Bellomorte 3

It was hard to tell that morning had arrived. Ely's room was in the bowels of the building and so had no windows. In addition the power seemed to be out and the old General Electric wall clock had stopped. This was a new development. Mike had said they intentionally left the lights off so as to not attract attention, but now power was obviously cut off. He yawned, a long yawn and his body began to stretch involuntarily; then his leg screamed at the action and he grunted in pain. He gritted his teeth together and began trying to think of the seven dwarfs names as a way to distract himself.

The tidal wave in his leg receded, and all he could think of was five dwarfs. Sweat stood out on his forehead and he felt a wave of heat roll through his body, leaving him with a quick shiver. He slowly shifted off the desk and planted his good leg on the floor, and leaned against the table. He stretched his arms and rubbed his face. His leg felt all right if he didn't aggravate it, just throbbed a bit. He needed to pee, but he didn't think it was so bad he'd try to hop to the bathroom on his own.

“Hello? Anyone awake?” He called out into the hallway. He didn't hear any response, so he grabbed the back of the chair and used it to prop himself up. Leaning on it he discovered he could slide it along the floor, almost like a walker. With this new information he decided he'd head towards the bathroom on his own.

“Bene, you're feeling better. Let me help you.” Isabella appeared from nowhere and took his arm . Pushing the chair off to the side he was forced to lean on her a bit as he made his way down to the bathroom. Much like Mike, she gave him his privacy, leaving the room entirely and telling him to call when he was done. After he'd taken care of business he used the wall to move to the sink and wash up before heading over to the door. Isabella was waiting, seemingly lost in thought.

“Ely, good. Bellomorte brought medicine last night and a cane. Maybe you can use that to be more independent, eh? Maybe we bring you to the main floor so you can sit and relax, read a book.”

“A cane? I'm going to look like my grandfather,” he chuckled at the thought. When Ely was a kid, he recalled, he'd had his appendix out. His grandfather had come to see him in the hospital and challenged him to a race, waving his cane and smiling.

“You'll walk like him too, I think. Now let's get some medicine and then you can get into a chair while I find food.” She helped Ely lean against the desk that had been acting as a bed and poured water from the pitcher. Setting the glass down she reached into her pocket and pulled out two bottles.

“Bellomorte said he felt sorry he could not get these for you faster,” she grimaced as she tried to remove the top from the first bottle. Ely reached out and popped the top off for her.

“One is for pain, better than what we had for you, and the other is to make sure of no infection.” She popped the second bottle open and poured a few pills into her hand, then trapped one in the folds of her palm and slid the rest back in the bottle.

“Take one of each. The pink pill is pain so you take if you need and the other you take twice a day. Now let me get the cane and you can get out of this room!” She patted his arm as she walked past and down the hall. Ely leaned a butt cheek onto the table and took the small amount of pressure off his injured leg. Minutes later Isabella returned with an old wooden cane and said he could use it once she'd changed his dressing.

New bandage in place and pills freshly popped she walked with Ely to the ramp leading up to the main level of the library. Windows high on the second floor let in natural light, the windows on the bottom floor drawn so as to not betray its occupants to the outside world. He eased over to a faux leather chair and sat down, the soft chair a pleasant contrast to the wooden desk.

“Daniella, come with me please. Ely needs some food,” She smiled as Daniella walked down from the second level and towards her.

He sat in contemplation, taking in the book lined walls and the ornate décor of the building. The high ceilings and architecture were common to the Carnegie libraries, though he couldn't say if this was one or not. Grey stone rose up behind the dark wood of the carved bookshelves. This was a library built before metal shelves and it lent an air not only of intelligence and learning but of longevity. It was comforting, Ely decided, and though it was only an illusion he still enjoyed the feeling of protection the old library lent him.

He continued to take in his surroundings and wonder about the people he had yet to meet, as well as luxuriate in the soft leather chair. His body relaxed as the pain killer's sedative side effects began to take set in. The individual books on the shelves began to run together and he was blearily startled by Daniella nudging his shoulder and holding out a bowl of oatmeal.

“Mama forgot to tell you to take the medicine with food, eat.” She smiled at him and he took the bowl and began to eat slowly. Oatmeal had never been his favorite, but his stomach grumbled at the aroma regardless. He realized that he'd been sleeping so much that his body wasn't getting the nutrients it needed and he'd need to focus on that to keep his strength up. With the violence of the gang and the possibility that he'd be here for a while, he'd need his strength; and of course his body needed the food to mend with.

“We don't really know. We've probably been lucky to have it uninterrupted for so long, but all we can really do is guess.”

