The Legend (4 page)

After crime scene officers sifted around my apartment for fingerprints and snapped photographs
, they concluded their preliminary investigation.  They packed their tools into a black equipment case with metal rivets.  Then I guided them out. 
"Duane, if you find out anything, anything at all, call me." 
Detective Bernhardt declared before departing.

This city's bane is bluntly stripping what's left of my sound mind.  How much more torment could I endure before I lose my sanity?  Suddenly my
cellphone vibrated.  I flipped it open. 
"Have you gotten home yet?" 
Lolani texted.  She has been the sole presence that's keeping me balanced.  I refuse to tell her about the dire straits that follow me around like a dark cloud.  I don’t want her to presume me for some coward.  I also don’t want her to be afraid of being around me.

Hours have past and I lied in my bed daunted.  I questioned if I was approaching my problems appropriately.  If I cooperated with Detective Bernhardt and the suspects were apprehended, I might not have been targeted again.  On the other hand, what if the muggers' gang retaliates against me for snitching?  Either way, something has to be done or I would continue to be a victim.

"Detective Bernhardt." 
I uttered after he answered his phone.
"Duane?"
  He replied.

"I'm
ready to talk."

"You sure you're up to this?"
He asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Well you have my card.  Come to the station."

"All right."

I couldn't keep my knee from bobbing.  I've been sitting inside Detective Bernhardt's cubicle for an hour contemplating if I'm doing the right thing. 
I wish I’d known beforehand that I’d be interrupting his dinner.  He devoured a hot dog fifteen minutes ago and the stench lingers in his breath.  I never liked the smell of hot dogs, especially when it comes after someone belches. 

He’s been asking me
about the robbery.  I told him what happened.  He followed by disclosing of a local gang known as the “
Downtown Fallen Saints.”
"Several people in that neighborhood have gotten mugged and they all described the same three individuals and modus.  Three shirtless guys wearing black leather vests approaching them from the rear, striking them, throwing them to the ground and someone snatching their wallet."
   He informed me.  His greasy fingers tugged, pushed and clicked on his computer mouse.  He left oily fingerprints on it.   Seconds later, a photo lineup started printing on a printer underneath his desk.  He retrieved it, slid it my way and asked me if I can identify the suspect.  I refused to touch it.  I don’t want to touch anything he hands me.  I shifted my chair so I could get a better look.
"That's him!  That's one of the guys that robbed me!" 
I confidently blurted out while pointing at the center mug shot.  There was no mistaking that pale skin complexion, five inch spiky red mohawk and skull tattoos on his neck and lower cheeks.
"Hoytsworth, huh?  Also known on the street as 'Hollow Point Hoyt.'  I had a feeling it was him."
  Detective Bernhardt uttered. 
"I've had a few run-ins with him.  He's been arrested twice for robbery and has a couple of burglary charges.  Amazing how he's still out.  No matter how many times you lock these guys up they end up right back on the streets.  Thanks for your cooperation Duane.  Do you need a ride home?"
"No thanks, I'll take the train." 
I acknowledged.  Detective Bernhardt escorted me down a corridor to the exit.

"No matter how many times you lock these guys up they end up right back on the street
s,"
Detective Bernhardt uttered before I left.  I wondered if I just made a big mistake by squealing. 
"If he gets locked up and then released in a couple weeks, I'm done!"

Later on that night, while lying on my bed, I couldn't stop myself from recollecting the conference I had with Detective Bernhardt earlier today.  I attempted to read the novel again but I kept revisiting the same sentences over and over.  The comic book distracted me before and I haven't finished it yet.  I snatched it off my nightstand and decided to complete it.

Just as I read the final page, I had an
eerie feeling that I was being watched.  I rested the comic book on my chest and glanced around my room.  Suddenly, I was startled by a pair of flaming red eyes peering at me from a shadowy corner. 
"Who's there?" 
I hollered while promptly erecting myself.  When my eyes got acclimated to the dark, I could suddenly make out his inky silhouette standing before me.  His black ensemble blended in my dark room.  The figure sauntered into the red light that seeped through my tattered window blinds from a vertical neon sign fixed to the liquor store across the street.  He was towering.  His body was veiled by a long cloak that flowed over his shoulders.  The bottom of the cloak was disposed on the floor in a perfect crescent.   His identity was concealed by a black mask that outlined his chiseled jaw line and broad nose. 
"The Legend?" 
I inquired.  The superhero from the comic book I just read?  He posed in the light and continued to stare at me with those flaming red eyes. 

"Who are you?" 
I asked.  He gently raised his hand to his head and clenched his mask.  Just as he was about to reveal himself, rapid sounds of gunfire reverberated off my walls.  It startled me awake from the dream I was just having.  I quickly realized it was coming from the front of the apartment building.  I plunged to the floor and inquisitively scrambled to my window. 

A brand new white 2003 Cadillac Escalade careered down the street as a rear passenger was p
oised out the window gripping a fully automatic AK-47.  The hustlers shooting dice in front of my building took cover behind parked cars.  Once the onslaught ended, they all scattered.  Some fled into the building, others up the street.  For a second, I thought the gunshots were intended for me. 

Six months have passed since I pointed out Hoytsworth in the photo lineup.  However, I have not heard from Detective Bernhardt since.  I haven't received a subpoena to appear in court.  I no longer see Hoytsworth around either.  My inquiring mind wants to call the detective and ask to be updated.  Then again, it might be best just to put this whole thing behind me. 

In those six mo
nths, Lolani and I drew close; relationship close.  She’s officially my girlfriend.  She has invited me to her parents' house for dinner one night.  She's a youthful rendering of her mother.  Her father is very particular about the company his only daughter keeps.  However, I think I managed to gain his acceptance.  In the course of time I will introduce her to my parents.

