Book 7 Chapter 1

Like a lion waits for the perfect moment to attack its prey, Doc watched four men sitting at the bar from across the street.

He watched as the Neon Beer sign flashed rhythmically in the window of the Old Town Pub. The long day of following the drug dealer that sold the fentanyl laced heroin to his brother started to take its toll. His eyes felt heavy, and his empty stomach left behind a dull ache between his temples.

He knew the police would be looking for him after what he did to get the information from Jason’s friend. It wasn’t his friend’s fault Jason was dead, but he needed to know whose fault it was.

Doc started thinking about the football season last Fall, and how he would watch his little brother play. It all seemed like a dream now. Jason’s leg became trapped under an offensive lineman, forcing it to twist and buckle. The season ended when the ligaments that held his knee together were torn, leaving the leg from that point down useless.

Jason made it through reconstructive surgery just fine. The doctor prescribed a small amount of an opiate to help with the pain. Everything seemed fine. Jason recovered and went on with his studies. Jason would call Doc with questions, and they would discuss the wounds that Doc had treated when he served in the Corps with Jack.

It all took a turn for the worse though. Jason seemed to become more distant and spent less time studying. Doc didn’t think much of it. After all, he had been on missions with the Crew and had been spending more time at home with his girlfriend.

The call from his father, telling him about Jason hit him like a kick to the stomach. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t hold back the tears. He went to identify the body to keep his parents from going through the pain. He hadn’t spent much time with his mom and dad since joining the Marine Corps, and even less once he joined the Crew. They were strait laced, professional people. His father retired early, selling his dentistry office to his partner, and his mom retired from the pharmacy where she had worked as a pharmacist for over thirty years.

They didn’t really approve of their oldest boy joining the Marines, and they liked it even less when he rolled up to their house on a Harley, with shoulder length hair, tied in a ponytail behind him.

They turned their attention to their youngest boy, Jason. A bright and happy boy that his mother called a gift from God. It wasn’t until Doc got older that he understood that a gift from God meant that the conception of Jason was nothing more than an unplanned pregnancy. Doc’s parents tried for years to have another child after Doc was born, but after two miscarriages, they just gave up. They just figured it wasn’t meant to be.

Jason did well in school. He studied hard, learned quickly, and had the drive to succeed, just like Doc. When he went to Northwestern to become a physician, Doc and his parents were proud. Jason idealized his older brother. He stood over six feet tall like Doc, and carried the same square chested, chiseled frame,

One night Jason called Doc from his dorm. He felt alone and under pressure. The studies coupled with football training seemed to have him down. He told Doc that he considered quitting school and joining the Marines. He wanted to do something exciting. Be part of something bigger, just like his brother.

Doc talked to him for almost two hours that night. He reminded Jason about his commitment to Mom and Dad. How it would let them down if he did that. What Jason responded to most was his brother asking him to become an MD. Doc told him how much it would mean to him to see his little brother become a doctor and help people that are sick.

The door of the Old Town Pub opened, and four young men walked out. Doc wanted to question the dealer, and three of his buddies. They all pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting them as Doc walked across the street toward them. Doc didn’t look out of place in a sleeveless Harley shirt and jeans. Even his long hair fit in with the clientele of the bar.

“Can I bum a smoke?” Doc asked.

“They make so many they sell them.” Said the largest of the men, standing to the right of the drug dealer that was Doc’s target.

Doc wasn’t as fast as John, or maybe not as strong as Jack, but he knew how to fight. Years of experience in the Marine Corps, coupled with constant training with the Crew made him a wrecking ball.

Doc threw three punches. Right, Left, right. Each punch landing square on the chin of the men that stood outside with the dealer that sold Jason the Heroin. The young men crumpled into a heap where they stood.

Doc stood facing his target, his eyes clear like an eagle spotting its prey. You must be Darren. The Crow as you are called on the street.

“You just made…”

Darren didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before an open right hand from Doc, slapped him to the ground.

“Big mistake.” Doc said. “I don’t think so.”

Doc stepped in and kicked Darren in the side of the head, turning off the lights of consciousness.

Doc looked around then at his watch. The digital time illuminated on his watch showing 1:05 am. Doc guessed the bar to be open for another forty-five minutes before last call. He could see from the darkened street into the illuminated neighborhood bar. The two men still at the bar were talking, not even looking outside.

