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Evil Forces Gary Lovisi |
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“When she told me to beware the evil forces, I just didn’t think much of it at the time. You know, Griff?” I nodded. That’s my partner, Fats, saying those words to me back in 1963, in a town I’ll call Bay City. I remember that I’d never seen Fats so nervous before. His big blubbery face full of sweat, his walrus-size body shivering and shaking like Jell-O with a bad attitude. I never seen him so affected but then the recent spate of killings in Bay City had just started and affected a lot of people that way. By the end, it got a whole lot worse for us all and damn near cost Fats his life. Cheerful stuff. It began on a damp, cool morning. Fats’ nose was running like a faucet as he drove our old war-wagon Plymouth down Dumont Avenue ignoring all the hustlers, pimps, crims and hookers plying their trade boldly out in broad daylight. Like it was all so normal. If you knew Bay City back then, you’d know that wasn’t the half of it. We headed for Rosie’s Diner for some morning eats. I said, “You know Fats, that’s pretty disgusting, rubbing your suit sleeve all over your wet slimy nose like that.” Fats burped, rubbed his nose again, I saw a sheen of mucous on his sleeve. He said, “I got a cold, Griff. The damn faucet won’t stop running.” I nodded. It had been uncommonly cold lately, like almost a supernatural cold. An evil chill. I didn’t like that feeling at all, and when I looked over to Fats, I could see that he was thinking the exact same thing. “Something’s up, Griff. Something bad.” He was driving slow, careful. I shrugged, “Something’s always up in this town.” One thing you could always rely on in Bay City, there was always stuff going on – and none of it was ever good. We never got to Rosie’s. A call came over the box and we had the siren screaming and lights flashing as Fats gunned our old Plymouth across town to an empty factory on the border of ‘the square mile of vice’. The locals, mostly hookers sleeping off the previous night’s dating action, and winos and junkies on the nod, hardly noticed us as Fats pulled up to a deserted section of fence surrounding a run-down factory that hadn’t been open for business in years. Our old friend Barney and his new partner were already there. “Hey Griff, Hi. Mr. Stubbs,” Barney said welcoming us to his nightmare, “You ain’t gonna believe what I’ve found! We got us another one!” He took us to the big double truck doors of the entrance. Barney never called Fats, Fats, it was always Mr. Stubbs back then. I know he was a bit intimidated by the Fatman. He wouldn’t have been the only one. Half of Bay City was intimidated by Fats in our heyday, including brother cops and our bosses downtown. Even the mayor kept away from Sergeant Herman Stubbs. They’d had a history in the early days that had put the X on Fats, ruined his career and made a lifetime enemy of the powers-that-be. That’s why Fat’s partnered with me now. The word was out. No one would partner with him; it was a career killer for sure. My career was dead from other sources. So we just naturally gravitated to each other, partnered up, and somehow it all worked. We even had Captain Landis in our corner on occasion. He liked results. Fats and I got him results. I smiled at Fats. He looked all-serious, then took out a Hershey bar with almonds, unwrapped it with one hand and packed the entire chocolate glob into his huge gaping maw, then he took a deep drag from a Camel with the other hand. Clouds of cigarette smoke and the smell of chocolate swarmed over me. “Appears to be an interesting case,” Fats said. “How can you tell?” I asked as we followed Barney. “I got the feel, Griff. Got’s the feel.” I nodded and kept walking. I knew what Fats meant. Sometimes you just know. Then, as if to validate my thoughts, Barney spoke up nervously. “Some weird stuff here, guys.” “In what particular way?” Fats asked, burping loudly. Nothing was going to take him away from food when the eating mood was on him. Barney’s gaze took in the huge abandoned factory. It had been a hanger-type building once. Dark, enormous, empty. But not quite empty… “Fats…” I whispered. “I see it Griff.” “The blood trail,” Barney said expressing our thoughts and trying to hide the terror in his voice. He slowly moved forward, Fats and I soon passed him up. “It’s up there. I ain’t never seen nothing like it before. It’s like one long…” “Smear… A giant smear of blood. We’re talking gallons, Griff. Starts here, runs over to…” Fats said, following it. I followed him, Barney took up the rear. Now I took the lead and walked on ahead, counting my paces, “Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, and it stops right here. Amount of blood indicates the body stopped here. Dragged itself, or was dragged here, more likely. That’s strange. Then…?” “But where is it now, Griff?” Barney said, “Ah, guys, if you don’t need me anymore is it okay if I go outside and cop a smoke?” Fats held out his pack of Camels. I knew Barney did not smoke. Barney took a butt out of Fat’s pack, gave the Fatman back the pack and left. I smiled. Fats just laughed to himself, then said, “Bulls! They all wanna be dicks, until they see the hard stuff.” “Ah, Barney’s alright.” I said, looking over the crime scene again. Looking for the body and wondering where it could possibly be. “Sure, Barney’s a peach, Griff, but this ain’t his style. This kinda sicko crap is more like…” “…more