Post by storytime on Jun 30, 2007 10:52:59 GMT -5
Tales of The 85th Precinct: Kusinski Park (3856 words)
Chapter One: Kusinki Park 8 am
“Evil and filthy cockroaches” Eli muttered, “they’re all evil and filthy cockroaches.” Gonna show them all. Get my gun, line em up. Knock em down. The bitches too. Evil bitches like Stella, she was an evil bitch and she stank. She didn’t listen, none of em did. They never listened to me, but they’ll listen now. They’ll have to scrape em off the ground. Let em cry, all of em.”
Eli saw her leaning against the tree. The boy was moving his hands all over her, under her sweater, up her skirt, and she was just letting him, just letting him, and smiling; smiling like Stella smiled. Eli stroked the barrel of his gun in his jacket pocket. It was cold, like he was, it was hard as well.
They didn’t see him approach. They were too busy being evil, being dirty. He shot him in the back of his knee; he twisted as he fell and looked up, shock, surprise, and a question was in his eyes, as he stared up at Eli. “Evil and filthy cockroach” Eli muttered and shot him in the face. The girl’s mouth was open but no sound was emerging. No sound ever would as he put his next shot through her open mouth.
”Evil and filthy” Eli muttered, “They’re all evil and filthy.”
People were shouting and running now. He put his gun back in his jacket and brushed past a man in jogging clothes who had fallen to his knees and was crying “Oh my God, oh my God!”
”They’re evil and filthy cockroaches, but they’ll listen now, even that evil bitch Stella will listen now” Eli crooned to himself as he walked out of Kusinski Park.
The 85th Station House 8:30 AM
Jason lumbered up the stairs and hoped that Captain Christofer would be too busy to notice that he was late. He was almost run over by Detectives Smith and Snytas who came flying down the stairs and charged out the door. The phones on his receptionist’s desk were ringing off the hook and Jason reached over the railing and grabbed one.
“85th” he said, “Please hold”, “85th he said into the other phone. “Someone’s killing people in the park!” a female voice shouted, “Please hold” Jason said. “85th” he answered the first phone. A man’s voice shouted “There’s been a killing in the park, two killings!”
“Yes sir” Jason said, “We have officers on the way”
“I saw who did it!” the voice protested.
“Could I have your name?” Jason said, and the line went dead. He picked up the first phone again but it was dead as well.
Jason hung up his jacket and stared at it. It had the black reversible side on the outside.
He never wore it that way. He took it down and quickly pulled the sleeves through so that the lovely hunter green side showed and hung it back up then he eased himself into his wooden swivel chair. He was over 250 pounds and was always fearful that one day it would simply collapse beneath him. “Forcher” a voice bellowed, and Jason shouted “Coming” as he rose and launched himself toward the captain’s office.
Back at his desk, Jason cradled his head in his hands. Captain Christofer had read him the riot act for having been late again, he didn’t threaten to fire him though. Receptionists willing to work in the 85th were few. It was an old building, at least 100 years, drafty and cold in the winter and a steam box in the summer. Repairmen were constantly fixing the electrical wiring, the sole toilet, unisex, for the second floor may or may not flush and the faucets often times spit out yellowish brown water. The furniture, if it could be called that, was an assortment of wooden desks and chairs with a few metals ones thrown in. The structure met no building codes; there was a jury rigged sprinkler system that had never been tested. It was a fire trap and everyone smoked.
Jason coveted the two metal chairs in the squad room; he had to have one to replace his wooden one. He just didn’t think that at 5 foot five and 250 pounds his wooden one would last. He’d have to wait for someone to die or be transferred before he dared to make a switch.
Then he felt the first twinges of his headaches. He had started getting them when he was only ten years old and they had gotten progressively worse over the years. Now, he could wake up and find himself in a part of the city he didn’t know and he wouldn’t be able to remember having gone there. This morning, he had left in plenty of time to make it to work without being late, but somehow had found himself running up the steps, being late, and not remembering anything between leaving his apartment and entering the Station House. He chalked it up to the tension of his job, he was sure he didn’t sleep walk.
Detective Lieutenant Ben Smith hurried back to the Station House after leaving Detective Mike Syntas to finish interviewing the witnesses. He had left the 85th in a rush, hoping to intercept the perp. Kusinski park was only three blocks away. Now, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and wished he had grabbed his jacket as the cold late October wind whipped through his shirt. He kicked a carved pumpkin that the wind had been knocked off the stoop of a brownstone and instantly regretted it. He visualized the headline, “Cop Destroys Little Kid’s Jack ‘O Lantern”.
