Rearview Mirror

REARVIEW MIRROR

A chill wind blew across the isolated waste ground, blowing his long grey hair across an old bony face. Disturbing unhappy thoughts. Staring into the dimming sky he tried to imagine what his partners last thoughts had been, before he lost his head. Had he seen it coming, or had he been in blissful ignorance as his short life was stolen from his young family?

The killer had used the dead mans cell phone to text his wife and show her the head, no body had ever been found. The distraught wife had phoned Billy Tate, and here he was. Two days after the funeral. Hoping for inspiration on All Hallows Eve, at the murder scene. A promise made to his dead friends wife that the killer would be caught. Her reply was to spit in his face. Blaming him for not looking after an inexperienced partner less than half his age.

Billy looked like a throwback from Woodstock with his long, thick grey hair and permanent stubble. Unfortunately, his young partner could be seen through a thick fog a mile away with cop written on his forehead.

The death scene had been painstakingly searched for evidence, but nothing useful had been found. Seventy eight different DNA samples and no proof which one belonged to the killer.

“I’ll find whoever did it, I promise you that,” he said as his sharp eyes scanned the horizon once more before he turned and walked back to his car.
Something caught his gaze in the thickening darkness, something metallic glinted as he heard a popping sound. It was a sound he had heard before, the sound of a gun being fired. With his heart racing he ran to the car for cover, safety and hope. Hope of staying alive. Was this the same trap that his partner had walked into?

He reached the car and ducked down behind it. His shooter must be an extremely bad shot, or have a gun with a crooked barrel if he had missed him from such a short distance. Billy strained his ears for any sound. Footsteps could be heard approaching. There were more than two feet coming his way. Peering under car he could see six feet, all wearing designer trainers, baggy jeans with blood red bandanas tied round the ankles of the left foot.

He knew the colours well. They called themselves The Chain Gang and were a recent addition to the gang culture trying to take control of the city streets.

He drew his gun and fired two shots under the car, hitting the legs of two killers, the third one turned and fled. Billy peered round from behind the car, seeing two figures in hoods with bandanas over their faces pointing guns at him. He fired two shots and stopped two more potential killers earning any more stripes.

The runner was quick, but unfortunately for him could not out run a bullet. He fell to the ground screaming, as blood began to trickle from the bullet hole in his arse.

Billy kept his gun pointed at the screaming figure on the ground, creeping slowly towards him. Two big guns lay by each of the dead shooters, when he got closer he realised both bodies were not fully grown. He checked for signs of life on both bodies, there was none to be found. Both guns went in his pocket as he approached the screaming figure on the ground.

“Know this kid, you make a move for any kind of weapon and I’ll put you down. Hands behind your head and stand up. Then back away from the gun and face the wall.”

The figure on the ground stood up slowly and put his hands behind his head. He then proceeded to hop towards a wall, directly behind him.

“Don’t shoot me man, please,” he sobbed.
“Where are The Chain Gang hiding out these days?”
“I don’t know nothing about no Chain Gang.”
“You’re wearing their colours. You know anything about that cop who got killed here?”
“No, you ain’t pinning that on me.”
“There’s plenty of forensic evidence. You tell me what I want to know and you might make it back to the station, alive.”
“You can’t do that, that’s murder.”
“You shot at me and I shot back. You think three drug dealing gang bangers are gonna get any sympathy?”
“You ain’t got the balls to kill me old man.”
“I just shot your two bitches over there. What makes you think I can’t kill you? Tell me what happened here.”
“Your boy was dirty. He got greedy so we took him out. I need a doctor,” he sobbed. “I’ll bleed to death and it really hurts.”
“Why cut off his head and send his wife the picture?”
“Set an example. No one messes with The Chain Gang, you’ll have a price on your head now, old man.”
“You idiots are getting ambitious all of a sudden.”
“Since you fools started that list of the top ten gangs everyone has been fighting to get on it.”

Billy sighed. He remembered the day he was told about the Mayor’s scheme to draw attention to the worst gangs and try and get the public to come forward and identify any members they saw. There had been bloody battles with gangs trying to publicly assassinate other gangs and anyone who got in the way. The entire gang problem had got violent and bloody for several weeks with many of the smaller gangs being wiped out.

