Danny was the first one out the band hall door when the bell finally rang. First, he rushed to put distance between himself and Sanders, then slowly, he started the familiar route home. He ambled along, thinking about the missed cymbal beat and Mr. Sander’s red, hog jowls-flapping critique of his musical abilities. He was an average boy in most ways. Even though he was too short for the basketball team, he liked to shoot the ball. He often won when they played HORSE in PE. The coaches said he was too slow to be a baseball player and too slight for football. But he had found a niche in the band and was first chair for the percussion section. I might just quit, he thought as he mindlessly continued down the sidewalk.
Danny could hear the tap tap, tap of his drumsticks as they rattled around in their blue carrying bag. Today he wished he had left them in his locker. School was almost out. He carried several books home to prepare for final tests next week. His brown hair tasseled from under his blue and silver Dallas Cowboys cap, as he struggled along with the stack of books. “Don’t let that old ragbag get to you, Danny,” Jack Baker called just as Jack turned down the street to his house. Jack’s a lousy trombone player, but an all right guy, Danny thought when he looked up and waved a thumbs up to Jack.
Just as Danny turned around, he heard a strange voice calling, “Young man, young man, please, can you help me?” He looked around to see a priest calling to him from a white van. He noticed the green sign on the door, “Saint Thomas High School.” He knew where Saint Thomas was. It was only a few blocks from here. He also knew Saint Thomas was a Catholic school and he assumed the driver of the van was a teacher at the school. Danny went to the Church of Redemption. He was a Protestant, but he didn’t mind Catholics. Jack used to go to Saint Thomas, Danny thought. That was before Jack’s mother got a divorce and he was transferred to Eisenhower.
He walked to the curb where the priest was parked. “Young man, can you help me? I’m lost. I need to find the Flores residence. There’s been a death in the family. I need to get to the Flores’ right away. They live on Patricia Street. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes sir, I know exactly where that is,” Danny politely answered. “It’s… well, you go down this street to the third light. No, I think it’s the fourth light. No, maybe it is the third light. Then you turn this way.” Danny pointed to his right. “It’s over this way by the bookstore. That’s where you turn.”
“Please, young man, I need your help. I’m a priest and I must get to the Flores. Will you show me? I’ll bring you right back. I could even take you home. I see you have a heavy load to carry today.” The priest smiled and continued, “This is so important. I’ll have you back in five minutes. Get in, hurry.”
“Sure, I guess it’ll be okay. I know where Patricia Street is. It’s not too far from my house,” Danny said and opened the door. “What are all these clothes for?”
“They’re for the poor, my son. Hurry, close the door and put the seatbelt on.” Quickly the priest reached to help Danny with the books. “What do you have in the bag?” the priest asked, pointing to the drumstick sack.
“Just my drum sticks. These clothes smell funny. Oh, I get it. You just picked them up at the cleaners.”
The van pulled away from the curb and continued down the street. “Why do you have half a pool cue stick up there on the dash?” Danny asked. “We have a pool table in our garage. I guess you have pool tables at the school, don’t you?”
The priest reached for the back half of the pool cue as if to show the inquisitive young man how the stick screwed together. Suddenly, he unleashed his attack as quick as the strike of a rattlesnake. Pain and a flash of light filled Danny’s head when he was hit between his eyes with the priest’s homemade nightstick.
He was addled. His body went slack just before he slumped in the seat. Somewhere far off, he could hear a roar and he could feel warm blood trickle from his forehead, into his eyes before he drifted into darkness. It seemed to be only a second, and then he returned to consciousness and unrelenting pain. He wailed in agony. His nose hurt and he sensed a tightening wrap around his wrists. Through the smell of dirty clothes, he could also smell cigarette and beer breath. He tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, but he couldn’t move his arms to his face. He could see the man in black twisting coat hangers tighter on his wrists. He tried to kick, but his ankles were already bound with a wrap of plastic clothes bag. Roughly, his head was jerked from the floor and held tight as a red plastic garment bag was pulled around his face. Then he felt the drawstring being pulled tight and suddenly, there was no air. The priest cinched the red bag around the boy’s head, and then bit a hole in the bag so the boy could breathe. He did not want the boy to die just yet. It was way too soon.
Danny hurt terribly. He was having a hard time breathing and his head throbbed. There was a feeling of numbness in his bound ankles and wrists. He was also aware that he was lying on a hard steel floor with ridges in it. When he tried to shift his body to the side, he was struck in the face by something he had not seen coming. The bag was twisted around his head, but he could see a glimpse of the priest straddling him. Confused and in anguish, he wondered why a priest would do this to him. Even though the pain Danny felt was almost unbearable, it was nothing to compare with what lay ahead. He felt the priest move from his body. Then he heard the cargo door to the van close and the driver’s door open.
He was bounced along the hard floor of the van as it suddenly took off. He heard the tires squeal and then the dull roar of tires on pavement. He was having a hard time breathing. He constantly had to move his head, trying to keep the tear near his mouth. He soon became adept at breathing slowly. When he took big breaths, he sucked the bag into his nose. Danny wondered where the priest was taking him and why. He was suddenly aware that the van was slowing. He knew by the sound and roughness that they had turned off pavement onto a gravel road.
When the van stopped, the driver’s door opened. Then Danny heard the cargo door squeak. Through the tear in his sack, Danny could see a picnic table outside the van. He saw the priest climb into the back of the van and shut the cargo door. Terror flooded his young mind with the sudden realization that he would never see his mother or daddy again. Danny’s tears rolled behind the red clothes bag as he thought about his sisters. He was keenly alert to every sound. He heard a zipper being undone. He knew he was about to die unless he did something. Danny kicked as hard as he could toward where he thought the priest was kneeling.
Danny missed. With a gasp, he sucked the bag deep into his nose. He felt alarm, then panic, when he was grabbed and turned over onto his back. Danny’s head struck something hard. He was sure it was the fender well. He shivered when he heard the priest say, “Praise God, you will not go through what I have endured. It is time for you to receive your anointment.” Danny felt the man grab him and pull him close. He knew his belt was being unlatched, then he heard the priest, “You must suffer. Jesus said, ‘suffer the little children’.”
Slore knew that most of the time there was a reason for a victim being selected. However, he recalled some burglaries at a downtown hotel when he was working Burglary. He had charted everything. Did they happen on a payday or any certain day of the week? What time of the month? He looked at the times of the days and nights. He made charts of the floors and the room numbers where the burglaries took place. Were the rooms near the elevators or near the fire exits?
Chart after chart, theory after theory, until the actors were caught. It turned out that everything was simply random. There was no pattern. It turned out to be some hookers who walked the hotel floors until they found where someone had left a key in a door. Then, they would go in and burglarize the room. It was simple, Slore thought, remember, just simple, KISS it! Keep It Simple, Sergeant.
Chapter 5
Slore dialed extension 487. When the clerk answered the phone “Intelligence,” he asked for Sergeant Valdez. Mike may be my only friend. For sure he’s my best friend, Slore thought as he reminisced,