Chelsea Avenue Page 6

  All funny thoughts fled when his dad raised the gun. “Your dealer isn’t coming.”

  “Dealer? What are you talking about?”

  “I know you’ve been pushing drugs through town for quite a while, son, but I was too blind to see it. I’m here to stop you.”

  “Are you going to take in your own son?”

  Russ Galvin shook his head. “Move over and let me drive.”

  “Dad, this is insane.” Mike moved over when the gun was pointed at his face. Like Mike, Russ was a phenomenal shot. Even a bad shot could hit his target from three inches away.

  They drove in silence as Russ kept the gun aimed at his son’s crotch. When the car came to a halt, Mike started to panic. They were parked on Chelsea Avenue, the spot in town that everyone seemed to give a wide berth.

  “You know what today is?”

  Mike kept silent, thoughts racing through his head. He needed to find a way to get the gun from his dad. He would have no problem killing him if that’s what it took. If his old man was the only one that knew about his side business, by killing him…

  “Get out.”

  Mike did as he was told, going at the same time that his dad did. “Now what, dad?”

  “Now, we wait.” He waved the gun. “Cross the street. We need to be on the other side.”

  Mike glanced at the vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and junk. How many people have been killed here over the years, starting with the fire?

  “I don’t want to.” Mike had a feeling of dread just looking at the lot. He didn’t know how, but he knew that it would be his final resting place.

  “Stop crying, you little pissant.”

  Mike didn’t realize he had begun to cry and hastily wiped tears from his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Just move.” They went across the street, their shoes squishing in the mud. Mike realized that sometime in the last twenty minutes or so, it had stopped raining. It had only rained for a few minutes, yet the ground here was saturated, and his shoes were quickly sinking in the muck.

  “Dad, can I ask you a question?” Mike decided that conversation would get the old man to stall on shooting him. “How did you find out?”

  Russ looked hard at his son. “I think I always knew. It was just hidden deep inside my head. I needed to find a way for it to get to the surface, to let me know what a disappointment my only child has been to me.”

  “None of that makes any sense. Did you follow me? Who else knows?”

  “Just me. Who else needs to know?”

  “No one.” Mike sighed in relief. If he could figure out a way to get the gun from his dad and dispose of him, he would be clear and free. A bad thought suddenly hit him. “What did you do to the guy coming to meet me?”

  Russ held up his gun and grinned. “He never saw it coming.”

  Mike would need to figure out how to explain that one. One thing at a time. He needed to first get the gun from his dad and get away from this place.

  How crazy is this? I’m trying to think coherently about killing my dad. Mike felt very tired at that moment and wanted to turn and run, but knew he’d get three steps before his dad would shoot him. Would he really shoot his own son? He looked at his dad and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would.

  His dad was looking around now, impatiently. “I brought him here just like you wanted me to.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  His dad pointed the gun at Mike’s head again, his eyes aflame. “Don’t speak unless spoken to. Haven’t I taught you anything, boy?”

  Mike nearly jumped out of his skin when two shadows separated themselves from the darkness and approached. It was two women, and they looked scared.

  “Excellent. I believe we’re only waiting for a Bill Barker.”

  “Who?” Mike asked, but his dad ignored him.

  “I’m here, but I don’t know why.” An older man walked into the scant light, holding his head. Tears streamed down his face. “I can’t stop the voice in my head. I thought when I obeyed and got here, it would end.”

  Russ nodded. “You’re absolutely right.” His hand darted out and he pulled the trigger, putting a bullet cleanly through the man’s forehead. The two women began to scream, and Russ turned on them. “The next one to scream gets shot first.”

  They both stopped, whimpering and holding one another.

  Mike couldn’t believe his eyes. He stared at this stranger, whose face was oozing blood into a puddle at his feet. He turned to his dad, who, he realized at this moment, was also a stranger. “Why?” was all he could manage.