Doc watched the bar for over an hour and the drug dealer, and his buddies were the only people to come out for a smoke. He felt confident that the two inside weren’t smokers and unless someone drove down the neighborhood street, he had some time.

Doc grabbed two of the men by the arms and drug them across the street, into an alley where his Harley sat quietly, propped up by the kickstand.

He trotted back across to the bar and dragged the remaining two by the leg.

Doc opened the left side saddle bag of his Harley and grabbed rubber gloves. He put them on before pulling out a new roll of duct tape and a medical kit. He could see well enough from a dim light that burned at the far end of the alley to tape the men’s legs at the ankles, and arms at the wrists. He tore off four strips from the silvery roll and covered their mouths so they couldn’t call for help.

He opened his medical bag and pulled out some ammonia capsulates, breaking one and holding it under Darren’s nose. It took a few breaths before Darren began to stir.

“Good, you’re awake. I don’t have to use IV drugs to bring you around.”

Doc zipped up his medical kit and stood up. He took a couple steps to his bike and returned the medical kit to the saddle bag where he kept it.

He turned and walked back to where Darren sat, watching Doc with fear in his eyes.

“Do you have any needles or knives in your pocket? Anything that could poke me, or cut me?”

Darren shook his head no.

Doc pushed him, so Darren lay flat on his back. He searched Darren’s pockets and found nothing but a key fob that said Ford, and a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills.

Doc walked to the end of the alley across from the bar and pushed the unlock button on the key fob. A loud click came from a Ford Mustang, parked on the street as the interior lights came on.

Doc walked back to Darren and knelt beside him. He grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up to a sitting position.

“You’re maybe twenty years old. You’re wearing designer jeans, an expensive shirt, the latest Nike shoes, and you’re driving a fairly new Mustang. Not to mention about two grand in cash in your front pocket. I’m pretty sure I have The Crow.”

Doc stood up and stretched. “It’s been a long day so let’s make this quick.” He reached across his body and pulled his knife from the sheath on his hip.

“I’m going to pull the tape off your mouth. If you scream, I’ll cut your throat. It’s just that simple. Do you understand what I just said? I’ll cut your throat.”

Darren shook his head yes as tears of fear rolled down his face.

Doc pulled a corner of the duct tape away from Darren’s mouth then gripped it firmly. With a quick yank, he pulled the tape free.

“Where are your drugs?” Doc asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t do drugs.”

“I have your key fob. If I go get in your car and drive it into this alley, and I search it. I won’t find any drugs. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“That’s right. I don’t know anything about drugs.” Darren answered convincingly.

“You know what. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I made a mistake. I’ll bring your car over and search it, but if I find drugs, I’ll cut you across the stomach and watch you bleed out.”

Doc reached over with the duct tape to cover Darren’s mouth again.

“Wait.” Darren said. “Ok, you got me. I have heroin in the car. It’s yours, just let us go and we’ll forget it happened, OK?”

Doc stopped and put the tape on Darren’s leg and slid his knife back into its sheath.

“I don’t want your drugs, or your money.”

“Then what do you want? Just tell me and I can make it happen.”

“You’re just a low-level punk of a dealer. I want to know where you get your product.”

Darren looked down at his wrists that were bound tight. Then back up at Doc.

“I can’t tell you that, man. They’ll kill me.”

Doc looked over at Darren’s friends. “Are they part of your gang? Do they sell too?”

“No. They’re posers. They hang with me for free beer and weed. They’re big so nobody messes with me when they’re around.”

“Then let’s get back to it. You sold heroin, laced with fentanyl, to my brother yesterday. It killed him. Now I want to know where you get it from, so I can go kill them. That’s how it works. If you don’t tell me, I’ll kill you right here in this alley. I’ve killed so many people that I won’t even give you a second thought.”

Darren’s eyes became wide.

 “Don’t kill me man. I just sell it. I don’t make it or step on it with fentanyl. I just sell it. I just supply what the people want. That’s all.”

“So who do you get it from? That’s who steps on it and that’s who I want.”

“Mohamid is his name. Thay call him Mo-ham.”

“Where do I find this Mo-Ham?”

“He’s in Oak Park.” Darren said.

“Where in Oak Park?” Doc replied quickly.

“I just meet him at the train station. I pick up a bag on the train. He put’s it in a carrier and I take it and get off in Maywood. One of my boys pick me up there.”

“Does this Mohamid look like a Mohamid from the middle east?” Doc asked.

