Twisted Endings: 5 Disturbing Stories (4 page)

“In my day we just lifted weights so we could beat the crap out of 'em. Worst case scenario, we'd run.” He paused and shook his head. “Yeah. Whatever. I'm in.”

“Fantastic! Now, Peters, what's on the agenda this week?”

Mike Peters stood and cleared his throat. “Just a reminder, Richie and Johnson are on foot patrol this month. Matthews, Smith, and O'Brien are mobile. Make sure you work out a schedule with each other. The rest of you are lucky for now.”

“I ain't been lucky since I broke up with Amy,” Chris Baxter snickered.

The room was filled with jeers.

“Listen up, people,” I pleaded. “What else you got, Peters?”

“Uhhhhh, the Murphys are out of town for the next few days.”

“We got anybody on that?”

“Taken care of,” Baxter offered.

“Good. O'Brien, go ahead and cover that area tonight.”

“You got it, Boss.”

“You know what? Richie, I'd like you to cover that street on foot as well.”

“You sensing something?” Richie asked.

“There's been a lot of motion in that area this week. Might be the same guy who took a shot at Jeeters a few weeks ago. I've got a feeling our boy is gonna try something soon. I wanna be waiting for him when he does.”

“He needs a lesson,” old man Jeeters spat. “What do you want me to do?”

“You're on window watching,” I said. “We need your eyes.”

“So much for respecting your elders. I get the useless job.”

“You're welcome to leave anytime you want," Richie pointed out.”"I can help you out the door if you like. Maybe get you a wheelchair.”

Old man Jeeters crossed his arms and looked away from everyone.

“Anybody have anything else to add?” I asked.

“When are we gonna get walkie talkies?” O’Brien asked.

“We all have cell phones, you idiot,” the man next to him whispered, jabbing him in the side.

“Anything else?”

Silence.

“No? All right. I've got a football game to watch, so you can all get your sorry butts out of my house.”

“What about the guns?” someone asked.

“Take one. Just don’t get caught.”

I thought that was the last I'd hear from them for another month, but old man Jeeters called me in the middle of the Packers game that very same night. The old man needed a life.

“I saw him,” he said.

“Saw who?”

“Who do you think? The one who tried to off me. He's circled the block a couple of times. I think he's gonna make his move.”

“You call anyone else?”

“Not yet. I'm gonna go after this guy myself.”

“Jeeters, listen to me. We need to do this together. Let me get some men over there before you do anything stupid.”

“No can do, Boss. This one's mine.”

“Jeeters...”

Click
.

“Jeeters!”

I slammed the phone down and dialed another number.

“Mobile One here.”

“O'Brien, this is Rob. Keep your eyes open on McFarland. Jeeters spotted a suspicious vehicle.”

“Roger that.”

“What's your current location?”

“Uhhhh, I'm just off McFarland and Washington.”

“Stay there. Lights out. Got eyes with you?”

“Roger that. Night vision. Never leave home without 'em.”

“Good man. Let me know if anything goes down.”

“Roger that. Out.”

I dialed the next number I could think of.

“Yeah?”

“Baxter, this is Flanagan. How's the house-sitting?”

“Not as fun as I thought. You should see this place. It's like 1975 here. They probably paid ten bucks for the TV.”

“Listen up. Jeeters has spotted some activity. You might see some action.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah. I'm sending some backup. You got your piece?”

“Locked and loaded.”

“Okay. I need to make another call. Keep your eyes open and let me know if anything goes down.”

“You got it. Out.”

I had one more call to make.

“Foot Patrol.”

“How's it goin', Richie?”

“I'd rather be in bed.”

“I hear ya, man. Listen, there may be some activity at the Murphy house soon. Can you get in the area?”

“Not far from there now.”

“Good. Try to stay out of sight. We don't want to scare him off. Not before we deal with him.”

“Got it. Can't wait to get my hands on him.”

“Keep an eye out for Jeeters. God knows what he'll do.”

“That's just great. Okay. Out.”

Everything should've been okay after that so I returned to the Packers game. I had missed the entire third quarter.

The phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Bad news, Boss,” Baxter whispered. “Jeeters was right. This guy pulled up less than a minute ago. He's walking around the house with a flashlight. What should I do?”

“Does he know you're there?”

“Doubt it. Don't have any lights on or anything.”

“Good. Call Mobile and Foot. I'm coming down to make sure you guys don’t screw this up.”

“Should I call the cops?”

“Very funny.”

“What if he gets in before you get here?”

I thought about it. “Shoot him.”

It took him a minute to answer, “Okay. Out.”

I threw my coat on and turned off the TV. The Packers were losing anyway. I ran out to my Miata and raced to the Murphys. I parked a block away and walked back.

“Richie,” I nearly yelled, running up behind him, “what’s going on?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“You seen Jeeters?”

“Nope.”

“Great. No telling what that stubborn old fool might do.”

Richie shook his head. “Probably get himself shot. Look, are we gonna talk all night or get this guy before he ruins another house?”

"Chill, okay? Let's get him.”

We continued to walk down the sidewalk until we stood in the front yard of the Murphys' old, brick two-story house. The intruder had parked his car right there in the front. He was spitting in our faces. I looked across the street to see Mobile One at the next house down and whistled.

O'Brien stuck his head out of the Ford. I motioned for him to join us. He jumped out of the car and closed the door quietly before running over to us like a retarded Navy Seal.

“You seen Jeeters?” I asked him.

“Nah. But I’m sure he’s around.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What’s the plan?” Richie asked.

I handed them my home-made black masks. “Baxter’s in there. His life could be in danger. We need to move in.”

They both nodded.

“What are these for?” O'Brien asked, sliding one over his face. “I can't see anything.” He looked even dumber as he put it on backwards with the cut out eyes and nose facing behind him. “I feel like I'm in a Muppet movie.”

“Come here,” Richie said, slapping him on the back of the head. He pulled the mask off and pointed to the three holes. “So he can't recognize us if he gets away.”

O'Brien blushed.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take the front. Richie, take the right. O'Brien, take the left. You two meet up in the rear and make an entrance if you have to. I don't know where the guy’s at but it's a safe bet he's made it inside by now. Let’s put our phones on 3-way.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do when we catch him?” O'Brien asked, switching his phone on.

I scratched my head. “It's time to put an end to this. Teach him a lesson he'll never forget.”

The two of them disappeared around the house. I took a deep breath and walked up the front steps. This was something we had to do for all of us. For our safety.

I didn't even have to turn the knob — the front door was slightly open.
Great
, I thought.
He's made it inside
. I sure hoped Baxter was prepared for the guy and not watching some rerun of
Three's Company
. Although the girls sure did look good in those short shorts.

The house was dark so I stood there for a moment and let my eyes adjust. I couldn't help but think Baxter was hiding in some closet. This intruder had a gun and wasn't afraid to use it. He had proved that with Jeeters. Jeeters...where was he?

The steps creaked and then I saw the beam of light. The intruder was still fishing around with the flashlight. I walked as quietly as possible to the staircase. I had to follow him up without so much as a peep. I reached for my gun but it wasn’t there.
No!
In my haste I’d forgotten all about the piece.

It didn’t matter...he was going down. I made sure I walked on the outer edges of the steps, avoiding any pressure in the center, the creaking points. It felt like I was in a video game, walking secretively, avoiding the flashlight. I had a feeling I wouldn’t find a star or mushroom or banana at the top.

The intruder turned around so fast, so unexpectedly that the light blinded me for a second. “Stop!” he shouted. “Don’t move!” He reached for his hip and I knew a bullet would be heading my way.

My Sunday afternoon football skills came into play. I tackled the man and dropped him to his back before he could reach his gun. He moaned and slapped at me like a little girl. I let him taste my fist.

His legs caught me by the waist and threw me down the stairs. I grabbed the railing before I became roadkill for the monster. “Don't make this hard on yourself,” he had the nerve to tell me. He had the gun in his hands.

I made an intellectual decision at that point. “Gotta go.” I slipped into the nearest room, using my hands to feel around in the dark. I found a table. A fork. A knife.

A knife!