That would be his luck. Luck, he chuckled. When he was promoted to Detective Lieutenant, he had thought he had some luck, then came the assignment to the 85th.
The 85th, the toughest, most dangerous precinct in the city. A place where coke was sold by ten year olds, mothers supported themselves by being sex workers, and gangs of teens terrorised whole neighborhoods and warred with other teen gangs. Drunks decorated the hallways of every tenement and the smell of urine was omnipresent. It was all the same, it was just all the same, you didn’t even notice it anymore, nor did you notice the drunks or the whores. The perps were all the same, homicides, dope peddlers, wife beaters, burglars, it was all the same.
But today’s homicides were different. A bowling ball with a gun who killed kids making out in the park and thought they were all evil and filthy cockroaches. This was different!
Ben bounded up the steps and stopped at Jason’s desk to check for messages. Jason looked up and shook his head, there were no messages. Christofer waved his arms for Ben to come in his office.
“Close the door” Christofer said as Ben walked in. “Sit down, what have we got?”
“Well, our perp strolled into the park, saw two kids making out, and iced them. Then he calmly trundled back out of the park and no one saw where he went and no one followed him, but we got a good description” Ben answered.
“What is it?”
“Our perp’s a white male, in his 40’s, dark short hair, about 5-5 and really big, maybe 300 pounds. He had on a black jacket, black pants, and he had a gun. No body got the make. Ballistics will tell us.”
“What do you figure was the motive?” Christofer wondered.
“Doesn’t seem like there was any,” Ben said, “the guy didn’t seem upset; he just pulled out his gun and shot them. He shot the boy in the knee first, I guess to get his attention, then he shot the girl in the mouth. A witness said he heard the perp muttering about being evil and filthy. He called the kids he shot evil and filthy. He’s got to be a nut case.”
“So the kids were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and doing the wrong thing?”
“That’s the way it looks, boss.” Ben said. “We might get lucky with this one though.”
“How’s that?” Christofer asked.
“No one saw where he went, but no one saw him get in a car either. What if he walked?”
“Yeah,” Christofer said. “What if he lives within walking distance of the park? A guy like that, somebody’s got to recognize him. Take Shalela and Osmond and canvass the area, talk to everyone, people on the street, store owners, somebody’s got to remember him.”
“What about Syntas?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, take him too, he’s already on it anyway. Let’s wrap this baby up. Maybe, if we look good, we’ll get promoted out of this crap heap. Maybe we’ll be transferred to someplace nice, yeah, someplace nice, like Baghdad.” Christofer chortled.
Chapter Two: Down The Street 10 am
Wendy Osmond and Shannon Shalela were the precinct’s two female detectives. Wendy was several years older than Shannon and often seemed protective of her. Shannon didn’t mind this, except when she did mind it. Shannon would have her way unless firmly ordered otherwise.
Wendy had five years on the job, a master’s degree in psychology, and thought that she was long overdue for promotion to Detective Sergeant. Both were good detectives and worked well with Ben and Mike. They jumped at the opportunity to track down the Bowling Ball Bastard, as the perp had been named.
Ben gave the Bastard’s description to Jason and told him to type it up and make copies for everyone in the precinct. He had already left to start canvassing, leaving the other detectives to catch up when they could. Ben, in his late twenties, was built for long hard hours canvassing neighborhoods. His solid and efficient frame never seemed to tire, and as long as he wasn’t denied his macaroni and cheese, he could go on forever.
Mike Syntas had hit the streets as soon as he had finished interviewing the witness’s. He would skip lunch, his pockets were always filled with health and energy bars so he was rarely hungry. He drank bottled water that he could pick up anywhere, but he never bought a bottle without thinking of his father’s laughter at paying a buck a bottle for water. His father had irritated Mike since he was in high school. His father drank, smoked, and sometimes yelled at Mike’s Mom. There had never been a rupture in their relationship though, and he was on friendly terms with his Dad, but he was still irritated.
Wendy and Shannon didn’t get on the street until after 2pm. They had worked the middle shift the day before. Do to the peaceful, almost Islamic like nature of the neighborhood, they would work together.
