Black 01 - Black Rain Page 9

  Dread walks over to the bed and sits next to her as the storm rolls past and the rain calms to light showers.

  It is cool and Chase starts to relax after the day’s stress.

  Dread lies across the bed with his large hands under the back of his head, staring at the rain-kissed windows.

  He continues. “I would serve mass at church three times a week. I was nine years old and it was raining just like tonight. My father had to get home to help get his herd of cattle, and Father Guevara Morales promised to get me home safe. He said he needed help getting the church in order after the service, so my mom and dad agreed. I liked Father Morales. He was a good man and always treated me special. Our church community loved him, as did my family. He came to my home often for dinner.”

  Chase moves around on the bed fidgeting. Is he going to get to the point soon? “Dread, it’s getting late and I’ve had a long day. Are we close to where this story is going?” She wants him to quickly finish or change the story. She can feel it’s not going to have a good ending and that only spells trouble for her.

  The wind has died down, but the rain is steadily pour-ing. The flashes of lightning are like a strobe light as Dread moves quickly toward her. She throws her hands up. He stops in front of her and runs his hands across his head. He takes a deep breath with his eyes closed, but his jawbone twitches. He slowly gathers his composure.

  “Chase, darling, have some patience. Try and understand what I am trying to say to you. Please let me keep Vincent Alexandria

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  to the subject. I’m trying to be open to you. Do you not understand how hard dis is for me?”

  Chase gathers herself and gives him her full attention, knowing very well that she has just dodged a violent confrontation. She says a silent prayer that he continue.

  “Father Morales asked me if I was hungry and I said yes. The ladies of the church always made sure our priests had plenty to eat, so we walked to the rectory where Father Morales resided. There was food a-plenty and we ate till we had our fill. There was chicken, beef, all kind of vegetables and desserts. It was still raining very hard. It was hurricane season, but it was becoming dark very fast. I was kind of scared, so I asked Father Morales to take me home to my family. He knelt next to me, placed his hand on my shoulder and started to gently massage it. I pulled back.”

  A loud thunder boomed and they both were startled.

  Chase placed her hand on her chest to ease her rapid heartbeat. Dread walked back to the window and settled against the frame, letting the mist of the storm gently spray his muscular body.

  “Chase, I’m sorry dis is difficult for me. I have never told anyone this story and I’m not sure why I reveal it to you now, but I feel I must.”

  A childlike expression of innocence crosses his face as tears well in his eyes. She sees a human side of Dread, it’s as though he’s reaching out to her. She’s not sure if it’s that he trusts her with such a hidden secret or that he really cares.

  “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.” She’s surprised by the words slipping from her mouth.

  “As I was saying, he was rubbing my shoulder and I 106

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  asked to go home. He started to tell me how a priest was da holiest thing next to God. He sensed there was an evil presence in me and asked did I know anything about exorcism? I told him no and he began to tell me how demons gets into da body and only priests trained in exorcism could expunge the demons out. I was a devout Catholic, so I was scared. I asked him to help me and started crying. He said he would, but I had to trust him.”

  Dread shifts his weight in the window, like he is shifting the haunted memories in his mind.

  “Father Morales walk me over to the couch. He lit candles and turned off the lights. I think I was more scared of the shadows than the lightning, wind and thunder from the storm. Father Morales came to me and pulled a small bottle of holy oil from his pocket. He starts to unbuckle my pants, but I pulled away. He says he was only going to bless me to keep the demons away.

  I still resisted, but he yanked my pants and underwear down to my knees. I was confused. I asked him what he was doing and he said he was exorcising me. He gripped my neck wit’ his right hand as he unfastened his pants wit’ his left.”

  Dread wipes tears from his eyes. The pain he must have endured in holding all this in for so long! He runs his fingers through his thick mane and stares out the window. After a few moments pass, he slowly turns to her and continues.

  “He pinned me to the armrest of da couch wit’ his body as he poured the holy oil in his palm and rubbed it on his penis. He forced me to bend over and raped me.

