As far as career criminals go, Marty Joe Riggs was woefully inept. He’s great at what he does, don’t get me wrong about that, as he has never been caught and rules his little section of West 78th street in abstract terror because of it. The problem here happens to be the fact that he is more carnal in nature, and perhaps should be regarded like a Viking from the twelfth century as opposed to a career criminal. His method of operation is simply to rape the young ones, rob and murder the old ones, beat up the mouthy ones, and ignore the rest. His smell alone tells most people during the day to avoid him like he has some sort of disease, but his scarred and ugly face scares the rest away pretty good. The tear marks down one cheek from that bitch they never were able to find, so they had to let him go, are a glimmering example of these grotesque scars that he considers “battle wounds” and sometimes gloats over when he finds himself another victim.
Nobody ever loved Marty, and he never really deserved to be loved by anyone. The first time his father tried to spank him for being “a rotten little shit” he did everything necessary to drive him away from his “crazy ass mother” and then started his ruthless campaign of destroying her. To be totally fair, he is after all a master at destroying people, if he hasn’t been worth a crap in any other way. He still lives in the West 78th street, third floor apartment where his mother had died when he was seventeen. Technically, he didn’t murder her, but he killed her in every aspect of the word. Sucked the life out of her would be a more appropriate term for it all, and the stroke that she had at the age of thirty three probably wouldn’t have killed her if she hadn’t so obviously quit trying to be alive during it. Marty was actually rather proud of this, and hasn’t had an honest job in his entire life since. He hasn’t punched a time clock once and has managed to make his two hundred and ninety five dollars of rent controlled rent, every month for the last nine years his own way.
There was a few years back a guy who thought that he would take care of this problem that Rudy Giulliani couldn’t seem to, but Marty dealt with him. He always dealt with these people, and secretly has loved the fact that the city took care of the Mafia, and the other crime heads that probably wouldn’t have spent a minute dealing with him. Now there is nothing. Vacant, empty streets at night in what would otherwise be a bustling neighborhood in what some would call a better section of Manhattan. This is Marty’s world and nobody can touch him here. Most people would give anything to just get out of the neighborhood, but can’t afford to. That’s real power to Marty, the kind of power that every man dreams of, but is just too afraid to admit. Marty has that power and he isn’t going to give it up for the life of him.
Just last night he strolled over to 77th street to see if anyone from “his” hood were trying to circumvent his authority. He creeps through the streets like a man who knows too much about the dark secrets of the streets. He can be seen if he wants to and he can blend in when he doesn’t. He doesn’t spend much time out in the daylight, because it is a cruel time of the day. People don’t pay him his proper respect, and it is a lot harder to steal it away from them with all that daylight. This is night time and it is his time to play. Last night was rather uneventful though and it made him a bit sad. Sure he had found a couple of women walking alone, mid forties he assumed, way too old for him to have that kind of fun with, but after attacking them they had a couple hundred bucks between the two of them, and that made it ok.
He had to beat them up pretty good too. That one bitch with the pepper spray really had it coming when he broke all of her fingers, stamping them into the ground. Marty had gotten pepper spray so much that it barely even affected him anymore. It made his eyes hurt alright, but it didn’t blind him like it did the first few times. These were his streets though, so if he had to blindly grab and deal with a woman who in his opinion “had a little too much attitude” then that was fine by him. Teach them to think they were safe on his streets anyway. He’s not even sure if they survived it, but he didn’t care either. He wasn’t one of those freaks that started trolling the news services neither to see what had become of his prey. He was actually very practically in his thinking on the whole subject. He had needs, and he had desires, and he needed to take care of those things. None of this was a cry for help, or a plea for attention, so if he got any past 78th street then it didn’t mean crap to him.
Tonight though, Marty had a plan, a fiendish little plan which involved that hot little tramp that lives five doors down from him. She’s in high school. He knew this because some days he would watch her hit the bus every morning before he passed out for the night. Same time everyday, and since she was in those early teen years that he loved so much, he knew that schedule. Her father would walk her to the bus stop every morning, which pissed Marty off to no end. She is still the only sweet young thing he hasn’t had in this neighborhood. Most of them have never let their parents know, because they know what will happen to all of them, and there are a couple that he had to make disappear because they had made such a stink about it. This one obviously knew things, because she never went out during Marty’s time, and she never actually walked around here alone at all. Marty found that to be a bit peculiar because what fourteen year old girl would want to be escorted everywhere by her stupid father. “He’s probably tagging her himself,” Marty often mused to himself.