Several times throughout the day, Ben had thought he had a lead on his Bastard. The last one was the same as the first and came when he stopped in a convenience store. It was the kind of place every neighborhood needed; it had everything you wanted, as long as you wanted beer and cigarettes. The store front was tastefully decorated in iron bar and chain, there were both an inside and outside camera, and Akmed had a lovely black fungo bat next to his cash register. When Ben described the Bastard, Akmed’s head started bobbing up and down and he said “es Jason, Jason, but no black, but es Jason” Ben knew it wasn’t the precinct receptionist, but he thanked Akmed for his help.
Astonishingly, by 8pm, Ben hadn’t uncovered a single lead and was beginning to think that maybe the Bastard did have a car and didn’t live in the neighborhood. He decided to give it up for the day and hoped the other Detectives had uncovered something. He would know in the morning.
Down The Street and into Jason’s Apartment
Jason had worked overtime. He wanted to be in on the capture of the Bowling Ball Bastard. He couldn’t believe that some of the shop keepers had thought that it was him. He wasn’t fat. He didn’t look like a bowling ball either, and though he wore black pants, his jacket was a beautiful hunter green. He never reversed it to its black side.
He was pleased though. The Detectives had played a joke on him, they had slipped a gun into his inside jacket pocket. He played along and made believe that he didn’t know it was there. They’d probably ask for it back in the morning, and then the joke would be on them. Yet, he was happy; they were treating him like one of the group. He liked that.
This was the first time in his life that he seemed to be accepted. He had always been an outcast at school. In grade school he had been called names and laughed at. But since he was bigger than most of the boys his age, he would grab one during recess and keep lightly punching his shoulder. He never hit them hard, but the accumulation of punches would give them a sore shoulder for the next few days. But by the time he was in high school, it was he who was being beaten up regularly by gangs of kids. They would chase him until he was out of breath and hit him hard in the face and stomach. When he fell, they would kick him. They called him the fat ass.
Things were no better at home. His mother was kind, but treated him as if he were retarded. His father, when he was sober, ignored him, when he was drunk, he would beat him and call him a coward for not fighting back at school.
Then came the unending string of low paying jobs. He had been a bag boy in every supermarket in the neighborhood. He had been a clerk at a convenience store, but some of the kids who had beat him in high school found out where he worked and terrorized him and the old Indian man who owned the store; then one night they robbed it. He had to quit. He finally got a job cleaning offices and toilets at night. It was while he worked there that his manager had told him about typing school. The guy had said that learning to type was why he was made manager of the cleaning crew. Jason had gone to that school and found that not only could he could learn how to type, but that he was fast and accurate. Then he saw the ad in the paper that said the 85th precinct need a receptionist who could type. His mother told him not to get his hopes up. His father just laughed and slapped him in the face.
But he showed them! He finally got the job, and his wages were three times what he had earned before! He was the receptionist for the 85th! He moved out of his parents place and got his own apartment only two months after he started the job, and he was only 45. Now, if he could only find a girl, then he would be complete.
Girls would never talk to him, but now, now, things were changing. Detectives Osmond and Shalela said hello to him every morning, and they were girls. They were pretty too. He didn’t think he’d be able to find a girl as pretty as they were, but that was alright, almost any girl would do, as long as she wasn’t a whore. The only thing that bothered him about finding a girl was how he would know if she was a whore. Would he follow her? Should he ask her? The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that he would find a girl. After all, he was a good catch for most girls. He didn’t smoke or drink, he was good looking, and he had a job. As he thought that, he felt his headache returning. He was almost home though, he would have a coke and lie down.
By the time he unlocked his front door, his head felt like it would explode. He walked in and everything went black.
Eli took off his jacket, removed his gun, and pulled the sleeves through to reverse it. Then glancing at the dresser, he saw the picture of that evil bitch Stella and threw it on the floor. That dumb, retarded Jason still loved her, even after all she had done to them, and he still loved her. Eli slipped into his black jacket and put the gun in the inside pocket; he knew that there were more kids in that park, and that they were doing evil, filthy, things.
Chapter Three: Kusinski Park 11pm
As Eli walked the five blocks to the park, he tried not to look at the pumpkins that seemed to be beside every door. The ones that glowed were the worst. They stared at him and seemed to accuse him of not doing more to end the evil, filthy, things that the kids were doing in the park. He wanted to shout, “What about Jason? He works for the police. He should be doing more!”
