Chapter 4

The introduction to Daruis and the investigation by the police about a potential serial killer...

 Chapter 4

 

 

 

     A thirty year old, thin pale man slept in a contorted fetal position. The room was dark and cold. The door abruptly flied open and Daruis Toro popped up in a cold sweat. A huge hooded figure blocked the doorway. A strong breeze blew in the dark room, as the hooded figure moved slowly towards Darius. He attempted to struggle but couldn’t move. The hooded moved closer and closer.

      A brisk night stirred silently outside of a rundown tattoo parlor on the bad side of town below Pacific. The inside was spacious with three swivel chairs toward the front and a leather coach to the side. Various designs hung behind class framed pictures. Three people are seen from the outside through the wall-to-wall widows that took up the corner of the building.

      Daruis tossed and turned on a cot. He jumped up frantically with sweat pouring down his face. His hair was drenched with oil and his eyes were decorated with big black circles. He limped over to a tattered grey sofa, threw himself down and glanced over at a glass table sofa. He spotted a line of cocaine, quickly snorted the ite and wiped the wetness from his brow then rose to his feet.

     Darius opened the door, shielded his tired eyes from the artificial light attacking from above. His vision cleared and he made out Mikal a muscular, bald tattoo artist cover with a variety of tattoos meticulously and colorfully printed on his ripped frame. He was working on the back of a young, flaccid woman dressed from head to toe in black, gothic garb. Over in the next chair was a young, handsome Asian man Tony, with gel-spiked hair dressed in baggy jeans and name brand skateboard attire. Cyrus a tall, ginger, pole-like man-boy wore a pro marijuana shirt and long retro bell-bottom jeans.  He was in the middle of humming Tom Sawyer. Darius made his presence felt by stumbling on the, dirty checkered tiled floor. Mikal glanced over with a piteous look,

“Couldn't sleep again? The f*****g dream?”

 

 “Yeah the f*****g dream.” Yawned Darius.

     

     Cyrus interjected from the side,

 

“You need to see a head doctor. When I was in high school I used to have dreams of killing my history teacher. So they sent me to a shrink.”

“I don't need no f*****g head shrink dude. I just need some sleep.”

    Daruis reclined in his empty station. He picked up his ink gun and examined it closely. He scanned the parlor from corner to corner as his eyes ventured out of the big picturesque window exhibiting  7^th  and Center with all its ghetto splendor. The interior lights were bright and punk music was blasting in the background. He called out to Mikal,

“Hey, Mikal what did you do last night?”

“Hung out with my girl and her girl if you know what I mean”

“You mean you guys all went shopping.”

    Cyprus and Tony laughed, while an irritated Mikal stared him down,

“ No you a*****e. We had a threesome!”

“Yeah right! I heard you like to lie on you dick Mikal. You tell tall well short tales about your sexual promiscuity.”

“This coming from a guy stealing the Spice channel. And I know you didn't sprain your wrist playing basketball.”

     The parlor broke into full-blown laughter. The front door opened and two familiar, serious men dressed in off the rack suits entered the store. One was regular height and black with a mini Afro, his name was Detective Smalls. The other was a tall Latino man with a crew cut and thick moustaches, Detective Gomez. Their shoes echoed off of the titled floor. Everyone froze in place. Smalls approached Darius,

“Are you Darius Toro?”

“It's according to who is asking Sir.”

“Detective Smalls: LAPD Homicide division and this is Detective Gomez.”

     Gomez nodded at Daruis as he laughed,

“Hey what can I do for you gentlemen today? Have you come in for a tattoo? You Smalls, would look great with a unicorn on your calf. You Gomez, would look great with a sunfish on your shoulder. All the ladies would think you where so macho.”

     Mikal collected the money from the young Gothic customer,

“No keep it covered and don't let it get infected. Cover it for at least a week.”

     The woman smiled and headed out of the door. Smalls gave Mikal a smile,

“Hey Mikal Javoic.”

“It's Johnavich.”

“Whatever all you Viches sound and look alike to me. Long time no see. How was Chino?”

“Chino is Chino. You need to go they would love you up there.”

“No that's alright. I will just keep sending a*****e like you up there. How is the whole White Power thing?”

“It's Nazi Lowrider.”

     Gomez and Smalls shared a silly look and mocked him. Gomez pointed to Mikal,

“Nazi Lowrider? I didn't know you White boys like Lowriders. How can you like low riders and hate Mexicans? Ain't that some s**t.”

     Smalls chimed in,

“Nazi Lowrider! I heard everything now. That's like a black Klansman.”

     The detectives flanked Mikal on both side then examined his tattoos.

“What is it now detectives.”

     Detective Gomez leaned in closer, “Nothing I have always been curious about f*****g prison tats. I mean they have so much symbolizing for some simple f***s, that couldn't keep from getting caught in the first place.”

     Smalls pointed to a pair of clasped hands printed on Mikal’s neck,

“What's that mean? The clasp hands?”

“It mean God forgive me for my sins.”

     The detective directed attention to the number fourteen on his arm,

“What's with the number fourteen on you arm. That how many brain cells you have?”