like our style, Fats.” I finished, smiling. Fats nodded, shaking his jowls, “Lotta blood, Griff. This fella – I assume it was a man – was literally tore apart. A bloody mess for sure. But interesting enough, if he wasn’t dragged – and I don’t think he was – he was sure as hell clawing the cement floor here to get away, or to stop being pulled… I wonder?” We could see fingernail marks in the flooring. That’s pretty indicative of something. Exactly what, we weren’t sure of just then. “Fear of the killer?” I said simply. “Or something,” Fats added, “scared the hell right out of him!” I looked at his big, fat, sweaty face, “Or something? What you trying to say here, Fats?” “Something scared this guy right to hell and back. A guy cut to ribbons like that don’t lay down and die like a reasonable corpse but tries to get away with the last drop of blood and strength in his body. What do you suppose scares someone so bad like that, Griff?” “I don’t know,” I replied. I froze when I felt the drop on my cheek. I remember hoping it was a drop of rainwater from the leaky roof above – but we hadn’t had rain in days. Fats looked at me and I watched his big sad face as I brought my finger to my cheek. When I brought it away, I saw blood. Okay, no surprise there. Then Fats and I both looked above our heads into the darkness of the metal rafters. There didn’t appear to be anything up there in the shadows, until we saw it. There was a dark blob that seemed wedged in there above us. Another drop of blood dripped down on me. “I think we found the stiff, Griff,” Fats said, being his usual wise-ass self. “Yeah, now why don’t you be a good partner and find a ladder and bring him down?” “Ah, Griff, you really gonna make me climb up there?” Fats said, shaking his head. I said nothing, just made the call for the meat wagon and for Doc, the medical examiner, to take a ride over while we tried to figure how the hell the stiff got up there or who put him up there and why, for Christsakes? *** “So what happened to him?” I asked Doc Carten after he’d had a good look at the corpse. Fats stood by looking over the body, it was shredded with lacerations, a mass of dried bloody pulp on a gurney. “Interesting,” Doc said re-examining a wound. “Yeah, well, Doc, I’m sure it is, but you mind letting us in on it?” Fats bellowed. He was eating a large tuna hero. He’d forced me to stop off at Jackie’s on the ride back to get him something to tide him over until dinner. “This corpse has had almost all the blood evacuated from the system. There was an attack here so violent, so intense, so devastating, the body was literally torn to pieces. Almost shredded. No human could do such a thing. There’s something else, no human would be able to fling this mass of flesh so high into the rafters of the building. It was not placed up there, it was flung up there, blood spray indicates as much, but for the love of God I can’t see why.” I nodded. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear just then. Fats asked, “So Doc, then what kinda animal could do this?” I was thinking lion, tiger, maybe King Kong? Doc shook his head, said, “No animal did this either.” Fats gave me that look he has sometimes. He said, “Ah, Doc, you’re not being real clear.” “Doc,” I said, “if the killer wasn’t human and it wasn’t an animal… Where does that leave us? And how did the body get up there? What could be that strong?” Old Doc didn’t say anything right off. He was examining, thinking, shaking his head. Looking nervous. “Where does that leave us, Doc?” I repeated. “Somewhere in between?” Fats offered. I didn’t know what Fats meant by that comment but it didn’t do me much good when I saw Doc Carten reluctantly nod his head in agreement. I said, “What the hell does that mean?” Doc said, “I don’t know how to say it, Griff. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes real sense.” Fats nodded, “Evil forces, Griff. That what you’re trying to say, Doc?” Doc just shrugged, said, “Your guess is as good as mine Sergeant Stubbs.” *** We left and I was more perplexed than ever. “How do we explain this to Captain Landis? What do we say, our perp is neither human nor animal? What’s that mean, Fats, he’s a freakin plant! And a damn strong one, that can hurl a full grown man’s corpse fifteen feet into the rafters!” “No, Griff, what it means is something in-between human and animal, like a …” I looked at him then, getting more exasperated. ‘Like what, Fats?” He didn’t say anything. Which was strange for him. He shut right up. Most uncommon if you knew the Fatman. I mocked him saying, “Fats? Oh Fats?” He said, “Yeah, Griff?” “Is there something you’re not telling me?” He didn’t say a word. I could hear the wheels turning in his head though. I barked, “You fat bastard! You got a clue or some idea of something about this! I just know it! Come on, give!” “You’re not gonna like it, Griff.” “I don’t like it already.” Then he said it. “Werewolf, Griff. I think we got us a werewolf killing.” Well, I had over five years to go before retirement and Fats was without any doubt the best partner I’ve ever had so this murder was turning into one big stinko of a case. I just hoped he hadn’t finally cracked. I said, “Werewolf?” He said, “Yeah, werewolf.” I said, “Fats, you’re a trained police professional. What would ever make you think that?” Fats just said, “Evil forces, Griff. I can feel them. I see them in the lacerations on the corpse, like dozens of tiny knife marks but made by some type of claw. Not human. That’s