“He does. He has dark skin, but he’s not black. He always has a little bit of a beard too.”

“Is he at the station every day? When can I see him?”

“He is there tomorrow morning. He pulls up in a white Land Rover and pulls a small blue gym bag out of the back. He waits for the train with two big dudes.”

“The train runs all day. What time is he there.”

Darren hesitated. His eyes shifted from side to side. A tell-tale sign that he was making something up.

“Look at me, Darren. I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this. I have the police and federal agents looking for me. I’m part of a government wet team that kills people. That’s what I do best.

Doc reached over and grabbed the tape from Darren’s leg quickly slapped it across Darren’s mouth, muffling Darren’s screams.

Doc reached across and drew his knife again. Like a rock drummer spins his sticks, he rolled his knife around to the point of the blade faced backwards. Then jabbed downward quickly, driving the knife deep into Darren’s thigh.

Darren squirmed and his eyes rolled back under the intense pain of the seven inch blade that ran through his leg.

Dock rocked the blade twice before jerking it out. He wiped the blood from the blade on Darren’s shirt as he waited for Darren’s eyes to re-focus on his.

“Don’t pass out on me. I’m a military trained medic and I can wake you up as often as I need to. Now once again. What time with this Mo-Ham be at the Oak Park station?”

Doc held the knife to Darren’s neck with his right hand as he pealed back the tape with his left.

Darren gasped for air as blood pulsed from his leg, pooling underneath him.

“Ok. He will be there at the 9:05 train.”

Doc stood up slowly, looking up and down the alley for any signs of a witness before squatting back down.

“Where are the drugs in your car?” Doc asked softly.

“They aren’t in it. I keep my product under it. There is a magnetic box under the passenger side door.” Darren responded, panting from the blood loss.

“You’re just a businessman. You just sell this stuff.”

Darren shook his head yes. “That’s all, man. I don’t add anything to it. I just weigh it out and sell it. I didn’t kill your brother. Please man. I didn’t kill him.” Darren cried quietly.

Doc stood up and Darren’s eyes followed. “Please. I’ll quit selling. I promise. I’ll just quit right now.” Darren pleaded.

“That’s right.” Doc replied. “Right now.”

Doc used his weight to drive a single punch down into Darren’s nose. Darren went limp with the knockout punch but Doc caught him before he fall to his side.

He placed his left hand under the back of Darren’s skull and grabbed Darren’s face with his right hand. The bones in Darren’s neck snapped with an audible crack as Doc lifted and twisted, instantly ending Darren’s life.

Doc walked across the street to Darren’s car. He felt underneath until he found the box Darren said would be there.

He pulled it down then opened the passenger door and set the box on the seat.

Doc shut the door and walked back across to the three unconscious men and Darren’s lifeless body. He kicked the three men lightly in the legs to see if they flinched. Satisfied that they still lingered in the blackness of his well delivered punches, he glanced at Darren

Darren’s head lay grotesquely turned toward the wall. Easy to see that no connection between his head and body remained.

Doc slipped off his right glove then reached inside the saddle bag again. He pulled out a Ziplock bag and placed the glove inside. He set the bag down and slipped off the other glove, then placed it inside before zipping it shut.

He grabbed the handlebars of his bike and lifted it off the kickstand. He slapped the kickstand up with the heal of his boot then began pushing. He pushed the bike down five blocks then turned south. He pushed the bike another three blocks until he reached a spot where he could start it up out of earshot of the bar.

Doc rode for about thirty minutes, making his way to a more crowded area of ninety fifth street. He found a quiet place to stop the bike and throw the bag that contained his bloody gloves down into a storm drain to be carried far away.

This part of town contained a collection of down and dirty hotels. They made their money on weekly workers from out of town and rooms that were kept for hourly rates for local prostitutes.

He pulled into a two-story hotel that held twenty rooms. The parking lot seemed bright enough to keep would be these away from his bike while he caught a few hours sleep. He went inside the small lobby where an older man sat behind the counter, watching TV.

Doc paid cash for the room on the second floor. Apparently the first story rooms contained mirrored ceilings and were reserved for pay by the hour guests.

Doc unloaded the bags in his bike and brought them into the room and placed them between the bed and the wall, out of sight through any gaps in the dirty cream-colored curtains. He didn’t bother showering or getting undressed, opting to just lay down on the bed and shut his eyes