  I was so ashamed and I knew he had to be the demon inside of me. I wondered why God would abandon me.

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  I served Him well and prayed to Him every night. I didn’t deserve dat. Father Morales exorcised me several times over the next couple of years.”

  Dread’s hands are formed into clenched fists at his side. “He would always make me take communion after his sexual exploitation. I would hold the host under my tongue and would never swallow the wine. He would try to force me to kiss him but I never would. He would even perform oral sex on me, but I just plotted my revenge. I went to our bishop and he slapped me. He told me to repent from such filthy lies and slander.”

  Dread crashes into the wall with his fist. The loud cracking sound startles Chase and she shudders, wondering if he has broken his hand. Dread did not respond to the pain, just stares out of the window.

  “Father Morales was at our home so much my dog even accepted him. The dog wouldn’t even bark when he climbed into my bedroom window at night to rape me. My dad wondered what was wrong after I nailed my bedroom windows shut. I told him that I feared the night and we left it at that. I think my dad might have suspected something, but was not sure. He never asked me outright. After three years of attacks, I had had enough and plotted my revenge.” A sinister grin spreads over Dread’s face.

  “After Sunday service, once again I was at da rectory.

  I had ground some glass and placed it in da gravy that Father Morales poured over his potatoes. I also crushed a cow-tranquilizer pill and emptied it in his tea. When Father Morales had me in his room pinned to his bed, he started coughing up blood. The glass had worked, cutting his insides. I broke loose from him and watched 108

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  as he staggered and stumbled, asking me for help. I grabbed my baseball bat that I had hidden from under his bed and hit him as hard as I could in his chest. He was short of breath and coughed up blood. I was not ready to kill him yet. I wanted him to suffer like me.”

  Dread turns to Chase, a distorted, enraged, sadistic look in his eyes and face. It dissolves any sympathy she might have felt for him. He walks closer to her and the damp night air caresses her as the chill bumps of cold and fear creep upon her skin.

  “I kicked him in the gut a few times and had him unbuckle his pants. I made him turn over and grabbed da holy oil that he used on me and let him watch me as I oiled the butt of the baseball bat. I hit his ass hard as I could in the back to keep him still, then forced the butt of the bat into his ass as he’d forced himself into me. He screamed as I had, and it gave me joy. It was exhilarating. The more I forced the bat into him, the more he screamed.”

  Dread chuckles under his breath. “I finally had mercy on him and went to his kitchen and grabbed a butcher’s knife and bourbon whiskey. I came back up to his room and cut his throat, then poured a fifth of whiskey on him and set his ass on fire. I wanted him to burn like he was in hell. I watched him squirm as the fire consumed him.

  I had never experienced an erection before and I even ejaculated. It was divine.”

  Dread sits next to Chase, putting his hand on her thigh. She was about to throw up. His eyes are ablaze in the darkness and he wears a smile.

  “I went down to his garage and got the gasoline for the lawn mower. I burned t
hat rectory down wit’ him in it. I ran home and never told anyone what had happened. I Vincent Alexandria

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  believe the bishop suspected me, but who would question a child for something so sinister? My cousin worked on the police force. He’s the one that helped me come over to America and get settled wit’ some relatives here.”

  “Do you ever regret what you did to the priest?”

  Chase asks.

  Dread gives a half laugh. “Do you think dat fuckin’

  priest faggot gave a damn about me? He got what he deserved. I sent him in a fireball straight to hell.”

  Dread coolly gets up and walks away from Chase. He locks the door and saunters back slowly to the bed while unzipping his pants. The thought of having sex with Dread at this point turns her stomach. Chase refuses to be used like a common whore and tries to run to get to her gun, but he grabs her and hits her in the head. She feels her clothes being snatched off as she blacks out from the powerful blow to the back of her head.