what hurled the body up in the rafters.” “I don’t believe it, Fats.” “Look, Griff, I don’t either. I’m just saying, that’s what it looks like to me.” “Okay, I got you now, so you’re not nuts, after all. I think. So what you’re trying to tell me in your own crazy way is that we got some sicko pervert or mental case out there who thinks he’s a werewolf?” Fats didn’t say a word. Not a good sign. “So what exactly are you saying, Fats? I asked. “Either we have a madman, Griff, or something worse…” Worse? I didn’t like that part but I put it out of my mind and said, “So what do we do?” “We begin with the evil forces, Griff. We go and talk to Zelda. She’ll tell you what she told me about what was happening.” I nodded, at least it was a place to start. *** The Amazing Zelda had a place on Third Street off Dumont, right in the center of the Square Mile of Vice. She’d been a doll once, when she was young in the '20s, a sexy flapper speakeasy dancer. Today, 40 years later she was rough. And tough. Former hooker and madam, now doing the mind-reading fortune telling scam. From what I’d heard, Zelda had been doing well at it too. Like she knew certain things she shouldn’t have known. Or so some people said. “I get feelings sometimes, Fats. You know what I mean?” Her wild eyes looking us over. There was something weird and mysterious about Zelda and I wasn’t sure that it was all act. Fats didn’t know what she was talking about. He just said, “You mean like cravings?” I laughed. Tried to compose myself. My partner, always thinking of food or sex. “Detectives, we don’t have to play no games with each other. You know I’m running a good scam here. I admit it. I pay off and no one bothers me. But sometimes, it seems too good. It scares me. I’m thinking of quitting, doing something else. I was telling that to Fats the other day.” “Zelda, tell me about the evil forces.” “They’re everywhere, Griff. All around you. All around me, swirling around Fats. Hungry. Bloody. Ready and waiting.” Fats looked like he was getting the creeps. I figured Zelda was certifiable but said, “Ready and waiting for what, Zelda?” “To do stuff, to do evil. They scare me. I can see them sometimes. I see their forms, not their human ones, but their evil ones. The ugliness is indescribable. There’s one I’ve been seeing too much lately, in my dreams, now even in my waking hours. Dark fur, growling, bloody fangs and mouth, claws, wolfish…” Fats looked at me nervously. “Like a werewolf?” I asked. Zelda just froze. Silent. “I can feel it, Griff, it’s here!” “Here? Now?” Fats pulled his gun. “In Bay City, I mean,” she continued, eyes glassy, her skin suddenly turned ashen. She was a good actress, I’ll give her that. She was even spooking me. I said, “Zelda?” She froze, her eyes growing larger like terrified yellow disks in her head, her face twisting in fear, then terror. She opened her mouth to scream but not a sound came out. She was frozen in total terror. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen whether it was an act or not. Fats slapped her face. “Come out of it, Zelda!”Zelda crumpled to the floor. She didn’t move. She was quiet, pale. It took me a minute to realize she wasn’t breathing. I checked her out. She was an excellent actress and scam artist. I looked up at my partner, took a deep breath and said, “Fats, she’s dead.” Fats shook his head in disbelief; “I didn’t slap her that hard, Griff.” I nodded. I knew Fats’ slap hadn’t killed Zelda. Fear had killed Zelda. Sheer stark terror. “She’d seen something, Griff. Somehow she picked up on the werewolf and that means something,” Fats said. “I’ll make the call, why don’t you check out her place.” I took a blanket off the couch and covered Zelda’s body. It was disturbing looking at her face, at her bulging eyes. It was like she was still looking, still seeing… What, I wondered? For sure it was something that had so terrified her, that her old heart had just given out. Maybe the same thing that had tortured that unidentified body in the warehouse? I wondered. Could they be related? *** Doc Carten called us with an ID on the first victim, male, white, about 25 years old. Carten said, “Griff, the victim was Ronald Meyer, we got a partial print. Thought you’d want to know, seeing as he’s the son of the most important man in Bay City and an escapee from a mental institution.” I told Fats. He said, “We’re in a real mess now.” Captain Landis called soon after. We expected it. He said, “Look guys, they want this cleared up. Yesterday!” Fats growled, “Political pressure, as if we don’t have enough crap to handle.” “Well, let’s get cracking,” I said. “Better go and take a ride, talk to Meyer’s father. Then take a ride to that mental institution. Something very strange in all of this and we’re going to get to the bottom of it by hook or by crook.” “I’m with you, Griff!” Fats growled. *** Old Man Meyer wasn’t much help. A retired industrialist he lived a lonely, desperate existence on a secluded estate. His second marriage to a fecund showgirl forty years his junior had produced one child, Ronald. The wife had died in childbirth. His son had been his life, and that life had gone dark a year ago when Ronald had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor that brought on paranoia, dementia and sudden outbursts of extreme violence. He’d killed a man in a fight, but what had been kept out of the papers is that he had also cut out the man’s heart and eaten it. Witnesses were terrified. Ronald was tried and put away in an