  “It has to happen this way, Mikey. There was never any other way for this to happen.”

  One of the girls must have done or said something that only Russ could sense because he moved his arm again and shot both girls, in succession, in their heads.

  Mike pissed himself at that point, warm urine running down his pant leg. He’d just watched his old man kill three people in the space of about two minutes, and knew that he was next.

  “You have no idea how disappointed I am in you, son,” Russ said and aimed at Mike’s head.

  “Why?” Mike was angry now and realized he might be able to talk his way out of this. “I never got into real trouble in school, never talked back to you or mom, never got arrested, never stole from you! I did everything I could to make you proud! I even became a fucking cop like you so you’d be proud of me.”

  Russ shook his head. “That’s the point: You became a cop because you wanted me to be happy, but it only killed me to see you make the same stupid mistake I did. The one thing I never wanted you to do was to become a cop.” Russ pulled the trigger, and his son splashed into water. “That was my biggest disappointment.”

  As police sirens came from both directions of Route 36, Russ Galvin, retired Long Branch Police Officer and former bouncer of Murphy’s Law club, used his final bullet on himself.

  Manny rolled onto his back and sighed.

  “Everything alright?” Gina purred in his ear. “Care to go again?”

  “Not unless you want to kill me.” Manny wiped the sweat off his chest and grinned. “Give me five minutes.”

  “You’ll be asleep in three.” Gina rose, and Manny watched her dark silhouette move, hoping she was getting a drink. She stopped in the doorway without looking back. “Pepsi?”

  “I love you,” Manny said.

  “Then marry me already.”

  Ouch. They’d dated almost a year once Gina was done playing hard to get. The waiting had been worth it. Manny’s dad had once confided in him that sometimes, it wasn’t the kill but the thrill of the chase that got their Puerto Rican blood boiling. Gina definitely boiled his blood and made each day better and better. He couldn't imagine being without her, and he missed her within twenty minutes of her leaving him.

  Then why are you always flirting with other women? he suddenly thought. The other night in Brighton Bar, the bartender was definitely flirting with him, and when she came out from around the counter and casually rubbed her hand on his crotch, he didn't pull away or say anything. He smiled and went with it. What would have happened if I'd stayed until closing? What's going to happen the next time I go in there for a beer? And what if Gina is with me? Manny was playing with fire, and he knew it.

  He had the perfect woman who loved him like crazy, but he couldn't stop his wandering eyes. So far, he hadn't actually cheated on her, but he'd been damn close, and it seemed like every time he left the house without her, he was putting himself in situations where he could get into trouble. It was only a matter of time before he went too far and used drinking as an excuse for bad behavior.

  Manny had come the closest in the Stone Pony bathroom last month, drunk and seeing double. She was hot and horny to fuck a cop, and she'd made no bones about it. It was on her list, and he was at the right place at the right time. She'd been aggressive and pushed him into a stall, pulling her pants down and unbuckling his belt. He'd given the fake “no, no, we can't do this” bull
shit, but he was ready. Except…he wasn't. He was so drunk he couldn't get hard, and she'd finally given up in search of another cop in the house.

  What really bothered him the next morning, when he'd woken with a massive hangover and remembered the night, was the fact he didn't feel as bad as he should have. He felt like he had no conscience, and it was only a matter of time before he hurt Gina and fucked up the best thing in his life. And for what? To get laid? Gina was easily the best sex he'd ever had in his life even though he was limited in his experience.

  “Happy birthday, baby,” Gina said. She entered the room with a single candle burning on a cupcake and a can of soda.

  Manny grinned. “I told you I hated my birthday.”

  “Too bad. Birthdays are a special day.” Gina kissed him on the forehead. “Besides, I just gave you your birthday present. I can’t take it back.”

  “No, you can’t.” Manny opened the soda can and put it on the end table. He felt like a complete asshole for thinking about other women while she'd gone to all this trouble. She was too good for him, and he knew it. He wondered if it was the reason he was so adamant about sabotaging this relationship.