“Well,” she looked up at the second floor windows, “Bellomorte burned one of their drug houses to the ground and then got something even bigger, I don't know what. They are desperate to flush him out, and with the weather getting ready to turn cold I think they want to freeze him out; deprive him of power and the ability to warm himself.”

“Well, this is speculation of course,” Ely put the spoon down and collected his words before speaking again. “Some of their gang lives not that far away in an apartment complex I think. Unless they were on a separate power grid, I think they'd be freezing themselves out too. I don't know how many houses there are left for them to crash in, especially ones that would have power. I think it was either by chance or it's just temporary.”

“Sure, he knocked over a power pole with this spaceship,” Mike grinned. Ely chuckled at him and Daniele just smiled and rolled her eyes.

Ely sat the empty bowl on the table near the chairs and turned to look at his companions through this mess his life had turned into. He'd wanted some adventure on his trip to discover the United States, to see as much of it as he could by rail before the dying passenger train industry breathed its last gasp. He noticed Daniele's slight blush and then Mike's shy glances at her pretty face before a wave of exhaustion claimed him and he drifted off to sleep.

The man had indeed been a policeman, or at the very least acted very like one. He had a badge, and the ID matched his face which lent some credence to his claim. Still, Bellomorte was troubled. The gangs were not entirely what he had thought, or at the very least not as simple as he'd hoped. Automatic weapons had to come from somewhere, and the largest owner of those weapons was the US military. Tons of equipment goes missing every year from the various branches of the military, and it would be a good bet that automatic weapons would be on that list.

The gangs had chased out law enforcement years ago, they only patrolled the street in name. In fact, the police would run if violence erupted, and rightly so, as their Kevlar vests were no match for the armor piercing rounds gangs could wield. Now the question was...had they run a lot more willingly than previously thought?

Compton in Los Angeles was a fine example of the gangs ruling the streets and territory where police fear to tread. Much of the prevailing thought was to let the animals kill each other; at least they aren't getting anyone else. Occasionally public outcry would reach a fever pitch when a child was killed in a drive-by, but usually only if it was a white child. Politicians didn't seem to care as much when it was a black child, but even still the public could only bear so much, and someone had to be roasted on the spit of so-called justice.

But this presented a new idea, a whole new paradigm of colossal betrayal; the police supplying the gangs with the means to destroy. But for what purpose? Money was probably at the heart of it. The gangs brought in cash through drugs and prostitution to be sure, but those had to be in decline with the damage done to the area. Only the junkies and the insane would come to this area looking to score grass or ass.

So why then would the police support this? Of course it wasn't the whole department; police departments are just people and some of them wouldn't go for this, to be sure. It is a fact that a group of people can never agree on anything for long, no matter what it might be. Even peace. Especially peace. People seemed to have a need for drama, for bloodshed. Even people just a town over have a rivalry, that their water is better than the other or some such nonsense. But still, it was hard to imagine a reason why an entire metropolitan police department would supply their biggest threat. It boggled the mind.

Bellomorte looked out across the landscape, scarred and devoid of life, and sat down on the rooftop to ruminate. The area dominated by the gangs was a mixture of decimated residential and declining commercial structures . The changes had started when the bridge was built linking the old city and the new. Adjacent to the bridge houses had been bought up and the land rezoned to commercial use, which brought in the warehouses and trucking facilities and the accompanying traffic.

The residential area that remained declined, growing more shabby and less occupied by owners as the years went by. Houses were rented out or sometimes completely abandoned. With the neighborhood in decline and the police neglecting the poor section of town, the gangs quickly swelled into being: poor youth with little education and dim prospects. Churches and parochial schools closed up and escaped right behind the businesses. The public schools were forced to hang on as long as there were children; but the metal detectors didn't even make them blink, and most of them didn't show up at school anyway.

The only reason the library survived was that it had facilities for the repair of books and plenty of storage, especially if you stopped to consider the lack of patrons. Besides, the city owned the land and the building, kind of like the difference between the house you own and that new one you'd like but don't want the mortgage it takes to get it. The city had no money for a new building, so the old one looked great when put in that light.

The next logical step was to case the Fort warehouse, so called because of its single tower in the center with the crenelated top. That was the destination of the guns, and that's where the next piece of the puzzle would come from. Not only that, perhaps there would be someone who wasn't careful and could tell him who Sims is.

Ely woke with stiffness and the urge to get to the bathroom. Life seemed mostly to be about being in pain and finding a ready toilet he mentally observed. He began to lever forward in his chair and was rewarded with a brief stab of pain from his wounded leg. With a grimace he stopped and reminded himself to move slowly. Glancing at his cane he realized he'd forgotten he even had one, unaccustomed as he was to using one. He'd been eager to get up to the main level when the cane had been given to him, but now he noticed the carved wooden globe on the end of it and the inlaid shaft.

