still a young man, the lieutenant foolishly thought he could outrun Benny and took off after him. Benny turned around and saw he was being chased. Is he kidding? Benny thought. After running only a hundred yards, Lieutenant Mitchell became winded and haphazardly fired off the rest of his rounds, each shot missing his target by a mile. He abruptly stopped and clutched his left arm and fell to the ground with a thud. He had a heart attack. Benny saw the lieutenant was on the ground and immediately rushed to his side and took his pulse. Nothing. Benny then picked up the cop’s flashlight to look at his pupils. No reaction. The lieutenant was dead.
This is a lucky break, Benny thought, knowing he dodged more than one bullet. But everyone will be looking for him and they’re sure to find him. His rental is probably equipped with a Lojack. I’ve got to do something, fast.
Benny dragged the dead lieutenant’s heavy body to the side of the road. He found the officer’s car keys in his right front pants pocket and opened up the passenger’s side, then, with great will, stuffed the fat cop onto the front passenger seat. He went back to the woods and retrieved the officer’s gun. Benny looked back towards the trees, making sure his own car was still out of sight. He drove down Stagecoach Road, passed the houses, and turned right onto County Line Road, driving exactly one mile towards the lake. He got out of the car and shoved the blue corpse over to the driver’s side, having the presence of mind to place Lieutenant Mitchell’s foot on the gas pedal and the gun in his jacket holster. Benny put the car in park, but kept it running. He carefully examined the interior, making sure no personal effects were left behind. Satisfied the coast was clear, Benny ducked into the woods and jogged back to Stagecoach Road where he retrieved his own gun, placed it in his trunk and drove home--to Marsha. He pressed ‘play’ on his tape deck. Buffy, Jody and Mr. French were in rare form.