That stupid, retarded, Jason, he wanted to find a girl friend. He wanted to do evil and filthy things too. He always put the picture of Stella on the dresser. He worshiped that evil bitch! Stella, who had married the drunken fool and actually went to bed with him. They thought that he didn’t know about the filthy, evil, things that they did. He knew. He knew it all. He had seen them. They had taken off their clothes and rolled around on the filthy sheets and panted like dogs. He knew. The pumpkins knew too, especially the ones that glowed. The glowing pumpkins wanted Eli to end what those kids were doing in the park. He would save those kids, those evil and filthy kids, from becoming like Stella.
Eli entered the park and looked at the posts with their little round lamps on top. They didn’t give much light. That was good! In his black jacket and black pants, Eli felt almost invisible. He looked at the lamps again and began to hate them. The lamps wanted to help the evil, filthy kids, they weren’t like the pumpkins, not like the glowing pumpkins. Then he heard the giggling.
He took his gun out and stroked the hard, cold, barrel, as he walked off the path and behind the bushes and saw them. They were on the ground, the girl on her back with her legs spread and the boy next to her, his hands all over her. He fired once and the girls head exploded, he fired again and the boy’s hands stopped moving. Someone screamed and he walked back on the path, he looked at the lights and knew that they were part of the evil, he shot out one lamp, then another. Then he saw more evil and filthy kids and fired again. He walked beneath another lamp and tried to shot it but his gun jammed. People were screaming and Eli smiled as he turned and began to walk out of the park and back to his apartment. He was still smiling as he passed the pumpkins, he didn’t look, but he knew that they were smiling too, especially the ones that glowed.
He could sense that there were some people following him, he turned around and looked. Three guys were coming toward him, they were a little more than a block away. Maybe they wanted to congratulate him for clearing the evil and filthy kids out of the park. He looked harder, no, they didn’t look happy. He thought they looked like the kids who used to call Jason names and beat him up in high school. One of them shouted at him “Fat ass murderer!” Eli started to run.
Eli darted into the street against the light and was almost hit by a cab. The cabby shouted at him and gave him the finger, but Eli made it across and the resumed traffic flow stopped his pursuers. He kept running. When he got to his apartment house, he stopped and turned t see if he was still being followed. He didn’t see anyone running toward him, so he entered and ran into his apartment.
Ben reached for the phone, he had only just fallen asleep, “What?” he demanded.
“He’s at it again!” Mike shouted, “We know where he lives and who he is” he continued,
“Osmond and Shalela are on their way!”
Ben scribbled down the address and said “So am I. Seal off the building, get uniforms in the adjacent buildings. Have them warn everyone to stay in interior rooms and away from windows, but don’t confront him until I get there!”
Jason’s Apartment: 12 O’clock, Midnight
Jason stood in the center of his apartment and looked around. What was going on,
he wondered. Why was he standing there, had he been out? He was confused. He looked at his jacket. Why was the black side on the outside again? He turned on the TV and sat down. That Bowling Ball Bastard had struck again, and in Kusinski Park, the same place as before. He considered going back to the Station House, but no, the Detectives would be out. The news report went on and told that the police now knew who the killer was and where he lived. It seemed that that some people from the park had followed the Bastard home, but they wouldn’t give the address. Then he saw his Mom’s picture on the floor, “Mom”, he said, “why do you keep jumping off the dresser?” He picked it up and noticed that the glass had cracked. “I’m sorry Mom” he whispered to the picture, “I’ll get you a new glass, you’ll be ok.”
He took off his jacket and pulled the sleeves through so that the green side was out and the gun fell out. Jason picked it up and laid it on his coffee table, then he laid his jacket on it. “I’ll hang it up later, Mom” he said looking at her picture.
All four Detectives flattened themselves against the wall as they slowly crept toward Jason’s apartment. Their guns were drawn, barrels pointed up. Ben motioned with his hand for Mike to kick in the door and for Detectives Osmond and Shalela to go in low, Ben would be high, Mike would stay just outside.
Jason was so startled when the door crashed in that he didn’t even move. Then he saw his Detective friends and smiled. “I bet you guys came for this” he said as he reached for the gun under his jacket.
“Gun!” Osmond shouted.
Shalela fired simultaneously with Ben.
Jason’s expression never changed as he fell to the floor.
Ben looked down at the body, “Call the coroner” he intoned. Then he whispered to himself, “It’s still all the same, just all the same, even when it’s different”.
