GrowingOlderHopeWiser

“Bang! Bang! You’re dead!” Ryan was pretending to be a killer, shooting his air gun at any passerby. He looked like a ragged muffin, with matted hair, a dirty face, and crumpled clothes. He sported a new, fat lip from his last encounter with his mother. He dared ask her for food. He hung out by himself on that ugly, stinky, garbage-smelling stoop in the South Bronx, New York. Ryan was only 6 years old and had to fend for himself most of the day. His mother was passed out on heroin half the time or gone. He survived by stealing food from the local bodegas. The bodega owners knew him and often looked the other way. It was a shame, but nobody called Child Services. Everyone minded their own business. 

Ryan grew up angry and was raised on the streets. He attended school sporadically; his mother often kept him home to run errands for her. She trained him to shoplift at the big grocery store and punished him with extension cords if he failed to bring her what she asked for. Too often, he had to hide in the closet and stay quiet while she entertained her clients. She told him she was a nurse giving them a shot. In his young years, Ryan knew better. He’d seen enough street life to put two and two together. 

His teacher took him to the school office, where the school counselors, the psychologist, and a woman with a large purse confronted him. Ryan found himself a ward of the state; his mother had died of an overdose. 

Chapter 2

The Backstage Warehouse was busy with preparations and scenery construction for an off-Broadway play called Bang! Bang! You’re Dead. Machines were whirring, and there was the banging of platforms being built. A strong scent of paint and paint thinner permeated the warehouse. Forklifts moved large pieces of scenery into the parked truck by the outside platform. The air was bitterly cold, and the workers could see their breath as they loaded the truck. 

“Move Out!” The foreman shouted it.

The truck arrived at the theater’s backstage platform and began to be unloaded. Zoe, the stage manager, was supervising the activity. She was a beautiful redhead, full of energy and theater smarts. Two of the grips struggled with a heavy rolled-up tarp and dropped it with a thud. 

“Wait up!” shouted Zoe

The tarp had a wet stain and a distinctive odor of dead animals and urine. She ordered the workers to unroll the tarp. They all stood in a circle around the unrolled tarp, their mouths agape. Old man Charley from the warehouse was found at the center of the tarp; he had been stabbed numerous times by what little they could see. He was caked with blood. His glasses lay crushed and mangled on his chest. The stench was even stronger.

The police were called, and soon the whole area became a circus of yellow tape and CSI in white body suits and booties.

Zoe stood nearby, talking to Damian, the Play director, and a couple of investors. This was a big tragedy, setback, and a mess all around. Sure to affect the opening of the play, which was due in two weeks. Who could have done that to Old Man Charley? And Why?

Detective Brian North, handsome with a chiseled face and jet-black hair, was in charge of the investigation. He had 10 years of homicide experience. Danny Fonseca was his partner. Lilith James was the coroner at the scene. 

Zoe approached Brian, “What happens now?”

“It will take all afternoon to clear the scene. We will need to investigate The Backstage Warehouse as well. Did you know the victim?”

Everyone knew Old Charley; he was a fixture at The Backstage Warehouse. He had worked there for over 25 years. He was a bit of fun, an old grump who loved to get onto the workers, grumping and bossing them around. He had no real authority, just his experience and wit, which were well respected. Others listened to him and did as he said out of deference. He will be missed.

Back at the coroner’s office, Lilith spoke to Brian and Danny and gave them a preliminary report. 

“He’s been dead for over 10 hours. He died of multiple stab wounds; the lethal one was this plunge into his heart,” Lilith said, pointing to his chest.

No weapon had been recovered from either the warehouse or the theater. 

“You’re looking for a thick knife with a serrated edge. The hilt is heavy; you see these markings on the outer edges of the wounds.”

Brian and Danny took notes and headed back to the precinct.

Chapter 3

Zoe had the theater running again; the stage setting was up, and the angled platforms were in place on the proscenium. The ellipsoidal lights were being hung from the ceiling racks, and the spotlights were calibrated. Dave Sanders was in charge of lighting; he was small and could easily crawl into and out of the lighting booth. He worked late into the night to get everything ready and calibrated for the dress rehearsal. Everyone had gone home by then, and he thought he was alone. He crawled up to the light booth one last time to make sure everything was turned off. Just as he stuck his head through the opening, someone grabbed his hair, pulled him back, and sliced his neck.

They found Dave the next day, right where he had dropped. Zoe was called immediately, and she took a taxi across town to get there quickly. The police were contacted, and once again, Brian and Danny showed up. This was the second homicide in less than a month. The Theater was shut down till further notice. Zoe and the play Director were freaking out. Due to more production delays, the investors were in panic mode. They were all wondering if Bang! Bang! “ You’re Dead!” was never going to open. It seemed to be cursed from the beginning.

Zoe and Brian ran into each other once again, and not under ideal conditions. Any other time they would have been dating, there would have been that much of a spark between them.

Chapter 4

Ryan paced his small studio apartment like a locked tiger in a cage. He was wearing a dirty undershirt and sweating profusely. The veins on his forehead and neck stood out. He was jacked up with explosive energy. The smell of fresh blood excited him. He was going to show that bitch that he was not just a lowly grip. She thought she was too good for him.

Ryan’s clumsy approach had taken Zoe aback. 

“You want to hook up later?” He said

Zoe had not even given him a second look; he was not her type. His approach had seemed presumptuous. 

“I don’t think so,” was her simple reply. Nothing more.

Ryan ran with the assumption of rejection. He’d been fantasizing about Zoe ever since he met her at the theater two months ago. 

Zoe reached her front stoop, juggling her packages and fumbling with the keys to the front door. An ether-scented cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth by a very strong hand. 

She opened her eyes, still groggy and with an enormous headache. It took a minute to focus; she was in her own apartment, tied with rope to her heavy office swivel chair. She had bought the best, most ergonomic chair, but now it was her trap. Ryan paced the apartment with wild eyes, sweating profusely, holding a Bowie knife and waving it around. He was mumbling incoherently.

She tried to let out a scream, but the gag over her mouth prevented her.

“All you had to do was say yes, you bitch!” Ryan said, as if he were a crazy man.

The tip of his knife was an inch from her eye. His acrid stench assaulted her nostrils.

His clumsy invitation came back to her. Is this guy for real? she thought, starting to panic even more. Then she remembered she had invited Brian for dinner to discuss the possibility of letting the show go on. The company was bleeding money because of all the delays—a glimmer of hope in her most impossible situation.

Chapter 5

It was broad daylight when Ryan assaulted her on the stoop. Mrs. Garcia was always monitoring the neighborhood, saw the whole incident, and called the Police. They were already outside, surrounding the building. It was a hostage situation, and they had to proceed with caution. They knew he was armed and dangerous. Smoke billowed from the idling engines on the street; it was bitterly cold outside. Brian got on the megaphone and said to Ryan, “You are surrounded; what do you want?” 

Ryan could see he was trapped. His desperation was rising even more. The landline phone rang in the apartment, making him jump. He picked up the phone. 

“Bang! Bang! You’re dead!” 

Just a sharpshooter’s bullet pierced his back, dropping him to the floor.