  “Make a wish.” Gina held out the birthday cupcake.

  Manny closed his eyes and blew out the candle, wishing first he could get his shit together and stop trying to do stupid shit and then praying that no one was going to be murdered on Chelsea Avenue today.

  Chapter 7

  July 8th 1993

  “This shit is royally fucked up,” Officer Pavano said. “Seven bodies out here in one pile?”

  “What the fuck you jabbering about?” Vic Tankard asked, sweeping past the officers surrounding the lot. “Get these onlookers out of here, or I’ll have every badge within the hour.” He turned to Pavano. “Is that clear? In one fell swoop, you’ll be fired.”

  The cops scattered for crowd control even though there were only a dozen people milling about and no television crews in sight.

  For the media and the locals, Chelsea Avenue was yesterday’s news. Sure, the first couple of years with the bizarre happenings had been a great lead story. Vic could still see the headlines about the Curse of Murphy’s Law Club.

  Too many people were attached to that night in 1987. Way too many. And it started with Manny Santiago.

  Tankard called over an officer. “Get me in touch with Detective Santiago.”

  The officer hesitated. “He’s on the cruise, remember? You booked it as their honeymoon present from the squad.”

  “Shit.” Tankard rubbed his temples. Hadn’t I booked the damn thing myself to make sure he was as far away from this lot as possible?

  Manny had fought him but knew it was for the best. Even though they’d been married for six weeks, Vic had made sure their honeymoon dates coincided with Manny’s birthday and the Chelsea Avenue fire. He hoped that Manny was three sheets to the wind right now, buried in alcohol, buffet, and Gina.

  Tankard knew when the IDs of the seven victims were matched, it would seem completely random how they ended up here, half-submerged in pools of saltwater on this vacant lot. People from all walks of life and most with no reason to have been here today or any other day. It didn't make sense.

  “Who do we have this year?” Officer Suppan asked, coming late to the scene.

  “Always the dickhead, Suppan,” Tankard said quietly. Even though the police force had gone to extreme measures to make this date look like a random day of murder and mayhem just like any other, most of the department knew the ties to the property and Manny.

  Hell, Manny still owns part of this lot, Tankard thought. Not that anyone in their right mind would buy it. After last year’s killing, which was way too close to home, a five-foot fence had been erected around the lot. Tankard noticed quite a few holes ripped into the chain-link fence. It was pretty much useless, like combing another crime scene for fingerprints and clues.

  The victims had been butchered, body parts chopped and scattered into various puddles and tossed into the scrub and weeds. Whoever, or whatever, had done this had been extremely angry based on the brutality. This was no slow, methodical attack. This was like a wild animal, ripping flesh from the bodies and breaking bones even after death. It was tough to look at and even tougher to fathom. The faces of the victims had been pulled off and either taken as sick trophies or would turn up sooner or later.

  The names of the deceased would be collected and added to the permanent list in Tankard’s files. When Manny returned, he’d ask to see it, knowing that new victims would be added to it. Knowing that there wasn’t much that could be done. The bodies kept piling up, and it couldn’t be stopped.

  One of the officers called out from a corner of the lot, and Tankard followed the rest of the men as they gingerly stepped through the puddles and trash.

  “Holy shit,” Pavano said. “You gotta be shitting me. What the fuck is going on?”

  There was a large, almost square puddle of still water, and it looked man-made. In the shallow water, just under the surface, were the severed faces of each victim in a grotesque pattern. All were equidistant and facing East.

  Vic Tankard thought of Manny again and was thankful the guy was far away from this new nightmare.

  Despite the fuss that his new bride made on the cruise about today being his birthday, he couldn’t relax. He stood on the lido deck with his fifth fruity drink in hand and sighed.