The end.
Chapter One: Kusinki Park 8 am
“Evil and filthy cockroaches” Eli muttered, “they’re all evil and filthy cockroaches.” Gonna show them all. Get my gun, line em up. Knock em down. The bitches too. Evil bitches like Stella, she was an evil bitch and she stank. She didn’t listen, none of em did. They never listened to me, but they’ll listen now. They’ll have to scrape em off the ground. Let em cry, all of em.”
Eli saw her leaning against the tree. The boy was moving his hands all over her, under her sweater, up her skirt, and she was just letting him, just letting him, and smiling; smiling like Stella smiled. Eli stroked the barrel of his gun in his jacket pocket. It was cold, like he was, it was hard as well.
They didn’t see him approach. They were too busy being evil, being dirty. He shot him in the back of his knee; he twisted as he fell and looked up, shock, surprise, and a question was in his eyes, as he stared up at Eli. “Evil and filthy cockroach” Eli muttered and shot him in the face. The girl’s mouth was open but no sound was emerging. No sound ever would as he put his next shot through her open mouth.
”Evil and filthy” Eli muttered, “They’re all evil and filthy.”
People were shouting and running now. He put his gun back in his jacket and brushed past a man in jogging clothes who had fallen to his knees and was crying “Oh my God, oh my God!”
”They’re evil and filthy cockroaches, but they’ll listen now, even that evil bitch Stella will listen now” Eli crooned to himself as he walked out of Kusinski Park.
The 85th Station House 8:30 AM
Jason lumbered up the stairs and hoped that Captain Christofer would be too busy to notice that he was late. He was almost run over by Detectives Smith and Snytas who came flying down the stairs and charged out the door. The phones on his receptionist’s desk were ringing off the hook and Jason reached over the railing and grabbed one.
“85th” he said, “Please hold”, “85th he said into the other phone. “Someone’s killing people in the park!” a female voice shouted, “Please hold” Jason said. “85th” he answered the first phone. A man’s voice shouted “There’s been a killing in the park, two killings!”
“Yes sir” Jason said, “We have officers on the way”
“I saw who did it!” the voice protested.
“Could I have your name?” Jason said, and the line went dead. He picked up the first phone again but it was dead as well.
Jason hung up his jacket and stared at it. It had the black reversible side on the outside.
He never wore it that way. He took it down and quickly pulled the sleeves through so that the lovely hunter green side showed and hung it back up then he eased himself into his wooden swivel chair. He was over 250 pounds and was always fearful that one day it would simply collapse beneath him. “Forcher” a voice bellowed, and Jason shouted “Coming” as he rose and launched himself toward the captain’s office.
Back at his desk, Jason cradled his head in his hands. Captain Christofer had read him the riot act for having been late again, he didn’t threaten to fire him though. Receptionists willing to work in the 85th were few. It was an old building, at least 100 years, drafty and cold in the winter and a steam box in the summer. Repairmen were constantly fixing the electrical wiring, the sole toilet, unisex, for the second floor may or may not flush and the faucets often times spit out yellowish brown water. The furniture, if it could be called that, was an assortment of wooden desks and chairs with a few metals ones thrown in. The structure met no building codes; there was a jury rigged sprinkler system that had never been tested. It was a fire trap and everyone smoked.
Jason coveted the two metal chairs in the squad room; he had to have one to replace his wooden one. He just didn’t think that at 5 foot five and 250 pounds his wooden one would last. He’d have to wait for someone to die or be transferred before he dared to make a switch.
Then he felt the first twinges of his headaches. He had started getting them when he was only ten years old and they had gotten progressively worse over the years. Now, he could wake up and find himself in a part of the city he didn’t know and he wouldn’t be able to remember having gone there. This morning, he had left in plenty of time to make it to work without being late, but somehow had found himself running up the steps, being late, and not remembering anything between leaving his apartment and entering the Station House. He chalked it up to the tension of his job, he was sure he didn’t sleep walk.
Detective Lieutenant Ben Smith hurried back to the Station House after leaving Detective Mike Syntas to finish interviewing the witnesses. He had left the 85th in a rush, hoping to intercept the perp. Kusinski park was only three blocks away. Now, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and wished he had grabbed his jacket as the cold late October wind whipped through his shirt. He kicked a carved pumpkin that the wind had been knocked off the stoop of a brownstone and instantly regretted it. He visualized the headline, “Cop Destroys Little Kid’s Jack ‘O Lantern”.
