American Criminal (38 page)

    Ray passed through a small, dark foyer into a dimly lit bar area set up with tables. Beyond the bar area was the bright, flashing, multi-colored strobe lights of the main floor. The main floor was on a slightly lower level than the bar area and was separated from it by a low railing. Customers smoked and drank at tables by the railing, gazing out at the main floor. A smoky haze drifted through the flashing strobe lights like a surreal mist. Burnside thought this club must be one of the few left on earth that still allowed smoking.

    Ray went to the bar and bought a beer. He asked the bartender to give him mostly singles for change and the bartender was happy to oblige. Ray sipped his beer slowly as he crossed the bar area. He felt like the killer android in James Cameron’s famous movie as he scanned the customers at the nearby tables, trying not to be too obvious about it. His targets were not in the bar area, but he figured they might be below in the spacious main chamber. He descended a short flight of stairs and walked toward the closest stage where a gorgeous, tanned brunette wearing a red G-string spun around a pole like a sexy top.

    There were two other stages – one in the middle and one in the back. Pierce and crew usually went to the stage at the back of the club so they could be near the rear Champaign Rooms where the strippers did “lap dances.” Chairs surrounded each stage so customers could sit and donate dollar bills to the strippers’ “college funds.” Two middle-aged men leaned on the counter at the edge of the first stage and held up dollar bills like carrots. After doing a few circuits around the pole, the tanned brunette began shaking her way in their direction. 

    Ray walked past the first stage and approached the second. Blue, purple, and red strobe lights lit up a voluptuous blonde twisting and writhing there. Ray walked to the end of the stage and took a seat. He casually sipped his beer and looked up at the platinum blonde doing a pretty good imitation of a real dancer. She smiled at him and danced her way in his direction. Ray reached into his pocket and took out a handful of singles. He held up a cluster of bills and widened his smile as the blonde approached him.

    After placing the bills in the blonde’s cleavage and receiving a wink from her, Ray lit a cigarette and turned toward the third stage at the back of the club. Two attractive brunettes were putting on a special show, so the last stage was packed with customers. Every seat appeared to be taken.

    Ray’s eyes scanned slowly from left to right, checking each individual in the closest row of seats beneath the stage. He completed a check of that side and then focused on the back row of seats. His eyes scanned halfway across the row and froze. The sight of a familiar set of hulking shoulders made the blood freeze in his veins.

    It was Pierce. There was no mistaking that monstrous form. All two-hundred-fifty pounds of him. His blond hair was shaped into the usual crew-cut above a square Neanderthal forehead. Pierce was wearing a light blue muscle shirt under a leather jacket. He was grinning up at one of the strippers like a drooling idiot, holding a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. The stripper said something to him and he laughed like a hyena. It was the same annoying laugh that Ray remembered from hundreds of visits to disreputable places just like this one.

    Ray realized he was staring, transfixed, at his old enemy, so he forced himself to turn away. He suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he glanced at the attractive blonde swinging on the pole in front of him. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, blew it out, and took a swig of beer. His palms suddenly felt clammy and his heart felt like it was hammering in his chest like an over-taxed race engine. Ray forced himself to smile and take another cluster of dollar bills from his pocket with a trembling hand.

    Ray held up the bills and tried to get himself under control. As the stripper sidled over to him, he slid the bills into her garter with slightly quaking fingers. He never realized he would be so affected by the mere sight of his old tactical team leader. Seeing the stupid hyena laugh of the brute brought back floods of memories - including images from the court proceedings. He remembered the fake somber expression on Pierce’s face as he took the stand against him, as if it was causing him pain to do so.

    A simmering rage began to boil beneath Ray’s black pool of fear. The rage increased in intensity until it permeated his mind like boiling water spreading outwards from an underwater volcano. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his mouth pulled down into a scowl as he turned to glare at Pierce again. Only fifty feet separated them from each other.