institution for the criminally insane. That was our next stop. *** We were driving out of Bay City. After a while Fats started getting chatty. Always a bad sign. “The problem as I see it in the world here is all the damn assholes, Griff. Pure and simple.” He blurted. Then he continued, “The reason we gots so many problems in the world today is primarily because of assholes.” I nodded; I could see where this discussion was going. It was going to be a long ride out to the nuthatch. “No really, Griff,” Fats insisted. I said, “I don’t know. Assholes are annoying, but I think if you really want to fix things it’s the scumbags that cause the problems.” If you’ve been in police work, or ever lived life with your eyes open, you’ll know these are two very distinct types of trouble causing people. Fats cogitated on my words a moment and smiled, “You’re right, you know.” “Thanks,” I muttered. “No really, I think I got it figured now. The assholes are bad, they’re trouble sometimes, but the scumbags are definitely worse.” “Absolutely. Assholes usually are just annoying, and every one of us can be a bit of an A-hole now and then.” “Right you are,” Fats bellowed. “Yeah, but scumbags… Man, they’re the guys that do the bad stuff.” “Yeah, Griff, except if you’re talking about skells. Now you take your basic city skell and I’ll peg him worse than any scumbag any day. And a lot worse than any mere asshole.” Fats said, letting his words of wisdom scoot around in his brain. “Right, but you know all scumbags and skells are also assholes,” I added. Fats nodded, driving, thinking, then said, “Yeah, but not all assholes are scumbags or skells. See what I mean?” “Absolutely,” I replied, his logic was impeccable. “Now, take your basic scumbag skell, some mother raping bastard or druggie whore, some thrill killer maniac lowlife only fit for the electric chair. That’s gotta be the worst kind of combo there is,” Fats said proudly. “That’s where all our problems come from.” I shrugged and said, “Slow down, Fats, we’re coming to Willow Grove.” *** Willow Grove didn’t say it was an institution for the criminally insane, but the high walls and discreet guard towers let on this wasn’t your average funny farm. “They’re coming to take me away, aha, aha, aha, la, la, la, de, da.” Fats sung as we got out of our car. “Shoulda happened years ago,” I muttered. We walked the white pebble drive to the gate to announce our presence. Soon we were in the main building and greeted by a pompous looking oaf who dressed all in white and said he was Doctor William Willard, the high mucky-muck of the nut house. We shook hands and then Fats and I got down to business. “Doctor Willard, the reason we’re here is to investigate a murder. We want to talk to one of your inmates…” “We call them patients, officer.” “Well, it’s Lieutenant, actually.” I responded. Fats laughed, chugged down some Ju-Ju Bees. I guess he figured he was at the movies, waiting to see the main attraction when we were given the tour of the asylum. “Anyway, Doctor, one of your patients figures in a murder we’re investigating”. “I doubt that very much, Lieutenant. Regardless, we value the privacy of our patients very seriously.” “Even when they break out!” Fats barked. “Impossible, detective! Turner is held under the tightest security.” Willard said. I looked at Fats and he looked at me. I said, “Ah, Doctor, I don’t know who this Turner is. We’re here because someone killed Ronald Meyer. He escaped from here last night and was found dead this morning. Mutilated.” “Oh that? Of course, it was a terrible shame,” Willard said nervously, backsliding now. Fats gave me his most meaningful nudge. “We need your cooperation, Doctor Willard,” I said trying to play good-cop to Fats’ Attila the Hun. “Do you have any prospects in the werewolf area that we can talk to?” That made his face grow serious and become fearful. “Come on, Doc, we need your help in this,” Fats prompted. Doctor Willard took a deep breath; nervously looked around and then said. “Yes, one of my patients does have serious delusions that he is a lycanthrope.” “A what…?” Fats barked. “That’s Doc lingo for werewolf, Fats,” I added. “We have him under constant lock-down and medication,” Willard continued apparently ignoring Fats’ outburst. “He is the one patient that no one on my staff has been able to reach. Medication only controls the situation; it does not allow us to cure it. But this man is heavily tranquilized all the time, I assure you, and harmless. He is certainly not leaving his cell or the grounds.” “Could that be this guy, Turner, you mentioned?” Willard nodded reluctantly. “Could he be faking it? Faking taking his meds?” I asked. “Well, I suppose so, Lieutenant,” Willard said thoughtfully, “patients do that from time to time, but my staff acts accordingly to ensure that all patients are amply medicated as the need arises. Whether they want it or not. We are quite aware that we have some dangerous people here, but most are ill and really just misunderstood.” “Yeah, right, Doc. They’re misunderstood, like Al Capone was misunderstood,” Fats barked. “Is this an institution for the criminally insane or not?” I deflected Fats’ question and asked, “ Well, Doc, so who is this Turner?” Doctor Willard took a deep breath, said, “We house him in a special ward all by himself and he is under 24 hour watch. Elijah Turner is our most violent and dangerous patient here at Willow Grove.” “And that’s saying a lot,” Fats added. I ignored his remark and said, “We’d like to