  “Three more days of this and then back to the grind,” he whispered. He was really worried about what he’d be going back to. It was inevitable that a death had occurred and was tied to Murphy’s Law and that night. Manny hoped it wasn’t yet another person that he’d known but knew the odds of that.

  The bodies were piling up, and nothing seemed to be able to stop it. Even knowing the exact date of the killings didn't slow it. No matter what they were going to try, Manny knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they wouldn't be able to stop it. Nothing could stop Death as it rode down Chelsea Avenue each anniversary and claimed more and more victims from the club his parents built.

  He thought of them again and wanted to cry, his poor parents who only ever wanted to do the right thing.

  “I miss you, papi…mama…wish you could have been to my wedding. Your little boy is all grown up, right? You’d have loved Gina. She’s just like you, ma, which is good and bad.” He laughed, looking around to make sure he was alone.

  He felt alone all the time now, anyway. Even sometimes with Gina. He hoped being married to her would let him relax and stop trying too hard. He felt like he coasted through the year and then held his breath on his birthday, waiting for something bad to happen to either people he knew or to him. He hoped Gina wouldn't get caught up in the Chelsea Avenue nightmare.

  A pretty young girl walked past him and smiled. Manny wasn't stupid. He knew she'd gone by a few times, each time with a new drink in her hands and stumbling just a little more. When he nodded at her, she took this as a sign to approach him.

  “Hi, I'm Jasmine, but my friends call me Jazz.”

  Manny smiled and tried not to look too blatantly down the front of her plunging neckline, her ample cleavage pushed up and pointing at him. They were fakes, but they were really nice. He was impressed. She was more than likely a dancer. “I'm Manny. My friends call me Manny.”

  She laughed way too hard for such a lame joke. “My girlfriend and I are throwing a party tonight, and I was trying to find the hottest guy on board to take with me.”

  “How's the search going?” Manny asked with a grin and a wink. She was definitely hot and had a slight southern twang to her words. She was from either Florida or Georgia, somewhere far away from New Jersey.

  Jazz moved in closer, her hand casually placed on his hand on the rail. “I think I found him.”

  “I'm taken,” Manny said and didn't like the way he said it, almost like a question. He wasn't just taken, he was married, and a newlywed at that with a gorgeous wife waiting for him inside the cabin, wanting to keep this honeymoon goin
g. He was out here flirting with another woman. A very, very beautiful woman.

  “I won't tell if you won't tell. I don’t even want to know your name,” she said.

  “I already told you my name, and you told me yours.”

  Jazz laughed. “Oh, yeah… Right.” She squinted with one eye, the inebriation making her stumble back and forth on her feet. “What if I told you my real name wasn't Jasmine?”

  I wouldn't doubt it, he thought. I'm sure it's your stripper name. “I have to go.”

  Jazz wrapped both arms around his shoulders and tried to pull him to her.

  Manny pushed away slowly, their lips close. He didn't want to cheat on his wife, especially so soon after finally marrying her. Even for someone like this, a girl who he'd never see again and wouldn't tell his wife. “It was nice meeting you,” he said and extracted himself from Jazz, getting away as quickly as he could.

  Manny went inside to the bar and ordered a rum and Coke, taking a big gulp to clear his head.

  Finishing his drink, he decided to forget about Chelsea Avenue and other women for one lousy night and have fun. Shit, he was on a great cruise with a great woman who was probably waiting for him in sexy lingerie in their cabin while he sat there and got drunk.

  Manny went back outside, happy when the stripper had moved on for easier prey. He stumbled against the rail and had a sudden fear of spilling overboard and lost at sea.

  The water around him felt ominous. He felt like he was being watched, and it was calling to him to jump over the rail and join it. Manny shook his head and decided he'd had enough alcohol for tonight.

  Chapter 8

  July 8th 1994

  Rick Toland smiled at the flight attendant and asked for a soda. He took the can, with shaking hands, and watched as she poured a rum and Coke at her station on wheels for the woman next to Rick.