The six most powerful gangs had swelled in numbers, until they declared war on each other, and the police. The Chain Gang were a new name who recruited school children to assassinate anyone who crossed them.
“My partner wasn’t dirty, that was part of his cover until he was executed. He was supposed to immerse himself in your shitty world until he found out who was in charge. Tell me now.”
“I told you before pig, I ain’t telling you nothing.”
Billy punched the shooter in the bullet wound and put his hand over his mouth to cover the screams. When the screams ceased, he let go.
“Improve your grammar and answer my questions.”
“Alright, cool it man. The main man is Six Shot. He’s holed up in that old building in the woods a few blocks away. There’s spotters everywhere and the whole place is like a fortress.”
“You mean that old asylum that is falling down?”
“That’s the place. What you gonna do for me now, cop?”
“Why were you here?”
“We been following you and reporting back. The boss was worried what you might know. Anyone you spoke to we were told to pop.”
“That fat bitch Six Shot told you to do that?”
“No man, very few people see him. His second in command, Spooky Tunes spreads his word.”
“Walk towards my car and we can go back to the station and you can make a statement. Co operate and you can cut a deal, how does that sound?”
The shooter began staggering towards the car, holding his arse with his right hand.
“I’ll need a doctor first and I’ll expect some compensation for my injuries.”
“Are there only three of you in this hit squad?”
“That’s right old man, me and my two dead homies. I’m looking forward to a new life in your witness protection program. I’ll get my lawyer to give you the details,” he said, laughing.
“Turn round,” Billy mumbled.
“What?” the shooter said as he turned to face Billy.
One bullet hit him in the chest, shredding his heart. He hit the ground before the expression on his face could even change from the cocky smile of victory.
“You died smiling, you godless scum. Did you really think you could just walk away from murder?”

Billy sank to his knees and wiped the tears from his face as a feeling of guilt washed over him. Three children lay dead and he had robbed them of their young lives. He pushed himself up on trembling legs and the thought that he had killed killers and saved lives stopped the tears.

Radio it in and meet the SWAT team at the location and hope the boy had not lied. He sensed the boy had been telling the truth. Forensics would tell him if they were the guys who killed his latest partner, he hoped.

The thought of visiting the asylum after the fire that gutted the inside of the building twenty years ago filled him with dread. The cause of the fire was never discovered but everyone had perished. It took six says to put the flames out. Wooden furniture bolted to the floor and electrical cables were thought to have kept the fires burning and every prisoner had been locked in their cell at the time of the fire. Badly charred bodies had been found in every room. The high security had prevented even the guards escaping.

Rumours of ghosts and spectres had spread and no one had gone near the place. The owners could not sell it and it had just been left to fall down. Over the years people had just simply forgotten about it. Stuck in the middle of old woodland, the perfect place for a gang to set up whatever enterprise they liked and hide out there. Billy could remember several prisoners he had arrested who were sent their and died in the fire, every corpse unidentifiable. They had been labelled according to their cell number.

He had visited one of the men he sent there to question him about twelve missing girls he was suspected of abducting, raping and murdering. The suspect had scorch marks on both temples and his body constantly twitched uncontrollably. The asylum had burnt down that night and everyone had died. Not just inmates and staff but fire fighters, paramedics and fellow officers.

Billy had lost friends that night whose bodies had never been found Now he was going back there to take down a gangster who recruited children to kill and sell his drugs.

He sat behind the wheel of his car and tried to smile. An eerie feeling came over him, things seemed to be going full circle. Finish your career where it started. His first big case had been the guy who pleaded insanity for the murders that had started his career as a detective. This case would most likely be his last. What he saw everyday stuck in his head and kept him awake most nights. Time to call it in.

He radioed in what had happened and what was most likely waiting for them at the old asylum. SWAT and back up would be waiting for him when he arrived.
Go out on top of your game.
He started the car and turned on the radio. Freebird by Lynyrd Skynyrd blasted out of the speakers, hearing that song made his heart jump. That song had been their latest at the time of the fire. He switched the radio off and thumped the dashboard until his hand throbbed. The song still played in his head as he drove away.

