2012年5月27日 Is-It-Fiction: For Higher part 2

The bathroom surprisingly still had powdered soap. I haven't used this in at least 16 years. I washed my hands thoroughly under the faucet, which was either broken or intentionally set to fire-hose pressures. I knew why I didn't want to go back and talk to Mose. I was getting addicted to the rush. I loved being on the force, but I also loved the addiction of the other work I did. The work I wasn't supposed to do.

Hemingway was right when he said hunting man is an addiction, outside of continuing investigations, I started to love the hunt. I tried drinking it away when it started to bother me, but it didn't work. Later, I thought if I tried having a wo-- a decent woman, in my life it would have went away. It didn't. Assignments from birds compromised the integrity of my work. I couldn't solve cases the clean way anymore. I had quit. Most people thought I quit because Pennetta had retired, but that was only part of the story.

I liked the killing. It wasn't easy work, but I found the work to be, rewarding. For once they weren't getting out. For once, they weren't getting smarter. I didn't have to waste time building cases anymore. But I also couldn't look at myself in the mirror as much. Not without a few drinks first. A few. There wasn't a nicer way to word "enough," without tacking on another addiction to suppress my darker addiction.

Harbin. How many Harbins were there in this city? I didn't want to know. I'm sure the birds knew. They knew everything. I griped under my breath reaching for a paper towel. At least they have paper towels. Some restaurants in this part of town didn't even have soap in their bathrooms. You'd also be lucky to find toilet-paper sometimes.

I knew what I was going to do before I even heard my own voice. You've already decided to deal with Harbin. You already knew you were going to get him before you even saw the picture of the girl. You knew this would come back. I thought leaving the force would have made this kind of work easier, but the miserable feelings lingered.

The first man I killed was a child molester, but honestly that wasn't the worst part of it. I had used an old STEN part kit I bought from a guy out of state. He didn't even ask for ID.

"Are you a felon?"

"No." I said.

"Good enough for me." He said smiling while shaking my hand.

It took a few weekends and some reading to figure out how to make a receiver for the STEN. After it was built of course I had to test it immediately. It worked without any problems. The waiting part came next. With other assignments and weather, I had to wait until a major downpour came in. Kind of like last night's. I mumbled.

Ernest "Joe" Franklin was a short man, around five and a half feet. He had a record, and I was vaguely aware of him before The Nest picked him for me. At first sight I couldn't imagine him as a child-molesting rapist. He was the most pitiful and insignificant man I've ever seen outside of bums. Neither large nor small. He gave no hint of predatory behavior. He was dressed humbly. Most people wouldn't think much of Franklin at first, but I knew otherwise.

I wore shoes bought from second hand store. They were two sizes larger than my average ten or eleven sized shoes. I hated how some brands' size 10 might fit well, but another's would be too tight. The shoes for this assignment would be doubled up with several thick socks. I hated loose shoes. They weren't the only things that changed, of course the clothes changed too. Black slacks with a dark maroon shirt, and a dark grey over-coat, almost black. It was an XXL, it worked wonderfully with hiding the STEN. I felt like Death dressing up for Valentine's Day.

He lived in a shitty apartment complex that looked worse than housing provided for east German's before the wall came down. I don't know why I knocked on his door. Lack of planning. I later told myself. Moreover, I don't know why he answered his door at 10:53 pm. But a meek voice came through the door, barely audible.

"Yes?..."

"Mr. Franklin, my name is detective Ellis Wagner, we need to talk." I lied.

A bolt snapped from the door in front me. Joe Franklin opened the door half way, pausing only to look up and down at me and my clothes. He knows. I panicked and pulled out the STEN. The sling I had made from old shoe-laces got caught on the rim of my belt buckle.

Franklin tired to shut the door, but I pushed forward. He didn't yell or anything. I think he knew. He moved towards the kitchen with gestures that reminded me of a cockroach. Which is exactly what he was. I said throwing the paper towels in the trash.

I dumped more than half the mag in him in my frenzied state. His kitchen was just long enough that I was able to keep some distance from him, which was good since there was a lot of blood. I stood there briefly. I don't know for how long, but I reloaded STEN. Then I put the more than half empty magazine in my coat pocket. It popped out slightly since the pockets weren't deep enough.

But that wasn't the problem. The problem was a woman screaming from behind me. I had no idea Franklin had a woman over. It was also the last time I rushed into an assignment like this. 

Beyond her twisted facial expressions, I could tell she was probably near or at forty years old. She looked much older though, probably because she had aged physically from either drug use, heavy smoking, or hanging out in the sun too long. I'm sure it was all three.

She quickly did a one-eighty hugging the wall as she rushed around a corner for the bedroom. I was sweating bullets from this one. She saw me. She saw me. I remember thinking. I shot through the living room wall into the bedroom area. My ears were ringing a little bit as I carefully crept towards the bedroom door, pushing it open with the muzzle of the gun.

She was barely crawling towards the window with what little life she had left. It was pathetic, frightening, and depressing. Even if I did nothing, she'd bleed out before she would even have a chance to stand. I gave a quick burst.

Hemingway was right. I thought again. Of course, the most frightening thing wasn't really watching her terror or Franklin's, it was the exhilaration I felt as I left the building. Are you one of them now? Are you doing the right thing? Of course you are. I said lying to myself.

No one seemed to really pay much attention to me. Crime wasn't committed by suit wearing fellows out here, or rather if it was, there weren't any witnesses coming forward. People only did that when children were at risk. But sometimes even that wasn't enough.

It was really was like hunting. It felt even better knowing Franklin would never hurt anyone ever again. I later found out his woman friend was just some two-bit druggie. It did matter. I still have to go back to my desk the next day at the station. I said to myself dumping the gun and clothes.

I later found out she tried to get help, and even called the police a few times when her bad choices in boyfriends got too rowdy with her. But like most women she never pressed charges. It was a time when women with black eyes could decide whether or not they wanted to. Women like that reminded me of raccoons. Now they can't do that, and now she'll never be able to again.

I did hate it at first. I hated the lying. I loved my job, I loved the force. I did. I really loved being there. I loved how kids looked at me when some of us would visit high-schools or middle-schools. But the job never ended, and it followed me home. It never turned off. I can't even remember her name... What was it again?

I opened the bathroom door. Back to reality. But Franklin and that woman were real. That's right, they WERE real. I'm sure you're the only one who remembers them. I pursed my lips as I walked back the booth Mose and were sitting.

It was raining outside and our food had already come. He never waited for me when it came to food. Eat while you can. Eat up. After while the food will lose its taste. I remembered.

After Franklin and woman, I realized I was fortunate enough to have to bump her off. But the first ones. The first ones were hard. If my first one was a woman, maybe I wouldn't have been able to do it. It never got easier after they stopped moving. Only more addicting.

"So what's it gunna be?" Mose said with food still in his mouth.

I frowned a bit looking at him, then I turned to look at the rain outside.