“Or is that your sperm count. Or how man time the Chulo's took your a*s in prison.” Jested Gomez.

Smalls laughed, “Maybe it's his IQ.”

“It's my favorite number.”

     The detectives were shocked as if they expected more.

     Gomez chuckled,

 “That's it? Not very deep.”

     Smalls cosigned,

“Not as deep as the WP on top of his eyebrow.”

    Smalls pointed to Mikal’s forehead.

“Oh yes. White Power! Almost like Girl Power.” Joked Gomez.

     Mikal removed his shirt to reveal the words Nazi Lowrider scrolled with deep Midnight Black graffiti like print scrawled across his stomach and a Swastika on his left shoulder. He turned showing off a Nordic god on his back. He placed his arms to the side,

“This is what I was. I am not this anymore. I paid my time and did what I had to do.”

     Mikal nodded coolly to Darius and then walked toward the back,

“I'm going to go take a s**t.”

    He left the room, while Daruis smiled at the two detectives.

     Gomez looked at Smalls,

“Those Nazi's are so sensitive.”

Smalls replied, “Yes they have feeling too. Poor little racist guy.”

     Daruis held up his ink gun,

“So you both wanted Prison Tats? What are you going undercover or are you expecting another Rampart.”

      Smalls placed a color photo of a dead women shot in the face directly in Darius eye line. He backed away defensively,

“What the f**k is that? Whoa slow down.”

“Oh, we have more. We have a f*****g albums!”

     Smalls threw the glossy eight by tens on the empty chair. The graphic, bloody pictures are of murder victims in different positions. Cyrus strolled toward the chair with the Tony close behind. Cyrus eyes lit up joyously.

“Dude this is bitchin'. Those picture are dope! What do you do with them when you done?”

     Gomez snatched them away defiantly,

“They go into evidence.”

      Daruis gawked at Cyrus strangely,

“What do you what with picture of dead people?”

     Cyrus whispered but can still be in the room,

“Sell them on the net man. People have corpse fetishes.”

      Daruis winced,

“That is the sickest f*****g thing I have ever heard!”

     He turned his attention back toward the detectives,

“So how can I help you gentleman I run a tattoo parlor.”

     Detective Smalls held up another picture of a man with a exit wound through his back. His shoulder was also exposed a tattoo of a Falcon.

   Gomez questioned,

“Have you heard about the rash of murders in Pedro this year?”

     Daruis shook his head no,

“Really I don't watch that much T.V.”

     Cyrus intervened,

“Yeah! They think there is a serial killer in Pedro. Dude it's the f*****g coolest. Like Richard Ramirez and s**t.”

“He's right there has been a rash of murders around San Pedro. Most of the victims hookers, Drug addicts, homeless, the dregs of society.” Stated Gomez.

“What makes this case strange. Is these people have been mark with tattoos: either pre or post mortem. But this killers calling card id tattoo's”

    Daruis giggled, irritating Smalls,

“What so f*****g funny?!”

“Man, do you know how many tattoo parlors are on this street alone? Good luck.”

     The detectives blocked Daruis view from the rest of the parlor. Smalls leaned in and whispered into his ear canal. He was so close Daruis knew his gum: Spearmint.

“The funny thing is, we have been to all the tattoo parlor and they all mentions you. All of them. Say your the best.”

     Daruis replied smugly,

“I'm good, maybe the best.”

“Heard you have a little habit. You like to go out into the snow if you know what I mean.” Detective Gomez sniffed.

     Smalls stepped intrusively into Daruis personal space almost stealing his breath,

“Bet ya we toss that back room we have Possession. But hey we are just visiting. A friendly visit.”

     Detective Gomez dropped laminated white card on Daruis lap. It bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. The detective winked,

 “We can all help each other.”

     Detective Small examined Daruis closer, scanning his arms and legs carefully in disbelief,

“Man you ain't got no tattoo. Why don't you have any?”

“I'm scared off needles.”

     Gomez boomed loudly,

“You are a tattoo artist scared of needles? Ain't this a b***h. We got a sensitive Nazi, a tattoo artist scared of needle and a f****n’ necrophiliact. I have seen everything.”

    Smalls moved his head side to side, clearly disturbed,
“I have seen a little too much. Come out let’s get out of this Cess pool.

The detectives addressed Cyrus,

“Are you two related?”

“He's my brother. Why?”

“Because I see who mamma loves best. Call us Daruis.”

     The men disappeared into the dark streets. Daruis turned to Cyrus with distain written all over his face,

“F*****g sick b*****d. Selling dead people on the net. You have issues.”

“Dude we have a serial killer in town and the cops came here. Man this is cool. The cops must think you’re a suspect.” Cyrus sang almost dancing.

“Yeah that's real cool! You stupid f**k. I'll be back.”

     Daruis moved toward the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“To see Mangus.”

“Oh.”

     Cyrus directed the Tony to his chair.

“Bruh you have to get back in the chair. I have to finish my masterpiece.”

   

Author's Note

comments please or any advice

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A interesting chapter. I like the description of the serial killer. Leaving tattoos on the body of the victims. I like how the police officers give some information out trying to grasp at something. No weakness in the excellent chapter.
Coyote