Tonight was going to be different though. He had it on good authority that the little piece was going to start doing her adult dance classes over at that uppity up school for dancers on the other side of the city. Dancing is what made her so hot, that’s what Marty thought anyway, and it was her own damn fault that she was so delicious looking in her little dresses that she wore to school. Sadly though Marty was starting to notice that she was developing now a days, as he had been watching her for well over nine months. Nine long, frustrating months of that little tease going about her life in a manner that made her inaccessible to him, the king of this little hamlet that had the right to sample every ware as the trees only grew for him! Tonight would be different, thank God or whomever this sick little man prayed to for November nights started a lot earlier and there couldn’t possibly be any light to stop him from getting at her father or not. He had a plan after all.
This is a damn good plan he was thinking as he waited out the last of the day’s sunlight so that he could finally taste the nectar of his forbidden fruit. Of course it was the same plan he had used on any of the forbidden fruits he had finally plucked in the twilight hours when he ruled this street. “That little bitch will be mine tonight,” he mused as he put the finishing touches on his little “scheme” for her and anyone with her. He was thinking about perhaps being a bit brutal on her, as she forced him to wait so long for her like this. It had been weeks since he had snatched that new girl from the other direction, and he still had a rather bad taste in his mouth left over from that one, as she seemed to like it, and kept her mouth closed without encouragement. Marty was still in a bit of shock over how unfulfilling that was in the end, and aside from some vivid delusions of “making her really hate it next time” he had pretty much given her up as a bad deal.
Counting his money on the table, two hundred eighty, Marty was thinking to himself that he might have to roll the little bitch’s old man for the rest of his rent, while he was at it. Chances were pretty good that he wouldn’t need that money anymore anyway. He also had a looming feeling that he might have to finish this girl off to, which he really hated doing because it took away the feeling of power as he watched them cower down the streets after he had had his way with them, but something about this one spelled “trouble” already and practically said he should just deal with her before any murmurs got going afterwards. Well there are plenty of murmurs going around, but there are good murmurs and bad murmurs. The good ones keep people in line and the bad ones get the police to hang around more, and despite the fact that Marty gets away with everything, a few weeks of police patrols always cut down on his carnal needs of money, blood and girls.
Leaving his building Marty saw the usual eyes and binoculars that formed the neighborhood “Marty Watch” coming out of the windows across the street. He gave them his usual “middle fingered” salute as he sauntered off his front stoop and headed east towards Columbus avenue. His work would be west towards Amsterdam, or perhaps further along towards Broadway, but he didn’t need those snoops telling anyone to stay in going in that direction, especially not tonight, the glorious night when he was going to finally have her, beautiful little her. He’s sure that some of them might have their suspicions but most of them are either petrified into obedience or simply too feeble minded to get anything done about it. This has been the wonderful world of Marty and nobody has, or ever will take it away from him, he always thought as he walked down the street totally unafraid of anything.
Now sick is still sick, as Marty walks down the street whistling some country and western tune that he doesn’t even know the words to. He rounded around Columbus Avenue so that he could backtrack down 79th street. 79th street is neutral territory, a major two way street that Marty even knows he can’t do jack shit on, and in return nobody on 79th street even pay attention to him. It’s a neutral zone and the streets between it and 86th, another major street, and 72nd street, the major street in the other direction are the places that you can play. His strut often changes to a nervous walk as he walks into the areas where he knows that he has nothing, no reputation, no fear, and no hope of doing the things that he wants to do, but they make a great way to get from point A to point B without alarming his prey on his streets.
Turning now onto Amsterdam he looks for the burnt out old Methadone clinic that he can always walk through to find a good place to hide along one of the sunken basement entrances that will be his point of attack. The Methadone might be gone, but the heroin addicts aren’t. They still litter the place as he walks through, most of which never pay any attention to him. He has always found these people to be beneath him, they have nothing to live for unlike him, no hope, no livelihood. The scourge of the earth, also unlike him, but he usually minds his business when intermingling with them. All hopped up on heroin they wouldn’t feel a damn thing and probably lost the will to live enough to take him with them if he got in their face, so he always kept shot of them. The moaning, and other noises, probably rats scurrying behind the walls doesn’t creep him out, since it is normal. The silence in the place tonight, on the other hand is far to creepy to accept at first, and quite maddening as he makes his way through the building and out the other side.
