Dark Angels

By Joseph B. St. John

"$12.50 a day. First day in advance." His voice was thick, southern, and coarse. He pushed a registration card across the counter.

The girl from New York City signed the name Marie Martin and reached in her purse for a twenty. She noticed the difference in her voice as she said, "I’ll be here for several days." The fat Buddha grinned and returned the change.

"Room 18," he grunted.

She took the key and headed upstairs. She had only seen the Buddha since stepping off the bus. Inside her room, she locked the door and drew the blinds. The small ceiling fan in her room only served to move the hot air back and forth. She removed her sweat soaked blouse and lay down on the modest bed. The pressure of the last few days had shattered her emotions, but finally she drifted off into a restless sleep.

When she awoke, it was night fall and she heard the voices of two men talking below her window. She peered through the blinds and saw the fat man speaking to a bent, fragile, old gentleman. The old man looked towards the hotel, said a few words quickly and walked off into the night. The Buddha moved briskly back into the hotel.

Marie closed the blinds, not sure of what she had seen. She was hot and damp. The perspiration had vanished from her body, leaving her sticky and tired.

She moved towards the bathroom and started to run water in the rust stained tub. She walked back to her bedroom, slowly undressed and placed her clothes on the bed. The room now felt cooler as the fan blew gently across her naked body.

She returned to the bathroom and slightly closed the door. She eased her tired body into the water. The cold sensation awoke her emotions. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see the humble surroundings of her accommodations. Only a sink and toilet were present in the small bathroom. One towel hung alone on the barren rack.

The room was quiet until she heard small foot steps approaching in the hallway. She heard the front door of her room open slightly as a tiny light filled the area. The light filtered through the small crack she left open on the bathroom door.

She reclined quietly in the tub, never moving a muscle. And as quickly as the light appeared it vanished. She could feel her heart beat race uncontrollably. She jumped from the water dashed into her room, pulled a night shirt from her suitcase, and quickly covered her nude body.

She stood in the middle of the darkness and listened to the silence. She moved slowly towards the door and found it still locked. She opened her door slightly and peered into the dark hallway. She walked slowly into its emptiness and glanced nervously downstairs. No one was there except the Buddha, sitting like a mountain. His attention was fixed on the small B&W television. He laughed at the Gomer Pyle re-run. She left un-noticed and returned to her room locking it behind her.

She climbed slowly into bed. Maybe she had been mistaken. The stress of the last few days could have finally taken its toll. She allowed her mind to fall back to the past.

She had always been on her own. Her mother had worked two jobs to make their meager life possible. She knew from her childhood that she would not continue her misery. As a young girl, she learned what made men act the way they do. She had learned how to control and manipulate, to use others for her own gain.

Men found her beautiful, her dark eyes and hair were a draw and her sleek, hard body made them pay. She knew the rules of the street and understood them better than most. She worked the system well and it had paid.

She had had so many men that they all ran together. That was until last year, when she had met a man named Raul. He was sexy, in control and domineering. He made the rules and set the norms. He was street rich. He had cash, cars and most importantly drugs. He was the new prince of the city. Everywhere that Raul went people stood in line. And the girl from New York City was his newly crowned princess. She saw his potential and lusted for his power.

Raul was hungry for more of everything. He craved the status of his new found control. He had the dream. He knew the right, unbelievable deal would set him up for the rest of his life. He also knew how to make that deal.

Raul had recruited his Lieutenants over years. His operation was strong and forceful and it had been years since anyone had tried to cheat him out of money. The beatings and killings he had arranged and participated in had became legend. And after the killing of Sam Gennico, it was obvious that fucking with Raul’s money would be certain death.

Raul reveled in his plan to work with The Riska Clan. They were small timers, but up and comers. The street buzzed about their strange rituals and bizarre practices. Raul blew it off as amateur voodoo, street myth to scare the locals.

Raul gathered his Lieutenants in his stylish apartment. His large chest puffed with pride and disdain. Marie had watched and marveled at his plan. He was ruthless and cunning. He had the master deal. Raul had studied the Riska’s practice of having only two people arrive for the transaction. One was the orator. He did all the dealing. The other, the driver, often never left the car.

Raul was astonished by their ignorance. He advised his men, that all fifteen would be there. Five with him in his limo and the others distributed through two other cars. They would make contact by radio and when the shit hit the fan they would devour the Riska, as lambs led to their slaughter. They would take the Riska’s millions and never deliver the drugs. Raul almost felt sorry for the naive bastards.

As the men left, Marie became uncomfortable. She had heard the strange tales of the Riskas. She knew that they only send two people because that was all they needed. She had heard the stories of the weird magic that followed them wherever they went. Most of all , what worried her was what was never said on the street. The story everyone knew but never talked about - The Flying Dark Angels.

The story was preposterous. She knew that however, the quiet myth prevailed. On the Riska’s first transaction in the city, local thugs had tried to rip them off. One of the Riskas was killed. Over the next week, one by one the thugs turned up dead, necks broken and faces bitten and mangled beyond belief. The leader of the group, Jimmy B., had been decapitated in his room and his head never recovered. The urban myth said it sits at the Riska’s dwelling as a testament to their awesome powers.