see Turner right away.” “Impossible,” the doctor said. “Nothing’s impossible, Doc, a murder’s been committed,” Fats bellowed. “You can’t do that!” Doctor Willard seemed shocked, surprised, he moved back a step. Fats moved forward a step, Doctor Willard moved backwards another step. Fats said, “Don’t tell us we can’t see him, Doc.” I put my hand on Fats’ two-ton arm and trying to be pleasant said, “You see, Doctor Willard, this is a Capitol case now. We have to see Elijah Turner right away.” “You can’t see him, it would be too traumatic. Why when he sees people, anyone at all, myself or staff, he flies into violent fits of rage,” Willard said nervously. “I get that way myself, sometimes,” Fats laughed. I gave him a shake of my head, he wasn’t being helpful. “It can’t be helped, Doctor. Now tell me, in which building and in what cell is this Elijah Turner housed,” I asked. “Spill it, Doc!” Fats growled. He was loosing his patience. Doctor Willard sighed, said, “Follow me, he’s in Special D Block. I’ll take you to him.” *** Willard led us to an ultra white building set away from the others in the complex. It was made of cinder blocks, not standard red bricks like all the other buildings. There was a billy-club-wearing member of the staff seated at a desk at the entrance. He was a big one; over six feet and he jumped up in surprise when he saw us. Willard took us over to the desk, said, “Albert, these are police detectives. I’ve brought them to see Elijah Turner. Please unlock the door for us.” “Ah, Doctor Willard, I don’t know… I don’t think that’s such a good idea now. You know what I mean? Turner’s acting very strange lately. Violent. I wouldn’t go in there if I were you…” “Albert, the keys, please!” Willard said sternly, annoyed at having staff question his actions. “But Doctor…” Albert stiffened. “Keys, Albert!” Fats barked. Then to me he said, “Something smells awful peculiar here, Griff.” Willard blanched, looked at Albert with alarm. “Give me the keys!” When Willard opened the door that led into the corridor he ran to cell #1. And we were right behind him. He looked through the little eye-level window in the door, gasped, said, “Oh my God!” and quickly threw open the door to the cell. Fats and I drew our revolvers and bulled our way through. The Doctor came in afterwards, Albert followed nervously. Fats and I looked at each other, then at Willard. We all looked at Albert. “Son of a bitch!” Fats growled. I said, “Doc, you and your boy Albert here better have a damn good explanation why Turner’s missing!” *** We were back in Willard’s Office in the main administration building. Fats had called Smitty to come by to take Albert into custody. I told them to sweat him for all he was worth but the worm seemed to be pretty mum about the entire affair. Sacred to death more likely. Didn’t want to end up like Ronald Meyer trussed up in a warehouse like a side of beef. We had an immediate search of the hospital and the grounds but Turner didn’t show up. Somehow, Fats and I didn’t think he would. I said, “We’ve got to tell Captain Landis, put an APB on Turner. We can’t have this psycho running loose in town, God knows what he’ll do!” Fats nodded. I turned to Willard, “I think you better tell us now if you know anything about this. You did let him out. Why? His rich father pay you off with cash under the table or did he just promise to buy you a new wing for your fancy hospital?” “Ah, Griff, there you go, spoiling my illusions about the psychiatric profession. Say it ain’t so, Doc? Tell him. Say it ain’t so… and I’d bet you’d be a lying bastard!” Doctor Willard held his anger and stalled for time. He saw the way things were going now. We smelled a rat. Bribery, professional ethics violated, scandal, and murder! I noticed a transformation come over him then. He was cornered and he knew it. Maybe we didn’t have the whole story yet, but Fats and I sure had our suspicions and it was just a matter of time. Willard knew that too but we didn’t realize how dangerous that would make him. Fats and I were seated facing Willard in his office trying to get the truth out of him. He was seated behind his big fancy desk, nervous, bug-eyes, telling us about the great strides a facility like Willow Grove made for his patients. I wasn’t much interested. I got more interested when I felt the unmistakable cold steel of the business end of a revolver pressed into the back of my neck. I froze. I saw Fats had a gun to his head too. A voice from behind me said, “Don’t move. Don’t turn around. Go for your guns and you’re both dead men.” We looked at Willard. We saw him nod to a man or men behind us and then Fats and I were slugged from behind and fell into unconsciousness. *** When I woke up I found we were in adjoining locked cells. Fats was slumped in a chair just coming back from his vacation in sleepy-land. “Wha-happened?” he said drowsy, feeling the big lump on the back of his head. “Jesus, Griff, that guy sapped me good. Knocked me right into tomorrow!” Fats was right, it probably was tomorrow, or the next day. I wasn’t certain how long we’d been out but I noticed now that Fats and I were locked in separate iron bar cells, adjacent to each other. “You okay?” I asked, smiling at his obvious chagrin and discomfort. The Fatman had a hard head and for someone to have given him a bump like that, well he had been hit hard. “You know, that wasn’t nice. Totally uncalled for. I got a real beef with the guy that slugged me and when we meet – and we will – he’ll damn