Every Thursday at five fifteen Lolani routinely springs into the dry cleaners.  I glanced at the creeping hands on the analog wall clock.  She'll be
making her appearance any second now.  While anticipating her arrival, Mr. Delancey suddenly asked me to take the trash out to the dumpster in the back alley.  Of all time he waits until Lolani is scheduled to come in.  I raced through the back door, hurled the trash bag into the dumpster and made it back to the counter just as she walked in.

"Hey Duane!"
Lolani greeted.  She's sporting a white spring dress with orange accessories correlating with her shoes.  She clenched her outfits with her left arm and aimed a cellphone at me with her right hand.

"Lani, what's up?"
  I gasped.  She set her clothes on the counter while continuing to aim her cellphone at me.

"You like my new phone?"
She inquired

"I guess.  Why are you holding it up like that?" 

"Because I'm recording you.  It has a built in video camera.  Isn't that cool?"

"Lani, c'mon, put the phone away."
  I directed while playfully trying to snatch it out of her hand from behind the counter.  She smirked and jerked back just enough so my fingers were out of reach. 

"C'mon, smile for..."
She was suddenly interrupted.  The storefront glass door violently swung open causing it to shatter as it collided against the wall. 

"YOU THOUGHT WE FORGOT ABOUT YOU MUTHAFUCKA!" 
A gunman barked while storming into the cleaners clinching a semi-automatic sawed-off rifle.  He was followed by two other unarmed men.  All of their identities are concealed by black knitted balaclava ski masks.  They are also sporting dark wool sweaters.

"WHOA, WHOA!"
  I hollered with my trembling hands extended before me trying to ineffectively defuse the situation.  I was greatly concerned about Lolani.

The gunman glanced at her and she apprehensively lost grip of her
cellphone.  It fell onto the white tiled floor as she backed into a wall.  She pressed her palms against it.  I've never seen her so frightened. 

The gunman suddenly hoisted up the rifle and aimed it
at her.  My heart suddenly sunk.  I vaulted over the counter and darted towards Lolani.  Just before I embraced her, three gunshots resonated throughout the room.  She wailed and collapsed into my arms.  I couldn't hold her flimsy body.  We both fell onto the floor.

Her cries persisted as I held onto her.  I peered at the gunman hoping he was content with just trying to scare us.  Then I felt my hands becoming wet with something warm and thick.  I glanced down and the side of her white dress was quickly
turning red.  She'd been shot.

"LOLANI!"
  I bawled as persisted to embrace her. 
"PLEASE MAN PLEASE!"
I desperately pleaded to the gunman.

"Hoyt! 
Let’s go!"
  One of the accomplices blurted out in a remorseful tone as he fled out the door.  The second accomplice ensued.

"You snitching mutha..." 
The gunman uttered while aiming the rifle at my head.  Then I blanked out.

A steady beeping tone awakened me from a deep sleep.  As my blurred vision cleared I noticed Detective Bernhardt sitting in a chair besides my hospital bed.  A familiar looking Asian female, with shoulder length jet black hair, stood next to him.  She was short and slim yet appeared to be athletically built.  She was dressed in business attire.  She had a youthful face; if I had to guess her age it would be in the range of mid to late twenties.  Her badge hung on a beaded chain around her neck. 

"How long have I been in the hospital for?"
I asked Detective Bernhardt.  I glanced into the hallway and saw my parents tensely pacing about. 

"
You've been here for almost a month.  You just finished your second surgery." 
He conveyed.

"Second surgery?
  A month?  What?  What happened?" 
I was completely oblivious.

"You got shot.  Don't you remember?" 

"No, I don't."

"You were shot in the head.  It's a miracle you're still alive and talking.  The doctors are cautiously optimistic that you'll recover after therapy.  There are no signs of swelling which is a good thing.  Your family wants to talk to you for a second."
  Detective Bernhardt stood up and gestured with his hands for my parents to enter.  My mother bustled into the room as if she couldn't wait any longer.  Her eyes saturated with tears.  My father was composed as always.  He sauntered in after her. 

"How do you feel?" 
My mother inquired after embracing me.

"My head hurts."

"Besides the headaches Duane, how are you doing?" 
The doctor asked as he stepped in.

"Fine."
  I responded.

"Can you move your feet for me?"
  He inquired.  I did. 
"How about your arms?" 
I moved them too. 
"Very good.  Well, first you are very lucky to be alive.  The gunshot wound damaged a section of your brain called the amygdala." 
The doctor relayed while hoisting up an x-ray photo towards the fluorescent light.
"This part of the brain processes memories of emotional reactions which is probably why you don't remember getting shot in the head.  Without this part of the brain functioning properly you might also start noticing different behavioral patterns."

"Different behavioral patterns?  Like what?" 
My father asked.

"Well the amygdala's also gives us the ability to be afraid."
  The doctor replied. 
"Our body responds to fear in several ways: increased heartbeat, sweating, immobility, heavy breathing.  You probably won't experience any of those reactions anymore.  But to be safe it's imperative you stick to the medication regiment I am going to prescribe."

"Will the medication make me normal again?" 
I inquired.

"Well like I said, you 'might' start noticing different
behavioral patterns.  It's not certain at this time.  It's too early to tell.  If you have any more questions feel free to ask." 
The doctor's pager suddenly went off.  He hoisted it up to his eyes then bustled out of them room.

"Do you mind if I ask Duane a couple of questions about the shooting?" 
Detective Bernhardt amiably asked my parents.