The myth was driven by one man’s story, Ernie the Fly. He told everyone before he died that he was there that night. He saw the demons in the background. He saw their sinister flight. He also knew what happened to his friends. When he was found mutilated and faceless, his testimony was validated.

When she told Raul of her concerns he laughed. " Bullshit. The undermanned bastards were just trying to scare people. Everyone knew that The Fly was a pissed on junkie. A mainliner out of his fucking mind."

"And the deaths?" the girl had countered.

"They had fucked with so many people that it could have been anyone." Raul had left the room and would not answer anymore questions.

On the night of the deal, the girl joined Raul in the limo as she always had. He loved to impress her with his flash and power. As they drove to the Rolling Brothers’ Pier and Warehouse, the uneasiness had grown in her chest.

At the end of the ally stood the Riska’s limo and true to form only one man stood outside the car. He was tall and lanky; his thick hair styled in dread locks. Raul and his crew left their vehicle. From out of the tiny back windows the girl from New York City believed she saw tiny, black angels flying in the background.

As the men talked, the Riska’s turned over the money, 1.2 million, the fix of a lifetime. As the men walked to the warehouse, the girl from New York City saw one of Raul’s men talk into a small microphone. As the warehouse door opened, words exploded from the Riska’s mouth. The room was empty. The drugs, heroin and cocaine, were never there. As the Riska protested, one of Raul's Lieutenants put a bullet through the Riska’s head and his skull exploded. The driver appeared unaware until he heard the shooting. He jumped from his vehicle and was greeted with gunshots to his face and chest. One of Raul’s back up vehicles arrived. One had not. The men ran toward the newly arrived vehicle. They began hearing the cries of men screaming about Black Angels from the occupants of the missing vehicle over the radio. The sound of a car exploding in the back ground ripped the silence of the night. The radio went strangely silent.

Raul and the others left in their two cars and they split up through the night, terrified and headed in opposite directions. Each one pondered the words of terror they had heard. The words about Dark Angels. Raul was sweaty and cold as he headed back to his lair.

Once inside his apartment, he sat motionless as he stared out of the giant bay window. "It’s bullshit," he muttered in a frantic voice. "Pure bullshit." He started to laugh uneasily.
v The phone rang. It was Paul, a central Lieutenant in the operation. He was screaming frantically in the phone claiming his apartment was surrounded by demons and the phone disconnected. Raul sat with water rushing down his face. With the briefcase full of money sitting next to him, he stared blankly out the bay window.

"Bullshit," he muttered repeatedly as he laughed uncontrollably.

And the girl from New York City moved slowly back to the bedroom and removed a .38 they kept in the night stand. She walked up behind Raul as he stammered in the night, placed the gun behind his right ear and fired. The girl from New York City was sure that when the angels came they would be satisfied he was dead, maybe even thankful. Anyway, she was sure they would not need the money. She picked up the briefcase, packed her bags and dashed into the street. If anyone had heard the shot, they hadn’t called the police. She knew when they did, they would figure it was only Riska’s revenge.

The night was quiet and still and in the distance she thought she saw Dark Angels but knew not to believe. She went to the bus terminal and told the old, bent over man she needed a ticket as far south as possible. He laughed in silence as he handed her the ticket. She was astonished to find that a bus would be leaving south in 15 minutes. She stated so and the ticket man just grinned. "Your lucky day," he said.

As she entered the bus, it was empty and did not pick up another traveler for hours. When the two day ride ended, she was the first to get off, leaving the other few passengers on the bus. No one had spoken the entire trip. It had been grim and eerie.

She was not proud of what she had done but she had no remorse for Raul. He was careless and had even murdered in front of her. He had made her an accessory. She had worked too hard to end up in jail. And in the end she knew that only the strong survive and that Raul’s greed had made him weak.

Now, as she laid in bed, she heard talking in the downstairs lobby followed by strange laughter. The wind eerily rattled the windows. She got up and removed the briefcase from her luggage. She checked the money and let her fingers feel its power.

The laughter grew louder from the lobby until it was deafening. The sound of the wind blowing against the window became louder. The Marie could not shake the feeling. She put the money away and placed a robe around her. The laughter grew louder and louder. She ran from her room and into the lobby. The Buddha and the bent man, the one who sold her the bus ticket, sat laughing. On the ceiling fan, motionless sat a Dark Angel. He was quiet. His eyes yellow and hollow. His face was that of a thousand demons. On the hotel mantle, Raul's head sat next to Jimmy B's.

The Dark Angel leapt from the fan devouring the last of Raul’s gang.

The End

Bio:I reside in Newport News, VA and admire the writing of Edger Allen Poe and John Steinbeck. I am a new web-fanatic and enjoy the thought of its endless possibilities. I have been previously published in The Poet's Edge Magazine, The Daily Press and Poemata. Your comments on my story are welcomed.

E-mail: jsdasj@hroads.net