well regret it!” “Fine, I’m all for revenge,” I said, “but right now let’s figure a way to get out of here.” “Yeah, and get our hardware back,” he said, feeling his empty shoulder holster. I nodded, there was that. We were unarmed and locked up here while someone, probably one of Doctor Willard’s little psycho freaks, was running around this nut house with our weapons. Or maybe even out in public. Here we were locked up and not able to do a damn thing about any of it. Not a good sign of things to come. It got worse when Willard and two of his goons holding guns – our guns by the looks of them – appeared outside our cells. Another man was with them, he was held in straight-jacket, chains and mask. Obviously the missing Elijah Turner had been found. Somehow I didn’t think they brought him to our cell to lock him up and let us out. I recognized one of the guys holding the guns and gave Fats the nod. It was Louie the Butcher, a rape-killer from years back we’d arrested. He was supposed to have gotten the death penalty but instead got off on insanity and had been placed here with the other criminally insane. Now he was working for Willard and held my own gun on us. I could see the gleam of sweet revenge in his eyes. “The evil forces are at their zenith tonight, detectives,” Willard said suddenly in an eerie monotone. Fats looked at me as if to say, “I told you so”. “The forces of Darkness require a sacrifice, a blood sacrifice, for their hunger. Who shall it be? Which one of you will brave the beast of Hell tonight, and in doing so find the answers to all your questions?” Willard said boldly. Fats and I didn’t say a word. “You are investigating a murder, actually, many murders, done through the darkness of lycanthrophy. You do not believe? That is to be understood, even I did not believe at first, but you shall see. It is all true. And when you see, it shall change you, as it did me. You shall see and judge. Lieutenant Griffin, watch your partner tonight, observe what transpires, understand the true horror, and we shall talk in the morning.” I shook my head, not knowing what the blamed fool was talking about. “Look, you better release us both right now, Doctor!” I demanded. Fats barked defiantly, “Let us outta here!” However, Doctor Willard was beyond all reason now. I could see he was gone from us, a change had come over him. Something had pushed him over. There was no reasoning with a madman. Willard ordered his goons to take the chains and straightjacket off of Turner. Next they took off the mask and the muzzle, unlocked and removed the handcuffs, and then they pushed him into the cell with Fats and locked the door! Fats stepped back, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and warned, “You even come near me, boyo, and I’ll knock you into next week.” I stood alone in the next cell watching with concern. I said, “Fats, be careful. See if he’s got any weapons, pat him down, then knock him out and tie him up with your shirt and clothes.” A brief scuffle and then Fats had Turner down and out and was in the process of tying him up tight and fast. “He’s immobile now, Griff.” “Good, just keep an eye on him,” I added. Willard, who had been watching the entire event with his henchmen laughed and said, “It won’t do you any good. For when the power of darkness is exhaulted and the transformation takes place, nothing you have done can stop him. Your precautions are useless. Sleep with one eye open, I warn you. Pleasant dreams…” he laughed mockingly. Then Willard and his thugs were gone leaving Fats and I alone. Me my own cell and Fats in his with the maniac Elijah Turner who thought he was a werewolf. So far, Turner had been no problem for Fats to handle, it had been almost too easy, but I felt that things weren’t what they seemed and wondered what Doctor Willard had in store for us. I was thinking what we were going to do about it all, but being locked up with the situation the way it was, I knew there was very little we could do. Maybe bribe or capture a guard, if one ever came by with food or water. But I had a feeling it was going to be a long night and that no one was coming by until morning. “I know what I gotta do, Griff. Make a Cross and then wait for the transformation,” Fats said gruffly, watching Turner’s still form where it lay tied up on the floor of his cell. “Transformation?” I asked. “Zelda told me about him. Back when she mentioned to me about the evil forces, she told me there’s always a transformation. She said it was called extreme personality disorder in them fancy doctor books, but to the untrained eye it can be seen to be indistinguishable from magic.” I looked at Fats with surprise and a new respect. I didn’t think he had it in him, but I still didn’t know what he was talking about. “Griff, Zelda told me that evil forces reside in a man who was made into a monster. It began from when he was a child, an infant. There had been such horrendous abuse, torture, that it harmed the body and twisted the mind into something… something else. Something not exactly human. Something that we could never understand. But that pain and torture on a mind can change a body too, transform it. Evil forces, Griff, the rage of pain unbearable and unbelievable. The werewolf.” I shook my head. Turner groaned and moved slightly just to remind us he was still there. It was quite now, getting dark. “I don’t believe in werewolves, Fats,” I said. “Neither do I, Griff, but no one told Turner that.” “Hah!” I said. Turner suddenly opened his