  Chapter 7

  I adjust the volume of the stereo system in the black Corvette I picked up from the FBI compound. It is equipped with two automatic short-handle rifles, a thirty-ought-six and a twelve-gauge, a semi-automatic Smith and Wesson rapid-fire .45 and a silver snub-nose Berretta .38 with infrared sight. All are in a fitted hidden compartment in the trunk. Speeding up the I-70 highway turnpike toward Topeka, I put in the Marcus Miller CD and turn it to “Amazing Grace.”

  “Man, this thing sure can move, but it feels like your ass is being dragged across the ground. It sits low, but it has a good ride,” Vernon complains.

  I turn down the volume and glance at him. “Vernon, thanks for coming along and understanding my position.” I’m not sure if Vernon coming is the right thing to do. So much could go wrong and the thought of him Vincent Alexandria

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  getting hurt or killed stays in the back of my mind. I have to stay on top of my game and make sure nothing happens to him.

  “Look, Joe, I’m your partner. I still don’t like this one bit. What you got yourself into, I’m not sure, but this stinks to the high heavens and I don’t want to lose another partner like I did to that ice cream-truck-driving serial killer years back. I contacted a couple of friends in the Bureau to see if all this is legit.”

  “Vernon, this is legit, but I feel there is some shady business going on, as well. I’m trying to put my finger on it, but haven’t been able to do so. Maybe together we can figure that part out.”

  Vernon shakes his head. “Yeah, maybe so, but I can’t believe you were going to try and leave me behind. You know I wasn’t going for no shit like that. I ought to slap your ass right now for even considering it.” Vernon fakes like he’s going to backhand slap me, but runs his hand over his head.

  “Vernon, see, you play too much, I almost just elbowed you in the head. You know I don’t like that sudden-movement stuff. Keep playing and I’m going to taser your old ass. I’m glad you’re here. You’re my in-surance policy.”

  “You always have to remember to keep an ace in the hole, and I’m your ace in the hole, my friend. What Agent James don’t know won’t hurt his ass. I still think something is fishy about this. Remember, you got that tracking device in your ink pen, so don’t leave it behind anywhere. Keep it with you at all times, so if we get separated I can find your punk ass, okay?”

  “Yeah, Vernon, I will, partner.”

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  Good thing I took Dino’s advice and brought Vernon along. It also made Sierra feel better about me taking the case.

  “Thanks for having my back.” I punch Vernon playfully in the arm.

  “Look, Joe, I got a bad feeling about this. I’m still trying to get an angle on Agent James and why he would want you for this case. I just feel like we’re being set up, dude,” Vernon says as he puts a cigar in his mouth.

  “Damn, Vernon, we’ve worked with this guy for over five years. He hasn’t given us any reason to doubt him.”

  “Yes, until now. My momma used to always say, ‘A man that tells you where he buries his money ain’t the fool. The fool is the one who tries to dig it up.’ See, we never know why a person tells us something, but no one risks what they’ve worked all their lives for. It would have to serve their purpose.”

  I rub my eyebrow and bite my bottom lip and let it mull over in my head. “Vernon, do you really think that someone as square and by the book as Agent James could be jacking me around? What’s his motive?” I look at Vernon and he just bites down on his unlit cigar.

  “Vernon, dude, I think you’re just tripping. You my dawg and all, but I just don’t see it. He’s got too much to lose.”

  Vernon takes the cigar out his mouth and shakes his head at me. “And how would you know what the hell he has to lose and what he has to gain?” He rolls his stern elder eyes, puts the cigar back in his mouth, lets the window down in the Corvette and stares out the window.

  “Whatever, dude, you just plain tripping,” I respond as I turn up the music on the Marcus Miller CD.

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  I pull off Interstate 70 and pay the toll. Nightfall has greeted us as we reach the east side of Topeka and drive into the Ripley Housing Project off Fourth and Lake Street.

  The area looks dangerous—brothers hang on the corners as their jeans and khaki pants hang off their rear ends.

  Children run under the streetlights playing, riding their bikes and scooters, but no adult supervision is visible. The houses are so closely assembled it looks like they were cramped together. The fronts of the yards are scattered with broken bottles, crumpled potato-chip bags, soda-pop cans and beer cans. They lie there as gentle reminders of broken dreams and crumpled hopes, lying on unforgiving ground that doesn’t ever give way to green grass and dandelions.