    Recalling images from the trial changed his perspective. Ray began to feel like a lion stalking its prey - rather than a gazelle in a predator’s sights. Images from prison flooded his mind, ranging from his fight in the prison cafeteria to the attack in the shower. His body trembled as he remembered the viciousness of the assault. Ray snuffed out his smoldering cigarette on the counter as he imagined caving in Pierce’s skull with his fist.   

    Ray placed his drink down, rested his hands flat on the counter, and tried to get himself under control. His eyes followed the sinuous movements of the blonde as she glided across the stage. He took in all the details of her body in an attempt to distract himself from his rage.

    When he had calmed down, he turned slowly back toward the rear stage. This time, his eyes darted to the right of his old team leader to scrutinize the others seated beside him. Sure enough, there was his old partner, Devlin, right beside Pierce. Devlin was tall, thin, and wore gold, horn-rimmed glasses. He could have been a college professor if not for the scruffy, unshaved chin and brown leather jacket.

    Ray’s eyes scanned further right and focused on Todd Jones seated next to Devlin. Jones was a short, muscular, dark-haired hothead who loved action. He was known to shoot first and ask questions later, but that was fine with Pierce as long as he shot the “bad guys.” Tony O’Hara sat to the right of Jones, sipping a mixed a drink. O’Hara was an average sized guy with an unremarkable face. Like the others, his hair was cut short in a buzz-cut and he wore a t-shirt under a black leather jacket. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he was a follower. He was weak and he did what the others told him to do.

    The last, and possibly the least, of the company was Rick Foster; a short, skinny, blond-haired weasel who looked out of place beside the rest of the muscular strike team. He looked like a class geek who became a cop to get revenge on the jocks that stuffed him in lockers. He was not formidable looking at all, but Ray knew he was an excellent shot, which was why he was on the team watching the others’ backs. Five easygoing cops having a good time after a tough week of corruption and graft. Ray felt a pounding in his temples as he stared at them. He had to look away.

    Ray focused on the dancer again and held up some more bills. This time, his hand didn’t shake as he placed them in her garter. An attractive waitress wearing a black miniskirt and red bikini top took his drink order. Ray lit another cigarette as he waited for her to return with his beer. She came back with a Bud and he handed her a ten and told her to keep the change. She smiled at him and she said she would be back to check on him.

    Ray focused on the feel of the smoke being sucked down into his throat and the nicotine flooding his brain. He had to play this carefully. He didn’t want to lose control and reveal his hand before he could formulate an effective plan. The simmering rage he felt in the back of his mind was pushing him to do something immediately, but his cautious side told him to wait for a better opportunity.

    After smoking his cigarette down to the filter and drinking half a beer, Ray turned back toward his old tactical team at the rear stage. He scanned each face, searching for a sign of weakness. He found what he was looking for in Todd Jones’ flushed, inebriated face. His eyes appeared glassy and he was swaying unsteadily in his seat. He giggled like a fool as he spilled his beer on his shirt.

    There’s my target,
Ray thought.              

    Ray looked away from Jones and smiled up at the blonde stripper as he leaned back in his seat. She gave him another private show and he placed more singles in her garter. Ray kept an eye on his old comrades with his peripheral vision while he focused his attention on the beautiful woman.

    Ray lingered with the blonde for another ten minutes and ordered another beer. Then, he went for a walk around the club, being careful to glance at the back table periodically. He went to sit at the bar, while still keeping an eye on the back stage. It looked like the party was winding down. Pierce and Devlin were helping Jones to his feet. They held him by his arms as he continued to sway on his feet. They began leading him away from the back stage towards the bar area.

    Ray’s eyes narrowed as he took a sip of beer and a drag from his cigarette. He watched Pierce and Devlin half-carry Jones into the foyer area - followed by O’Hara and Foster. When they had all exited the bar, he stood from his seat, left a five for the bartender, and glided toward the foyer.