eyes. They had a weird glow to them; the pupils were yellow. “Jesus, Griff!” Fats whispered, “Now that’s weird.” I nodded. I’d never seen anything like it before. It was supposed to be a full moon tonight. I knew we were in for a rough night. “Fats, if he attacks you, move over to my side of the bars. If you can maneuver him near me, I can lend a hand through the bars,” I said. Fats was busy tying two sticks together into a cross. When he finished he held it up and showed me. When he showed it to Turner, the man just let out a guttural growl. It didn’t sound human at all. “Be careful, Fats,” I warned. “Sure, Griff, I’m a big boy.” I nodded. Time passed. No one came to our cell to give us food or water or to taunt us. It just got darker outside the bars of our cells but the full moon gave some illumination. As night became complete outside, I noticed a particular change in Turner. His appearance grew distinctly feral; there was a cunning glint in his eyes, a vicious and almost animal-like appearance to his features and posture. The mere five-o’clock shadow that had been on his face hours before now seemed to have grown into a dark matting of… fur? Fats noticed it too, said, “I don’t like this. His face, his hands, he didn’t have all that hair when Willard put him in here with us, did he, Griff?” I didn’t know what to say. I barely believed what my own eyes were showing me. It was uncanny, but there was some kind of transformation going on! I was glad to see Turner was still securely bound, for if he ever got loose I wasn’t sure Fats could handle him so easily now. Especially if he was in that maniac animalistic state where he felt no pain and knew no reason. Which, I had to admit, seemed to be approaching as the clock ticked the night farther along. “He’s struggling at his bounds, Fats,” I warned my partner. Fats nodded, he’d armed himself with a table leg. “He’ll get loose soon. When he does, I’ll be ready for him.” I wasn’t so sure.
Another hour passed and darkness covered the sky outside our tiny window. A full moon shone partly through thick black clouds that raced across the sky caught on howling winds. It would have been a spooky night even if Fats hadn’t been locked in a cell with a criminally insane homicidal maniac. I noticed that the change in Turner’s physical appearance and mannerisms had now become more profound. He hardly looked human at all to me. Fats and I were both astonished by this transformation and watched it intently and with some fear as it progressed. As time passed it was taking a lot out of our nerves to view Turner’s transformation. Neither of us could conceive of such a thing as being able to happen to a man. It wasn’t natural at all. And we knew it wasn’t any trick or parlor magic. This was real and it scared us. And it had me worrying about Fats. Turner now actually looked like some uncanny mixture of man and wolf, some type of pre-human feral man at his most wild and vicious preparing to strike death at any moment. “Damndest thing I ever seen, Griff,” Fats said and I could hear the fear in his voice now for the first time. He was watching Turner intently; waiting for the attack we both knew would come soon. “He’s turning into a monster right before our eyes!” I checked my watch. “It’s almost midnight, Fats.” “Yeah,,” he gulped, “they say the evil forces are at their height at midnight.” “Evil forces, my ass! Come on, Fats, snap out of it, he’s just a freako mental case! Once Landis finds we’re overdue, the boys will be down here and get us out. Then we’ll put Willard and all his nut house psychos away forever. We just gotta get through the night.” “Yeah, easier said than done, “ Fats said. I wanted to say something to calm him down but I needed to calm myself down first. My bravado of a moment before melted away when I took another look at Turner. There was something about him that was vicious, evil and hungry and it was showing boldly now. Unafraid. Almost taunting Fats and I. When he looked at me I knew real fear and, God help me, I was glad it was Fats in that cell with him and not me! Suddenly Turner let loose with a heart-rending howl that seemed to break the night apart as he ripped through his bonds. With one swift jump he had his hands at Fat’s throat. I yelled to warn my partner but by then Turner was on him and he was in a fight for his life. Fat’s tried to club the madman off him with the table-leg but the Turner wolf-thing had apparent superhuman strength and easily pulled the club out of Fats’ hand, tossed it away, and was at him just as furious once more. Fats screamed, sheer terror now as he looked into Turner’s cold yellow eyes and noticed the long yellow fangs in his mouth that had once been teeth. “Hold on, Fats! Fight him off! You can do it!" I shouted, enraged that I could not get in there and help my partner and friend, terrified for his life, frustrated that all I could do was watch. Watch a battle that I feared he would lose. I tried to stretch my arms through the bars in an effort to hit Turner from behind, but he was too far from my side of the cell for me to reach him. “Move him closer to me, Fats,” I barked. Fats, wide eyes white and obviously in the fight of his life shouted back, “Damn, Griff, this bastard is strong! I can’t move him! He’s moving me!” So it went: the werewolf – I could hardly think of him as the human being Elijah Turner any longer – held Fats up against the cell bars opposite my cell and was pounding and tearing at him mercilessly. I was unable to