That would be his luck. Luck, he chuckled. When he was promoted to Detective Lieutenant, he had thought he had some luck, then came the assignment to the 85th.
The 85th, the toughest, most dangerous precinct in the city. A place where coke was sold by ten year olds, mothers supported themselves by being sex workers, and gangs of teens terrorised whole neighborhoods and warred with other teen gangs. Drunks decorated the hallways of every tenement and the smell of urine was omnipresent. It was all the same, it was just all the same, you didn’t even notice it anymore, nor did you notice the drunks or the whores. The perps were all the same, homicides, dope peddlers, wife beaters, burglars, it was all the same.
But today’s homicides were different. A bowling ball with a gun who killed kids making out in the park and thought they were all evil and filthy cockroaches. This was different!
Ben bounded up the steps and stopped at Jason’s desk to check for messages. Jason looked up and shook his head, there were no messages. Christofer waved his arms for Ben to come in his office.
“Close the door” Christofer said as Ben walked in. “Sit down, what have we got?”
“Well, our perp strolled into the park, saw two kids making out, and iced them. Then he calmly trundled back out of the park and no one saw where he went and no one followed him, but we got a good description” Ben answered.
“What is it?”
“Our perp’s a white male, in his 40’s, dark short hair, about 5-5 and really big, maybe 300 pounds. He had on a black jacket, black pants, and he had a gun. No body got the make. Ballistics will tell us.”
“What do you figure was the motive?” Christofer wondered.
“Doesn’t seem like there was any,” Ben said, “the guy didn’t seem upset; he just pulled out his gun and shot them. He shot the boy in the knee first, I guess to get his attention, then he shot the girl in the mouth. A witness said he heard the perp muttering about being evil and filthy. He called the kids he shot evil and filthy. He’s got to be a nut case.”
“So the kids were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and doing the wrong thing?”
“That’s the way it looks, boss.” Ben said. “We might get lucky with this one though.”
“How’s that?” Christofer asked.
“No one saw where he went, but no one saw him get in a car either. What if he walked?”
“Yeah,” Christofer said. “What if he lives within walking distance of the park? A guy like that, somebody’s got to recognize him. Take Shalela and Osmond and canvass the area, talk to everyone, people on the street, store owners, somebody’s got to remember him.”
“What about Syntas?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, take him too, he’s already on it anyway. Let’s wrap this baby up. Maybe, if we look good, we’ll get promoted out of this crap heap. Maybe we’ll be transferred to someplace nice, yeah, someplace nice, like Baghdad.” Christofer chortled.
Chapter Two: Down The Street 10 am
Wendy Osmond and Shannon Shalela were the precinct’s two female detectives. Wendy was several years older than Shannon and often seemed protective of her. Shannon didn’t mind this, except when she did mind it. Shannon would have her way unless firmly ordered otherwise.
Wendy had five years on the job, a master’s degree in psychology, and thought that she was long overdue for promotion to Detective Sergeant. Both were good detectives and worked well with Ben and Mike. They jumped at the opportunity to track down the Bowling Ball Bastard, as the perp had been named.
Ben gave the Bastard’s description to Jason and told him to type it up and make copies for everyone in the precinct. He had already left to start canvassing, leaving the other detectives to catch up when they could. Ben, in his late twenties, was built for long hard hours canvassing neighborhoods. His solid and efficient frame never seemed to tire, and as long as he wasn’t denied his macaroni and cheese, he could go on forever.
Mike Syntas had hit the streets as soon as he had finished interviewing the witness’s. He would skip lunch, his pockets were always filled with health and energy bars so he was rarely hungry. He drank bottled water that he could pick up anywhere, but he never bought a bottle without thinking of his father’s laughter at paying a buck a bottle for water. His father had irritated Mike since he was in high school. His father drank, smoked, and sometimes yelled at Mike’s Mom. There had never been a rupture in their relationship though, and he was on friendly terms with his Dad, but he was still irritated.
Wendy and Shannon didn’t get on the street until after 2pm. They had worked the middle shift the day before. Do to the peaceful, almost Islamic like nature of the neighborhood, they would work together.