    Ray entered the foyer and saw the men exit the front glass doors. O’Hara was helping Pierce hold Jones erect as Devlin talked on his cell phone. Pierce pointed at Foster and waved him over. Foster took over Pierce’s position holding up their inebriated colleague. Ray pushed open the door and walked past Devlin toward the parking lot. He didn’t make eye contact with any of them. He overheard Devlin asking for a cab to be sent to the club and saw Pierce in his peripheral vision - lighting a cigarette. 

    Ray’s car was parked on the opposite side of the lot facing the nearby apartment building. However, his rearview mirror was facing the front of the club. Ray returned to his car and sat in the driver’s seat. He adjusted his mirror so he could see all five of his old nemeses standing in front of the club. O’Hara and Foster looked miserable as they held their drunken comrade upright. Foster was trying to light a cigarette with one hand, but was failing miserably. Finally, Devlin stepped in and lit it for him.

    Devlin and Pierce exchanged words with O’Hara and Foster before walking away. Devlin went toward the side of the lot facing the street and Pierce moved toward Ray’s position. Ray felt a chill in his lower spine as the hulking shadow loomed larger in his rearview mirror. Ray started his car engine.

    Pierce walked out of range of the rearview mirror and Ray tracked him in his peripheral vision walking to the left. Ray lit a cigarette and cracked the window. He smoked his cigarette as casually as he could as he watched Pierce approach the driver’s side door of a sleek BMW and insert a key into the lock. Pierce looked like he could barely fit his muscular bulk into the car as he maneuvered awkwardly into the seat. Ray saw him move the seat back and then the BMW’s engine rumbled to life.

    Ray checked his rearview mirror and saw O’Hara and Foster still frowning miserably as they held the drunk Jones aloft. Foster was smoking with his free hand, but he looked annoyed as Pierce pulled out of his parking space, backed up behind Ray’s Camry, and accelerated slowly toward the exit. Ray wasn’t surprised to see Foster and O’Hara get stuck with the shit job. That was typical.

    Ray turned his rearview mirror so he could see the black BMW cruising slowly past the trio standing by the front doors. Ray knew Pierce liked to keep a low profile when he had been drinking. Any cop who pulled him over would have let him go, but he preferred to avoid the embarrassment. O’Hara and Foster scowled at Pierce’s BMW as he drove away.

    Ray watched Devlin’s red Lexus back out of a space behind him and swing around toward the parking lot exit. Devlin drove to the trio’s position by the front doors and exchanged some words with O’Hara and Foster before leaving the parking lot. As Devlin drove out of sight, O’Hara and Foster backed their burden toward the brick wall of the club and set Jones down. Jones collapsed and leaned back against the wall for support. O’Hara propped him up as if he was doing an indispensable humanitarian service before backing away from him as if he had the plague. Foster lit a cigarette and handed it down to Jones, who held it to his lips with an unsteady hand. Foster lit a second cigarette and smoked it himself.

    About fifteen minutes later, a cab arrived in front of the club. O’Hara and Foster helped Jones up and guided him toward the rear of the cab. Jones appeared to have sobered up slightly because he could move mostly under his own volition now. O’Hara shoved him in the back seat and shut the door while Foster circled around to the driver. Foster’s back was to Ray as he paid the cabbie.

    When the exchange was completed, Foster and O’Hara moved toward different sides of the lot as the cab pulled away from the front doors. Ray placed his gears in reverse and backed out. He backed up against a line of cars and faced the street. He watched the cab pull onto the road and take a left. Tapping the gas pedal, he followed at a reasonable distance.

    Ray kept several hundred feet between himself and the cab as he followed it through the city. He had plenty of practice tailing suspects as a cop, so it came naturally to him. He put even more distance between himself and the cab as they pulled onto the highway. They crossed over the bridge into Jersey and Ray followed for another ten minutes until he saw the cab’s right blinker go on before the next exit. Ray moved into the slow lane as he watched the cab move down the curve of the exit ramp. He followed the cab through a small downtown area and then into a residential area with wide lawns and impressive Colonial-style houses. It looked like Jones was moving up in the world.