help, reduced to a terrified spectator. I didn’t like that at all. I watched in rage as crimson sprays of blood landed on the wall and flew through the air with each punch and tear Fats received. It was terrible. Fats would literally be beaten to death and torn apart before my very eyes if something wasn’t done to save him soon. “Fats!” I shouted. There was no answer. I could see my partner was still standing, still trying to defend himself, but it could not last. He was taking a massive amount of abuse and pain. I saw his face and he was terrified, almost transfixed as he looked into the furry face of Elijah Turner and saw only heartless feral yellow eyes, fangs, claws, wet with his own red blood. Finally I had an idea. I could see that Fats was terrified. If only I could just use that fear to get that fat bastard mad -- mad as hell! madder than hell! -- then he might fight back! “Fats! Fats!” I barked. “You gonna let a furry freak like that hit you without giving him a pounding back? What are you, a big pussy? You gonna just lay down and let this mental skell beat the crap outta you? Come on, man, fight back! Kick his hairy ass! Make a fist damn it! Make a fist and pound it into his face and never stop pounding!” The werewolf pounded on Fats’ head. With each blow Fats was taking it and still hanging in there somehow. He was taking terrific punishment but Fats had the hardest damn head I’ve ever seen. Usually that’s a handicap to a copper but in this case it was just what the doctor ordered. I wondered just what the hell he was doing. Why was he taking the beating and not fighting back? “Fats?” I barked. “I’m okay, Griff. Bastard’s getting me real pissed off, you know what I mean?” “Fats!” I said, “I hope so.” “Real pissed off, Griff!” Then I saw my partner make a fist and bring it up in a pounding blow to the side of Turner’s head. It was a savage shot to the ear and Turner let out a loud yelp. The terror left Fats’ face now. It was replaced by a rage and anger I had never seen him evidence before. It grew and mirrored the rage of the werewolf, and soon grew greater than that of the werewolf. “My old man beat me, Griff! When I was a kid! He beat me bad, damnit! I ever tell you?” He had not. “It wasn’t pretty!” “Fats! Defend yourself, damnit!” “I never fought back!” I saw him raise his fist. It was a massive hammer; all muscle, sinew and bone. Then he shouted, “Not till now. I’m fighting back now!” Then Sergeant Herman Stubbs, massively pissed off and in a truly nasty frame of mind, let loose with a tremendous pile driver right into the face of the werewolf. Turner’s head shot back, shook. Turner growled in pain, but before he could do more than that, Fats let loose with a constant stream of pounding head shots into the monster. It was a beating that broke bone and ripped sinew. It tore flesh and caused streams of blood. This time the blood was Turner’s, the werewolf was in trouble and Fats just came on stronger with each attack. Fats never stopped, never relented. Man and wolf were locked in a death match - both covered in gore, both bleeding form dozens of gashes and bites, when this was over one of them wouldn't be getting back up. “That’s it, Damnit!” I shouted. Fats was boxing the creature now, his massive fists smashing into Turner’s face, into his head and breaking it apart. Turner – full of werewolf animal power – kept coming, but the tide of battle had turned. The animal ferocity in Turner had for once been met and overcome by the human anger in Fats. Human anger and pain that Fats was drawing on to make him win this battle. And Fats’ well ran damn deep. Fats kept fighting, pounding away, bashing the werewolf’s head against the metal bars of his cell, choking the life out of the creature, and finally forcing the battle over to the bars at my cell. Now I saw the face of Turner up close, a mass of gore and broken tissue. I’d seen faces in highway head-on crashes that looked better. The feral ferocity in the werewolf’s eyes was somehow dissipated now, rather than rage I saw fear. The fear of a cornered animal, a terrified beast hunted by a master huntsmen who would never give up and never loose the fight. Turner growled like the ferocious beast he was but Fats only fought harder. Then Fats growled back and his sounds even terrified me. The two clenched once again, Fats pounding away at Turner’s body. Fur went flying in patches. They were trying to tear each other apart. The werewolf used his claws to tear and rip Fats’ flesh. Fats had plenty of padding but was tore up bad. Now my partner was shorn of fear and full of rage just reached out, grabbed the werewolf’s clawed paw and snapped it like a twig. I heard the bone break and the werewolf yelped in pain. Fats had the werewolf up against the bars to my cell now. Finally he was in range and I had my chance. I quickly wrapped my arm around Turner’s furry neck and squeezed tighter and tighter as Fats pounded away at him. Turner was caught now and we were not letting him escape. I squeezed harder, tighter, crushing the air out of his lungs as Fats pounded him mercilessly. In a couple of minutes I could tell he was weakening. A few minutes more and he was gasping for breath. Then the struggle suddenly stopped. Turner’s lifeless body fell to the cell floor. I shook my head and looked up at my partner. He was a gore-covered mess. “You okay, Fats?” “I think so, Griff. I look a mess but I figure it must look worse than it actually is if I’m still alive and able to stand up on my own.” |