Now of course, “out the other side” does not mean the door, land’s no because those nosey bastards would be keeping watch over that as well. The private Marty watch as pointless as it may be is at least diligent. Marty exited out through “Crack Alley” where the heroin addicts that decided to take their lives to that next level hang out. This is far more disgusting, even to Marty that being inside the old Methedone Clinic. These people where usually dead looking and scabby, as well as past the point of being alive. He had scored a few of his honeys in here as well since it makes great cover with all the Crack Heads around, who never seem able to get up and help a victim, or remember anything for that matter. The creepiness continues as the usual crowd of, zombie like, pipe carrying crack whores weren’t stirring either. Marty shockingly noticed the absence of everything here, and was quite disturbed by it. Not disturbed enough to get the thoughts of her out of his head though, it would have taken an atomic blast to do that.
The darkness was complete now. As he slunk out of his alley it would have been impossible to distinguish him from anyone else and that was definitely the best solution to what needs to be done here. “Yes Marty boy, you are gonna get laid good tonight, and you are gonna pay the rent,” he said to himself in a fiendish little whisper as he found his place at the end of the alley, but reeled in shock as he turned his head around the corner to see her and her father walking cautiously towards his position in the alley. “Shit, I had my timing off,” he then whispered to himself as they approached.
Well it’s not going to be quite as easy now, but it’s doable. Marty’s been in these situations before, like that blonde girl down the street a way. Her father wrestled him into the street and then he had to chase that little bitch down, but he caught her of course. Marty always catches them, this is his street after all, and she was one of those ones he had to dispose of. The trick to that is knowing the right dumpsters, the ones that get picked up every morning. Life is still good for Marty, he was grinning about as they neared ever so closer, and then, son of a bitch, started crossing the street, well how dare them?
That was about the extent of what Marty could handle with these two, he darted across the street from his alley, and took the father by surprise before his daughter could even start to scream. Damn Marty hated it when they screamed, but he loved the feel of his knife as it tore into the flesh above the belt line. A good shot to the kidney always silences the brutes, and even if it didn’t kill the bastard it always stopped them. The timing on this occasion was perfect as he was able to knock the man over the railing going down into a brownstone’s basement cavity. He had the girl by the hair before he could even hear the dull “thud” of her father hitting the cement at the bottom. This is Marty’s street and these two just didn’t seem to understand the rules, but they do now.
The girl continued her thrashing as Marty pulled her across the street towards “Crack Alley” where he was finally going to break her in, like her father probably already did, he mused to himself. He screaming and pleas for help were just the sounds of a rather annoying horsefly to her, and Marty feared nothing on his block. People all up and down the streets knew that that sound meant, “Stay Inside or Else” as he continued to drag the girl into the alleyway. He was already starting to drool as the darkness of the alley enveloped them, and Marty couldn’t wait to just get her to a soft spot and start his foreplay. Foreplay for Marty would have been a teeth shattering shot to her jaw, and he loved the way it always changed the screaming. He would then rip her clothes from her, just in case she would survive there was a certain sick pleasure in making her walk home unable to cover her used body as she did. Life is good, thought Marty as he almost always did before he had one of the girls that he hadn’t had yet.
The alley was still very eerily silent as he could only actually hear the nasally scream of the girl he had just buried his fist into. Her screaming had turned to a muffled sobbing as she had finally given in to the inevitable, and it echoed alone in the empty alleyway. Reaching the point that used to be the sleeping spot for the “squatters” Marty threw her onto the cardboard while holding her little blouse making damn sure it ripped from her as she flew downward. The ripping noise was like opera to Marty and he would have loved to hear the sound of it echoing throughout his sickened mind for a while had it not been for the loud clack, that he heard from the right of him. How dare someone interfere with Marty’s fun on Marty’s street. Another clack, and a pause as Marty felt a rock bounce against his leg after it had hit the pavement.
Marty reeled around to see who the bastard was that threw that rock, and possibly deal with him and get back to his girl. That son of a bitch doesn’t understand how things work around here either, and Marty will have to deal with him. CLACK! Marty’s eyes shot up, as he realized that the rock hadn’t come from behind but had come from above. His eyes widened, as he saw a huge mass of black descending downward. The girl laying on the ground being terrorized by what until this point had been the worst monster of her time looked up and started screaming again with the bravado she didn’t even have when Marty had stabbed her father. Marty screamed.
Silence. … To Be Continued