    Ray kept a hundred yards between himself and the cab as it pulled onto a side street. He accelerated after the cab disappeared around the corner. When he reached the side street, the cab was out of sight. Ray hit the gas pedal and sped around the curve of the road. He relaxed when he saw the cab about fifty yards ahead pulling onto another side street. Slowing, he waited for the cab to drive a few blocks down the next street and then accelerated as it disappeared from sight.

    Ray turned onto the street in time to see the cab put on its right blinker and turn into the driveway of a large Colonial. The house was partially obscured by a cluster of trees dividing Jones’s property from his neighbor’s lawn. The cab disappeared behind the trees as it ascended a long driveway and approached the house.

    Ray accelerated and pulled over next to the sidewalk in front of the neighbor’s lawn in a spot where the trees still separated him from the cab. He hastily turned off the engine, opened the door, sprang out of the car, and sprinted toward the trees dividing Jones’ lawn from his neighbors. He didn’t slow until he reached the shelter of the trees. Plunging into the shadowy area, he dodged from trunk to trunk until he could see the cab parked in front of the house.

    It turned out he didn’t have to hurry because the cabby was still trying to help Jones out of the back seat. When the cabbie finally got him out, Jones wobbled unsteadily down the walkway toward the front door. Jones had only managed to move a few feet when the cab pulled out of the driveway and sped away.

    Jones stopped halfway down the walkway to search his pockets. Ray took the opportunity to move behind another tree closer to the house. Jones took out a cigarette and a lighter. With a trembling hand, Jones lit the cigarette on the fifth try and sat down on the front steps, smoking.

    Ray stayed low and kept to the shadows as he darted over to the side of the house. Glancing around the corner, Ray watched Jones smoking and looking up at the starry night sky. Ray figured Mrs. Jones didn’t allow Todd to smoke in the house. Or, he was just enjoying the fresh night air. Either way, it was going to be the last mistake he ever made.

    Ray glanced around at the neighborhood. Jones’s closest neighbor was hidden by the cluster of trees at his back, so no potential witnesses would see him from that direction. Jones’s lawn sloped downward for several hundred feet until it reached the street. There was a house across the street, but it was set far back. From this distance, it was just a rectangular shadow beyond a wide black lawn. A forest behind Jones’s house separated it from any neighbors in that direction. Ray couldn’t see anything behind a cluster of trees on the opposite side of the driveway.

    Ray estimated there was only fifty feet between himself and Jones. He could cross that distance in seconds. Rage took hold of him as images from prison flooded his mind.

    That drunk piece of shit was one of the scum that helped put me away.

    Ray turned the corner and sprinted toward his victim. Jones’s eyes widened as a muscular shadow darted in front of him and yanked him to his feet. The cigarette dropped from his mouth as it opened with surprise and he faced the blazing eyes of an individual who he regarded as a complete stranger. Ray drew back his right fist and popped Jones in the jaw enough to stun him. Then, he reached inside Jones’s jacket and found his 9MM handgun packed into a shoulder holster. Ray pulled the gun out and stuffed it in the back of his pants.

    “Who’re you?” Jones asked, slurring his words

    “A ghost,” Burnside whispered, holding Jones up by the collar of his jacket.

    “A ghost?” Jones repeated.

    “Ray Burnside. Remember me, you piece of shit?” Ray asked, keeping his voice low. The harsh whisper sounded more menacing than a shout.

    “Ray Burnside?” Jones repeated, furrowing his brows as if trying to remember.

     Ray pushed Jones down on the steps and loomed above him.

    “You’ve forgotten already? It’s only been two and a half years since you helped put me away.”

    Jones’s glassy eyes stared at Ray’s face for several seconds without recognition. Then, Ray saw Jones’s mouth drop open as his eyes widened.

    “Burnside? I heard you were killed in prison,” Jones said, trying to get to his feet.

    Ray pushed him back down so he was sitting on the steps.