Several times throughout the day, Ben had thought he had a lead on his Bastard. The last one was the same as the first and came when he stopped in a convenience store. It was the kind of place every neighborhood needed; it had everything you wanted, as long as you wanted beer and cigarettes. The store front was tastefully decorated in iron bar and chain, there were both an inside and outside camera, and Akmed had a lovely black fungo bat next to his cash register. When Ben described the Bastard, Akmed’s head started bobbing up and down and he said “es Jason, Jason, but no black, but es Jason” Ben knew it wasn’t the precinct receptionist, but he thanked Akmed for his help.
Astonishingly, by 8pm, Ben hadn’t uncovered a single lead and was beginning to think that maybe the Bastard did have a car and didn’t live in the neighborhood. He decided to give it up for the day and hoped the other Detectives had uncovered something. He would know in the morning.
Down The Street and into Jason’s Apartment
Jason had worked overtime. He wanted to be in on the capture of the Bowling Ball Bastard. He couldn’t believe that some of the shop keepers had thought that it was him. He wasn’t fat. He didn’t look like a bowling ball either, and though he wore black pants, his jacket was a beautiful hunter green. He never reversed it to its black side.
He was pleased though. The Detectives had played a joke on him, they had slipped a gun into his inside jacket pocket. He played along and made believe that he didn’t know it was there. They’d probably ask for it back in the morning, and then the joke would be on them. Yet, he was happy; they were treating him like one of the group. He liked that.
This was the first time in his life that he seemed to be accepted. He had always been an outcast at school. In grade school he had been called names and laughed at. But since he was bigger than most of the boys his age, he would grab one during recess and keep lightly punching his shoulder. He never hit them hard, but the accumulation of punches would give them a sore shoulder for the next few days. But by the time he was in high school, it was he who was being beaten up regularly by gangs of kids. They would chase him until he was out of breath and hit him hard in the face and stomach. When he fell, they would kick him. They called him the fat ass.
Things were no better at home. His mother was kind, but treated him as if he were retarded. His father, when he was sober, ignored him, when he was drunk, he would beat him and call him a coward for not fighting back at school.
Then came the unending string of low paying jobs. He had been a bag boy in every supermarket in the neighborhood. He had been a clerk at a convenience store, but some of the kids who had beat him in high school found out where he worked and terrorized him and the old Indian man who owned the store; then one night they robbed it. He had to quit. He finally got a job cleaning offices and toilets at night. It was while he worked there that his manager had told him about typing school. The guy had said that learning to type was why he was made manager of the cleaning crew. Jason had gone to that school and found that not only could he could learn how to type, but that he was fast and accurate. Then he saw the ad in the paper that said the 85th precinct need a receptionist who could type. His mother told him not to get his hopes up. His father just laughed and slapped him in the face.
But he showed them! He finally got the job, and his wages were three times what he had earned before! He was the receptionist for the 85th! He moved out of his parents place and got his own apartment only two months after he started the job, and he was only 45. Now, if he could only find a girl, then he would be complete.
Girls would never talk to him, but now, now, things were changing. Detectives Osmond and Shalela said hello to him every morning, and they were girls. They were pretty too. He didn’t think he’d be able to find a girl as pretty as they were, but that was alright, almost any girl would do, as long as she wasn’t a whore. The only thing that bothered him about finding a girl was how he would know if she was a whore. Would he follow her? Should he ask her? The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that he would find a girl. After all, he was a good catch for most girls. He didn’t smoke or drink, he was good looking, and he had a job. As he thought that, he felt his headache returning. He was almost home though, he would have a coke and lie down.
By the time he unlocked his front door, his head felt like it would explode. He walked in and everything went black.
Eli took off his jacket, removed his gun, and pulled the sleeves through to reverse it. Then glancing at the dresser, he saw the picture of that evil bitch Stella and threw it on the floor. That dumb, retarded Jason still loved her, even after all she had done to them, and he still loved her. Eli slipped into his black jacket and put the gun in the inside pocket; he knew that there were more kids in that park, and that they were doing evil, filthy, things.
Chapter Three: Kusinski Park 11pm
As Eli walked the five blocks to the park, he tried not to look at the pumpkins that seemed to be beside every door. The ones that glowed were the worst. They stared at him and seemed to accuse him of not doing more to end the evil, filthy, things that the kids were doing in the park. He wanted to shout, “What about Jason? He works for the police. He should be doing more!”