There's no way I was getting shot that night. I still had to see if the Packers had won.
Please
God, let them win
. I grabbed the knife and ducked underneath what I decided was a dining room table.

The streaming beam of light entered the room. I couldn't see the man at all.
O'Brien, Richie, where are you guys? Sure could use your help.

“Come on out,” the unknown voice commanded when the light flashed in my face. The gun was illuminated right next to the flashlight. Jeeters got away that one night but I didn't feel so lucky.

“Okay, okay. Let's settle this like men.” I tried not to sound as scared as I was.

“Out! And put the knife down!”

I cussed myself for holding the knife right next to my face, in clear view for all to see. I shook my head and dropped it.

“What's going on?” came the unmistakable voice of O'Brien when the dining room lights flooded the room. I flinched from the sudden burst but saw that the intruder had a hand over his eyes to shield them. I reached down and grabbed the knife, then slid out from under the table as quickly as I could.

I jumped up behind the man and put the knife to his throat. "Drop the gun." He put his hand down and hesitated.

“Do it,” Richie said as he entered the room, brandishing his own gun.

O'Brien moved his eyes from person to person, looking like a confused baby.

The man's gun thudded on the floor.

“What're we gonna do with him?” O'Brien asked.

“Move,” I whispered into the man's ear, guiding him toward the door. “We're gonna beat the crap outta him,” I answered O'Brien. “Maybe then he'll make a better career choice.”

“But I thought —” Richie started.

“That's all we're gonna do, Richie. Okay? We're not killers. And where the heck is Baxter?”

“I don’t know. Probably sucking his thumb.”

I figured we could beat the intruder 'til the sun came up, then dump his body at the police station. They could figure out what to do with him.

The front door opened and Jeeters stepped in.

“This him?” Jeeters asked.

“Jeeters,” I said, “we've got it handled. Go on back home and get some sleep.”

“We're the weight lifting boys now,” Richie mocked. “Worst case scenario, we'll run.”

Jeeters couldn't take his eyes off the man we captured. I could see the anger in his eyes. And the determination to prove something to all of us. This was, after all, the man who had shot at him. He looked up and down the man, sizing him up. Crew cut, strong build, blue uniform, and a badge.

That's right. Hold on tight.

Jeeters reached behind his back and pulled out one of the automatics I had provided.

“Jeeters, don't!”

“Sorry, Rob.”

I knew I couldn’t stop him so I dived to the floor.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! click...click...click

The cop was on the floor, dead. Old man Jeeters had lost his mind. Richie walked up to him and pried the gun out of his hands. I saw a look of respect in his eyes as he nodded at Jeeters.

Like I said, we had three robberies on First Street last month. Two on McFarland. There would have been ten if we had felt safer. Old man Jeeters almost got shot protecting his family. We’re one big family. The cops have become increasingly unreliable. We’re thieves and they’re coming after us with everything they have. We will continue to finish them off one at a time. Thank God for the neighborhood watch.

The Amazing Flea Circus

“AND now, ladies and gentlemen, the amazing Diving Dexter will attempt to fly through the Flaming Hoop of Death!”

Nineteen-year-old Jen McKnight glanced at her watch and sighed as most of the younger crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’. For the past thirty minutes she had watched this middle-aged carnival showman wax eloquent about his supposed fleas. He wore a top hat and a black bow tie, and pounced around in plaid pantaloons.

“I’m going to need some help with this one. Any volunteers?”

Jen stared at the ground. She was embarrassed enough just to be here. She had her niece Ashley and sister Carla to thank for this. Of all of the tents here, Ashley had insisted on this one.

“Me, me, me. Over here!”

Jen was horrified to see Ashley jumping up and down with the rest of the crowd. “Hey…sit down,” she pleaded, tugging on Ashley’s arm.

“You! Come on up!” the entertainer blurted. He pointed at Ashley.

“Go ahead,” Carla assured Ashley. “Make sure you come right back.”

“But he’s not pointing at me,” Ashley whined. “He’s pointing at Aunt Jen.”

The showman grabbed Jen’s hand and pulled her out of her chair. “Let’s have a round of applause for this pretty little lady!”