By the time Billy arrived it was completely dark. Darkness would make it easier to get through the guards in the wood, surrounding the asylum. Billy often saw faces in the dark, dead faces he had put in the ground who cursed him for killing them. When he slept the light was always on.
“Billy, you awake?”
The voice bought Billy back into the real world and out of the one in his head.
“Hey Brad, didn’t expect to see you here,” Billy said as he opened the car door and climbed out. Brad was a short fat, bald guy with a taste for the worst clothes this side of hell.
“We’ve been after this crew for a long time. The top men never do much themselves and they haven’t been seen on the street for a long time. Never would have guessed they’d be holed up here. Great place though, its like a fortress. You ever been there before, Billy?”
“No,” as the lie fell from his lips he shivered and felt sure he heard voices from far away, calling him.
“You ok? You don’t have to come.”
“My partners murder is my case and I need to close it. Once this is done I’m out.”
“Retire, you mean. What would you do?”
“Write a book. Lets go, if we stand here talking much longer they’ll use us for target practice.”
“Calm down, the SWAT guys are sweeping through the woods now. Once its safe us dicks can follow behind,” Brad said, smiling.
“You’ve got a nice smile, Brad. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Seeing a guy with that much hair really pisses me off. Call yourself a police officer?”
Both men laughed at this and Brad did his usual pat on the back that Billy had come to expect.
“I call myself soon to be retired, and I’ll never cut my hair.”

Brad shook his head and the two old friends began their short walk through the litter infested woodland, towards the burnt out asylum.
“I hate places like this. Full of shit and filth. That place should have been knocked down years ago. Have you heard all the ghost stories about it,” Brad said as he stumbled over a root.
“Never did pay much attention to ghost stories. Halloween is just an excuse to sell masks and rubber spiders. I believe in crime stories, though.”
“Maybe you should expand your, shit what was that?”
Something moved to their left and both men drew their guns.
“Put your pistols away boys, I’ve got more guns than you.”
“Bishop, you arsehole. You nearly gave two old guys heart failure,” Brad quipped.
“You two ain’t strolling in the park. We’ve swept the woods and my men are in position. The thermal imager has shown us there are thirty seven guys in the building. The basement is the most heavily guarded, so that’s where we reckon the boss’s are.”

Neither detective could see Bishop, but from his tone they both assumed he was not a happy man. Being called out during the middle of the night by two old detectives was the most likely reason.

“Are you ok, Bishop?” Billy asked.
“I hope we find something worthwhile, not just a bunch of tramps. There were no guards in the surrounding woodland and there hasn’t been crowds of dope dealers reported.”
“There’s an old sewage pipe that leads to the river. We suspect that is being used to bring drugs and guns in and out. We only just got the lead from Billy an hour ago, so we can’t act on anything, yet. Its being covered by uniform in case anyone tries to slip out,” Brad said, trying to hide the irritation he felt at Bishop’s arrogant tone.
“The last bust I did with you Brad, turned out to be a complete waste of time, while the real crime happened less than a mile away,” Bishop snapped back.
“Cut it out Bishop, no one is perfect,” Billy said.
“You’ll blend right in Tate, you look like a doper.”
“You look like my arse, dip shit.”
“Cut it out you two, we’re here now,” Brad whispered.
Billy shivered as he saw the ancient, blackened building for the second time in his life. Memories of cold stone walls and shiny white corridors filled his mind. The empty expression of an insane child killer stuck in his memory as he saw himself punching the godless man before the guards could drag him out. He had laughed as he told Billy he would make an official complaint and he would never tell anyone where he had buried all of his tortured victims. The memories came flooding back with the force of a tidal wave, filling Billy’s head until he thought the voices were real.

James Anderson’s secret’s had burned with him and the bodies had never been found, his laughter seemed to fill the woods as someone pulled his hair. Billy spun round to see the angry face of Bishop mouthing something to him.
“Focus, you old hippy. You sure you’re up to this?”
“Of course, sorry. I knew people who died in the fire.”
“You need to be with us one hundred percent. If The Chain Gang are here they’ll shoot anyone. You see a gun you kill the owner, clear?” Bishop snapped.
“Send your men in Bishop, uniform will inform us immediately of any arrests they make. It would be nice to have some survivors, so we could clear up some of their old crimes. Try not to live up to your cowboy reputation,” Billy said as he took out his gun.
“Whatever you say, Woodstock.” Bishop spoke into a handheld device that neither Billy nor Brad had noticed, “move in men and good luck.”