That stupid, retarded, Jason, he wanted to find a girl friend. He wanted to do evil and filthy things too. He always put the picture of Stella on the dresser. He worshiped that evil bitch! Stella, who had married the drunken fool and actually went to bed with him. They thought that he didn’t know about the filthy, evil, things that they did. He knew. He knew it all. He had seen them. They had taken off their clothes and rolled around on the filthy sheets and panted like dogs. He knew. The pumpkins knew too, especially the ones that glowed. The glowing pumpkins wanted Eli to end what those kids were doing in the park. He would save those kids, those evil and filthy kids, from becoming like Stella.
Eli entered the park and looked at the posts with their little round lamps on top. They didn’t give much light. That was good! In his black jacket and black pants, Eli felt almost invisible. He looked at the lamps again and began to hate them. The lamps wanted to help the evil, filthy kids, they weren’t like the pumpkins, not like the glowing pumpkins. Then he heard the giggling.
He took his gun out and stroked the hard, cold, barrel, as he walked off the path and behind the bushes and saw them. They were on the ground, the girl on her back with her legs spread and the boy next to her, his hands all over her. He fired once and the girls head exploded, he fired again and the boy’s hands stopped moving. Someone screamed and he walked back on the path, he looked at the lights and knew that they were part of the evil, he shot out one lamp, then another. Then he saw more evil and filthy kids and fired again. He walked beneath another lamp and tried to shot it but his gun jammed. People were screaming and Eli smiled as he turned and began to walk out of the park and back to his apartment. He was still smiling as he passed the pumpkins, he didn’t look, but he knew that they were smiling too, especially the ones that glowed.
He could sense that there were some people following him, he turned around and looked. Three guys were coming toward him, they were a little more than a block away. Maybe they wanted to congratulate him for clearing the evil and filthy kids out of the park. He looked harder, no, they didn’t look happy. He thought they looked like the kids who used to call Jason names and beat him up in high school. One of them shouted at him “Fat ass murderer!” Eli started to run.
Eli darted into the street against the light and was almost hit by a cab. The cabby shouted at him and gave him the finger, but Eli made it across and the resumed traffic flow stopped his pursuers. He kept running. When he got to his apartment house, he stopped and turned t see if he was still being followed. He didn’t see anyone running toward him, so he entered and ran into his apartment.
Ben reached for the phone, he had only just fallen asleep, “What?” he demanded.
“He’s at it again!” Mike shouted, “We know where he lives and who he is” he continued,
“Osmond and Shalela are on their way!”
Ben scribbled down the address and said “So am I. Seal off the building, get uniforms in the adjacent buildings. Have them warn everyone to stay in interior rooms and away from windows, but don’t confront him until I get there!”
Jason’s Apartment: 12 O’clock, Midnight
Jason stood in the center of his apartment and looked around. What was going on,
he wondered. Why was he standing there, had he been out? He was confused. He looked at his jacket. Why was the black side on the outside again? He turned on the TV and sat down. That Bowling Ball Bastard had struck again, and in Kusinski Park, the same place as before. He considered going back to the Station House, but no, the Detectives would be out. The news report went on and told that the police now knew who the killer was and where he lived. It seemed that that some people from the park had followed the Bastard home, but they wouldn’t give the address. Then he saw his Mom’s picture on the floor, “Mom”, he said, “why do you keep jumping off the dresser?” He picked it up and noticed that the glass had cracked. “I’m sorry Mom” he whispered to the picture, “I’ll get you a new glass, you’ll be ok.”
He took off his jacket and pulled the sleeves through so that the green side was out and the gun fell out. Jason picked it up and laid it on his coffee table, then he laid his jacket on it. “I’ll hang it up later, Mom” he said looking at her picture.
All four Detectives flattened themselves against the wall as they slowly crept toward Jason’s apartment. Their guns were drawn, barrels pointed up. Ben motioned with his hand for Mike to kick in the door and for Detectives Osmond and Shalela to go in low, Ben would be high, Mike would stay just outside.
Jason was so startled when the door crashed in that he didn’t even move. Then he saw his Detective friends and smiled. “I bet you guys came for this” he said as he reached for the gun under his jacket.
“Gun!” Osmond shouted.
Shalela fired simultaneously with Ben.
Jason’s expression never changed as he fell to the floor.
Ben looked down at the body, “Call the coroner” he intoned. Then he whispered to himself, “It’s still all the same, just all the same, even when it’s different”.
The end.
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
