DARK CLOSETS

• “Expect nothing. Accept everything.”
• LEGION OF THE OBSCURE
•  
• New York City
• Friday
• 10:17 PM

Once upon a time there were two homicide detectives and two uniformed cops who got a call to report to a scene of a murder. The two detectives were my partner, Mike Hanlon and me, Sam Dietz, and the two uniforms were Sid Rosenblum and Stan Stravinski. And this is what happened: I double-parked our black, gas-guzzling sedan in front of 271 West 73rd Street, right behind a large, black, unmarked RV I didn’t recognize. In front of the van was a patrol car. No CSU van. No Medical Examiner’s station wagon, just the patrol car and the black RV. I felt that there was something not right here, but I chalked it up to a cop’s nature and we entered the lobby and headed to the elevators that were located in an alcove just left of the mailboxes.

“Something’s not right, here,” I said to Mike as I pushed the elevator call button. A few seconds later the door slid open and we stepped aboard. I pushed 13th floor and we rode up in silence. Both of us had the same weird feeling. That feeling that something’s out of place, but we just couldn’t put our fingers on it.

The elevator car finally arrived at the 13th floor and Mike and I apprehensively stepped off. We were looking for apartment 13-F which wasn’t hard to since there was this huge guy, who looked like he was built from spare body-builder parts, dressed all in black, standing guard by the apartment door. Mike and I flashed our gold and were about to breeze by the guy when he stuck out a log-like arm and barred our way and without looking at us, announced in a chilling officious tone: “Official Government Business. Level 6 security clearance required to enter.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Mike growled.

There was no response from the guy. He just continued to star straight ahead and  the log remained in place. Mike and I looked at each and shrugged.

“Fuck it,” Mike said. “Let’s get out of here. If the Feds want this case, the Feds can have it.”

We just accepted the situation and turned and headed to the elevator. On the way Mike asked: “But where’re the two uniforms?”

I was just about to answer when my cell phone went off. I reached into inside pocket of my overcoat and pulled it free and flicked it open. “Dietz.”

“Sam. It’s me, Sid.”

“Did you call this in?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on here and where the hell are you?!”

“Me and Stan are tossing down a few in that bar on the corner of Lex and 75th.” 

“A bar?! Shit, Sid! What’s going on?!”

“Come on over and I tell you what I know.” 

“Was that Sid Rosenblum?” Mike asked as he pushed the button for the elevator.

I nodded my confused head. “Yeah. He and his partner are knocking ‘em down in a bar around the corner.”

“What the hell is going on here?!” Mike growled as we entered the elevator car.

The doors slid closed as I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. “I haven’t a fucking clue.”

Mike and I flew out of the elevator before the doors completely slid open and ran through the deserted lobby, out the front doors and sprinted over to the bar. With the anxious looks on our faces and our the tails of our dark overcoats flapping in the wind, we looked like a couple of crazed vampire bats who just got wind of nice, fat, juicy cow. 

We came up to the entrance of the bar, a place called FINN’S.  I yanked the door open to find the saloon deserted, except for Sid, Stan, the bartender and some old guy taking a nap at the end of the bar.

“Sam! Mike!” Sid yelled a greeting with a hoisted shot glass of something in his hand. “Come on and join the party!” 

I was no mood for a party. “What the fuck is going on?!” I heard myself yell as Mike and I slid up on barstools to Sid’s right. Mike gestured to the bartender as I leaned forward to take a peek at Stan sitting on Sid’s left. The guy had his chin resting on chest and was staring through the bar’s marred, mahogany surface at things he could only see. He looked catatonic. This was starting to creep me the fuck out.

After the bartender placed my bourbon down in front of me, I snatched the shot glass up and drained its contents in one burning swallow, and then gestured for another as I turned to Sid. I placed my hand on his meaty shoulder. He turned and faced me. His ruddy, jovial face framed ice-blue eyes filled with the terror of what he’d seen.

“What happen up there?” I asked him in little more than a hoarse whisper.

Sid grimaced as if he were in pain and his eyes started to well up with tears. “Something I don’t never want to see ever again,” here replied in little more than a hoarse whisper.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what could’ve gotten such a reaction from the 26-year-veteran, who had seen just about every atrocity of which human beings are capable. I leaned into him and asked again: “What happened up there?”

Sid reached down and brought his drink to his quivering lips and drained the glass in one, quick gulp, and then motioned to the bartender before returning the glass to bar. He turned to me. “Stan and me were cruising down the block when we see this guy, carrying a little girl, come flying out of the building. He’s got blood smeared on his hands and face so we figured we’d better stop and see what his problem is. We stop him and he running off  about something. I could only get bit and pieces of what he was saying. Something about his kid, so Stan tries to get the little girl away from to see if the blood on the guy is his or the little girl’s, but he won’t let go. So both of try and he still won’t let go. We couldn’t’ve gotten that kid away from with the Jaws of fucking Life. By this time the kid’s screaming and crying and he’s screaming and crying about blood being everywhere and something about his wife killing his son. So we take him up to his apartment and we find the mother sitting in the kitchen. She’s covered in blood. I went over to check her out to see if she had any wounds or anything, but she was clean. Who ever the blood belonged, it didn’t belong to the three of them. You know? She didn’t even know I was there. She looked like she was cata….cata….”

“Catatonic,” I interjected.

“Yeah! Yeah!  That’s it!” Sid blurted out. “She looked catatonic. Anyway, while Stan takes the father and the little girl and sits them down in the living room I go and start looking around the apartment. I found this room with the door closed and bloody footprints were coming our of it. I open the door and…….” Sid stopped and took a deep breath. He then reached down for his fresh drink with shaky hand and drained the glass in a single grimacing gulp before continuing. “And I found a little boy. Maybe 4 years old. He was pinned to the floor with butcher knives stuck straight through his wrist and thighs. Somebody cut him open from his chin to his crotch and pulled all his guts out and put everything in different jars that were put on the kids dresser. They put the kid’s guts right between his Scooby Doo doll and his Sponge Bob back-pack. Between his fucking Scooby Doo doll and his fucking Sponge Bob back-pack, Sam! What sick cocksucker would do that, Sam??!! There was fucking blood everywhere! And that’s when Stan came into the room. One look and his been that ever since,” Stan stabbed a thumb to his left.

“But who called the Feds in,” Mike asked. His face was tied in knots.

Sid leaned forward. “I don’t know. Me and Stan didn’t. I know the mother and father didn’t. The Feds just showed up and took over. They were all over that placed like flies on shit before we knew it. Stan and me weren’t in the place ten minutes before they showed up. They arrested the mother, but when they were reading her rights, they could’ve been reciting the Gettysburg Address for all she fucking knew.  And another thing, Sam. I’m no expect, but I’ve seen a lot of splash patterns before and the blood on the mother was all wrong.”

“What do you mean: ‘All wrong’?” I anxiously asked.

Sid sighed, picked up his glass and drained its contents in one gulp, grimaced, fired up another cigarette and then turned to me: “Somebody else killed that little boy and splashed that blood on that woman.” 

THE END 

DARK CLOSETS