  The young men and women are in clusters of six to eight scattered throughout the neighborhood, and they eye the Corvette like we’re Ed McMahon and the Publisher’s Clearing House team. Vernon quickly locks and loads his gun and rolls up his window. I do the same, not sure what to expect from our seemingly socially deviant brethren.

  We pull in front of 422 Locust Street, the duplex address Dino gave us for Mo-Mo and St. Louis Slim. The dilapidated duplex sits off the street. About five men are in the yard and more start to gather around the car.

  Vernon smiles as he looks at me. “I bet you’re glad I came now, aren’t you?”

  “You know I am, partner.” I load the gun in my ankle holster. “Watch my back and follow my lead.”

  We get out and I hit the silent alarm on the car. We approach the house and it smells as if my boys are barbecuing. The sweet smoky smell of grilled meat makes 114

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  my hungry stomach growl. The gang of curious on-lookers surrounds us.

  “Damn, yo, that sure is a nice car. Let me drive it around the block?” a big burly, gheri-curl-wearing albino-skinned brother asks.

  “Nah, yo, I don’t want that gheri-curl juice all over my leather seats. You can watch it for me though and I’ll throw you out twenty when I get back, aww-wrriiight?” I negotiate in my coolest homeboy voice.

  The group busts out laughing and starts jeering on the pigmentless brother.

  “Damn, Yellowman, you gon’ let him yank on you like dat?” a skinny murky-brown, ashy-skinned teenager screams, showing his yellowing, buck-toothed smile.

  The albino brother they call Yellowman starts to sway and swagger, then steps up to me. Before he can bring his hands from his waist to his chest, I pull my snub-nose .38 from the holster against the small of my back and place the barrel of the pistol in the young man’s flared nostril.

  Vernon pulls both his guns and keeps the other men at bay. He says, “All right, everybody take it easy and go back to kicking cans, playing who can gulp the forty-ounce or whatever you homeboys do up here in Kansas with Toto, the Wizard and Dorothy, and let us do our business.”

 
The crowd just looks at each other, shuffling.

  I say, “Look people, we don’t want any trouble.

  We’re just here to visit our friends and eat some of that Topeka barbecue we smell cooking in the backyard. So we’re just gonna have Yellowboy here walk us on up to the front door like the nice young man he is. We’ll say hello to our friends, get some information and be on our Vincent Alexandria

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  way. Then y’all can go back to terrorizing the neighborhood. Okay?” Smiling, I nod to Vernon.

  I lead my obedient newfound friend toward the door.

  I pull my gun from his nose, wipe the barrel off on his T-shirt and have him knock for us.

  “Who is it?” a husky booming voice asks from behind the wood door. The boy just stands there, so I slap Yellowman behind the head to respond.

  “Yellowman!” he answers hesitantly.

  The door swings open and a six-foot-two, almost blue-black brother with silky skin and a frame like he plays in the NBA stands in the doorway. Bald headed, he has a slightly graying goatee. His shirtlessness reveals his rippled abs and a Glock pistol in his belt strap.

  It has always been his weapon of choice. He pulls the half-smoked cigarette from his thin lips and blows the smoke into the young man’s face.

  “Boy, didn’t I tell you kids to stay the hell out my yard!” Mo-Mo yells, and then looks at me curiously.

  I say, “What up, Black man?”

  Mo-Mo squints to make out the face he hasn’t seen in ten years. “Joe Johnson, what the hell? Man, c’mon in. St. Louis Slim ain’t gonna believe this shit,” he says, smiling as he ushers Vernon and me into the duplex and pushes Yellowman toward his friends. “Get out my yard, and y’all better not fuck with my friend’s car or there’s gonna be hell to pay. He’s a Kansas City detective and got a license to kick all y’all’s ass, and when he gets through, it’ll be my turn. Gon’ get to steppin’.”

  The kids slowly disperse, mumbling barely audible profanities.