The three men watched as a group of heavily armed men stormed through the burnt out entrance that looked like the gateway to hell.
Shouting could be heard, followed by shots. Bishop and the two detectives ran forward, guns pointed ready to return fire. The sound of short waves of automatic weapons could be heard, followed by silence.

The three men ran over several dead gang members on their way to lower levels where the high profile prisoners used to be kept in maximum security. Never to see daylight. As they descended the familiar smell of baked crack wafted up to greet them. More short bursts of gun fire were heard, followed by short pauses of silence, then more short bursts.

The powerful flashlights the three men held lit up the graffiti strewn corridors. The floor was strewn with broken glass, but it was the blackened ceiling with its invisible burnt faces that made Billy remember what he had done here, all those years ago.
“You two follow the men down to the main room, I’ll follow soon, there’s somewhere I need to go,” Billy said.
“Are you serious?” Bishop retorted.

Billy ignored him and followed the corridor to the scene of his only crime. It was supposed to be the scene of one man’s suicide, but hundreds had died. Third cell from the end housed the Nazi sympathising, insane child killer. When Billy told him he would burn for his crimes he just laughed and said his friend would get him out. Billy remembered pouring lighter fuel over his books and bed and leaving the device under the bed that would start the fire. He had expected the killer to die from smoke inhalation, but instead the whole building had gone up.

Thinking back now he wondered how anyone would think it was suicide. What had possessed him to do something like that? The bad wiring in the corridor had acted like a fuse and set the offices upstairs on fire and it hadn’t taken long for all of the polished wooden furniture to burn. The locks melted in the heat and no one had been able to escape. Billy was passed out drunk in a bar while the fire raged. The last thing he heard was Freebird by Lynyrd Skynyrd. When he woke the fire had destroyed everything, including his soul.

Here he was, all these years later. A highly respected and decorated cop who was secretly a mass murderer. Staring into the cell with the image of a killer, burnt into the floor. His torch lighting up the haunting image of a body burnt in time.
“Billy burner, come back for more?”
He spun round to see who had spoken to him. A man standing in a bright white corridor, dressed in an orange jumpsuit. Anderson was alive and well in his own private hell.
“You ain’t real,” Billy mumbled.
“You damned me, cop. I can’t leave this place. You were right, everyday I burn for my sins, over and over. I just hope your soul is as black as mine. You never did find those girls, did you?” Anderson said, laughing.

Billy punched him and immediately pulled his hand back as it began to burn.
“Where are they?”
“If I tell you will you scatter my ashes, so I can leave this place?”
“If I find the bodies, I’ll scrape you off the floor.”
“There are buried in my partners garden, your friend Brad. He was sicker than I ever was. I doubt he’s changed much.”
Billy could not speak, this revelation hitting him like a kick from a mule. Over the years girls matching the description of Anderson’s victims had disappeared and they had never been found. Billy closed his eyes until he felt able to move. When he opened them he was staring into a burnt out cell, standing in a blackened corridor.
He made his way back to the sound of voices until he reached the SWAT team and its prisoners.
There were four surviving gang members and a lot of dead ones.
“Where you been hippy, dodging the bullets?” Bishop snapped.
“I thought I heard something, but it was nothing. I’ve been in more shootouts than you Bishop, without having any boys to hide behind, so you can just fuck off with the prisoners and take all the glory.”
Brad stood between the two men as the SWAT team marched out with the four survivors , Bishop was the last to leave.
“You ok Billy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Brad asked.
“Can we go back to your house? There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Sure, we can have a drink and talk about the old days. I don’t have many people over.”
“You still living in the same place?”
“Certainly am, my mothers old place. Must be thirty years since she passed away. I’ll never move, too many memories there.”
Billy followed him out of the building and back to his car. It was going to be a long night.