    “You heard right. Burnside was killed in prison. I told you – I’m his ghost.”

    The color drained from Jones’s flushed face.

    “I’m Burnside’s ghost come for revenge. Are you ready to meet God and be judged for your sins?” Ray asked in a low voice.

    “Look, I was only following orders. I-”

    Ray’s right fist shot out - as if under its own volition - and struck Jones in the right cheek. Jones sprawled back onto the landing. Ray pulled him back up with his left hand and hit him again in the forehead with his right fist. He was careful not to hit him too hard because he wanted him to be conscious when he killed him.

    Pausing, Ray glanced around the neighborhood. It was eerily still and silent. The ex-cop pulled the gun out of the back of his pants and pointed the barrel at Jones’s forehead.

    “Hey, wait!” Jones said, raising his arms in a “surrender” gesture.

    “Why should I?” Ray asked

    “They said if I didn’t testify against you, they would kill me!” Jones exclaimed.

A lightning bolt of rage flashed through Ray’s mind and he smashed Jones in the nose with the butt of the pistol. He heard a sickening crack and Jones’s hands flew up to his face as blood gushed from the wound. Ray raised the pistol toward Jones’s forehead as he cowered back on the steps. Ray hesitated. Was killing him the right thing to do? This pathetic excuse for a man had cost him two and a half years of hell for a crime he didn’t commit, but Ray was still alive. He had survived.

    Maybe I’ll just give Jones a severe beating, but leave him alive,
Ray thought.
That way, my conscience will rest easy and I won’t return to the nightmares of the past.

    Ray thought about what Jones would do if he left him beaten, but alive. Jones would go straight to Pierce and Devlin and tell them Ray Burnside was alive, well, and roaming free through the streets of NYC looking for revenge. The strike team would be on their guard and then begin hunting him. They would have a description of him and an eyewitness to identify him. If the Tactical Team showed up at the Palladin Club and saw Ray working as a bouncer there, they could shoot him and say he resisted arrest. After all, he was a fugitive and they were cops. If Ray let Jones live, Jones would surely get him killed or thrown back in prison. He had no choice.

    Ray shoved the gun in the back of his pants and glared down at the wide-eyed fool cowering on the steps. Was it worth it to kill him? If he did, his nightmares would surely return. However, if he left Jones alive, Jones would be his downfall.

    Ray’s hands shot like lightning. Pulling Jones’s head toward him, Ray faced him towards the ground, and wrapped his arms around his neck. Jones gasped as Ray let rage take over his mind and tense up his muscles. Images from prison flooded Ray’s memory as he tightened his arms around Jones’s neck. Ray heard a sickening snap and Jones’s body went limp like a rag doll. Releasing Jones, Ray let him collapse in front of the stairs. It was done. He had left him no choice.

    Ray peered up at the house and saw the windows were still dark. Not even the front porch light was on. Jones had only shouted twice and apparently no one heard him. Ray glanced around the neighborhood to see if anyone else had noticed his handiwork. It was still eerily dark and silent like a painter’s still-life.

    Ray stared down at the body of his old comrade lying prone on the walkway like a crushed and broken mannequin. He felt a quick thrill of victory followed by a sickening pain in his gut. The lifeless body appalled him. Why had Jones forced him to kill? Why didn’t Jones tell Pierce and Devlin to “fuck off” and testify against them in court instead? If Jones had done the right thing, he would still be alive. A sick feeling spread outwards from his gut as Ray turned away from the corpse and walked slowly across the lawn toward the trees. 

    Ray passed through the shadowy area beneath the trees and cut across the neighbor’s lawn to his parked car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started it up. He felt like he was moving in slow motion as he did a three-point turn and drove in the opposite direction.  

    Ray felt a perverse mixture of elation and sickness. He was excited that he had finally achieved revenge against one of his foes, but sickened that he had to kill to do it. The night darkened shapes of trees and houses appeared surreal to him as he negotiated the dark suburban streets of Jones’s neighborhood.