The Trials of Being Loved

Part 43 - Crazy Polar Bear

Everything hurt. He'd never hurt so bad, being the favorite son, the protected son of the Mafia boss. They hadn't even sent a doctor, just processed him and dumped him in a holding cell with all the other scum. 

Lost in his misery, he never even paid attention to his cell mates. His former co-workers, the ones who had happily taken his bribe money, now did their work by the letter of the law. He snarled, baring his teeth. In his work computer was a encrypted list of every member of the law and government who had turned their eyes the other way. 

He knew the commander would find it. "Watch out, assholes..." He hissed, under his breath. "You can dump me in here but I won't be forgotten. You thought using a clean cop to bring me down would work? They knew what I was doing!" 

With a hissing laugh, and a last gurgle, the hired man from the government bowed with a wee bit of respect and plunged the shank* deep into the jugular vein. Clinically, he stood back and watched the blood flow, puddling around the man as he lay there, his dying. Wiping it clean on the dead man's clothes, he slipped the shank back into his pocket.

Along the wall, the eyes of the manager stalker widened. He had recognized El Captain immediately as both his saviour and his tormentor. He started to chew the inside of his mouth, until it started to bleed. Fucked didn't explain how he felt in this moment. 

NOW HE UNDERSTOOD WHY THE FANCY LAWYER NEVER CAME! He had nothing left. Quickly, he crawled over to the man with the shank, tugging on his pantleg, while the other cellmates stared in horror. 

"Kill me. Oh god, kill me, please!" He begged, his hands clasped together. "Make it painless, just kill me." His eyes glanced sideways at the dead body and his forehead touched the ground. 

Swiftly, the Killer's foot connected with the stalker's belly and he went flying. As he lay on his side, gasping for breath, the Killer walked over and leaned down, whispering for his ear only, "We know what you did. We know what you owe. YOU will pay your full due before you die." 

He used the sleeve of the stalker's jumper to wipe his shoe clean, before standing. "Don't die. I'll haunt you, no matter where you go."

No one looked at the killer, the dead body or the wreck shivering in the corner clutching his belly as the guard let him out. They spoke momentarily and two other guards came in, removing the body of the captain. 

They had a soft conversation outside the holding cell, "Did anyone try to help him?"

The killer shook his head. "No." A twitch of his lips towards the stalker. "That prick asked to die, though."

"Noted." The guard held out a trash bag and the killer's gloves were tossed in, along with the shank. His gloves and shoe coverings, the ones they wear at the murder scenes followed. "You look fine. No blood spots. I'll toss this in the incinerator now." 

~~~~~~~~~~

New shivered at the clinical white hallways. He hated hospitals. It hadn't always been that way. Before he knew it, his bottom lip was between his teeth, as he fought back memories. Hospitals meant dying, or death. To him, they were intertwined his his mind. 

How old was he? Ten? Twelve? When they insisted he see Grandfather and he had never met him before? He sighed deeply, shivering again. He could feel that same sense of excitement fading to fear, just by the scent of industrial soap and disinfectants. 

White hallways, with pale green accents, and when you arrived, Grandfather lay in a bed, hooked up to tubes. He spoke with a wispy voice, not with this big voice like his dad, or the way his other friends talked about their Granddad's.