His bladder reminded him he could admire the wood later. He levered himself out of the chair and looked around. As a public building there were usually bathroom signs, and a moment later he was rewarded with a small blue and white moniker with the universal sign for men and women. Slowly Ely labored to cross the room, weaving between the soft chairs and the wooden tables with the less comfortable parson style chairs. Late afternoon sunlight poured in through the upper windows coloring the world in reds and golds; giving the spines of the book an antique patina.

He used the backs of the chairs to balance himself and finally reached the hallway, whispering down the low pile industrial orange and brown that had been just as ugly when it was installed in 1972. After successfully navigating the bathroom he made his way slowly back out to the main floor and located Mike who was skimming through an old magazine.

“Women's World huh? Someday you'll make someone a good wife.” Ely smirked at Mike who rolled his eyes and set the worn sheaf of pages down.

“I'm sick of reading. I've read all the car and sports magazines, I've read the serious news magazines and now this is the only thing new,” Mike shrugged, “don't judge!”

“Well, there are a few books here you could probably hook into.” Ely sank into a chair opposite Mike and leaned his cane against a neighboring chair.

“Yeah,” Mike picked up Ely's cane and studied the globe on top. “I'm 'bout sick of books, man. I want to go outside so bad I can taste it.”

Ely watched Mike for a moment while he studied the cane before a thought occurred to him. “Hey Mike, you were going to tell me yesterday, about how Bellomorte saved your life?”

Mike became visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with the cane and then allowing his gaze to flit around the room. Clearly Mike was hesitating and Ely could only wait and wonder why, since Mike had brought it up on his own previously.

“That neighborhood out there? It's my neighborhood. I grew up out there, in Corktown. That's what they used to call this area, you know? I think it was from the white-trash Irish like me that settled it.” Mike looked down for a short moment before speaking again. “King High School was the only school still open, but most of the time I didn't go. I had better things to do,” he snorted and his eyes climbed up, past Ely's face and to the ceiling.

“I was long past my grandpa's stories about coming over on the boat, the youngest of sixteen kids in an Irish Catholic family. Almost half his brothers and sisters died before the family left Ireland and came here; but like I said, I was too old for family stories, too important to remember that...” Mike closed his eyes and Ely gave him time.

“King High School put in metal detectors at the doors and hired rent a cops to protect the kids, but it was a joke. The local gangs would set off the alarms with whatever they had, knives, guns, whatever. They'd scare the shit out of security, then terrorize everyone else.

“I tell you what. Not being part of a gang wasn't even an option. There was no such thing as neutral. Fuck that, you try and pull that Switzerland shit they'd all rip you. You needed to be part of an army, to travel with it and be safe in the numbers. Have backup.”

“Doesn't matter,” Mike said shaking his head, “It's the past. It's part of me, no matter what else I do. Everyone in here knows my story, probably, so you may as well get it from me.”

“King High was dangerous cause there were too many places you could get trapped and then hurt or killed. You don't even go to take a piss without having folks to make sure you didn't get your kidney ventilated while you were trying to empty your bladder.,” Mike looked into Ely's eyes, “it was hell on earth, brother.”

“You can, a little. When they tried to kill you, that terror you felt? It was like that every day, all day. I decided which gang I had to join, a big one. But you know they all got rules, everything you do is about making your bones. You don't just fill out a membership card and give them a credit card and they call you in their gang. Joining a crew isn't like the video store or some club discount card, you have to show them you can bang like they do.

“Stealing shit was the starter. Cigarettes, beer, condoms. Whatever they wanted, you got for them. Then it was breaking into cars. Then it was houses. That's when it all went bad.”

Mike fell silent, head tilted down and his eyes shut. A small sniffle escaped him and that was the only indication that he was anything more than a golem at this point. His body was rigid, muscles standing like rock; sculpted marble. Ely waited patiently, allowing Mike to gather his strength.

“It was just after the big fire on the Vernor Highway. Lots of looting, it was a rampage. Crew was cocky, couldn't be stopped. Invincible.” Mike snorted. “Fucking morons, for the record.

“My crew, there were four of us, we went to rob a house. I can't tell you I remember much about the house. Not what color, one story or two, if it had a garage or not. What I do remember was that the house was supposed to be empty. I remember we came around the back, but I don't remember if it was a regular door, a sliding door or a regular door with a screen. I do remember the scream when we busted through the door.

Mike looked at Ely, face troubled by the memory. “We fanned out in the house and there was the sound of a phone being knocked over, then probably being picked up. I think she was gonna call the cops, or maybe her husband. Didn't matter. We found her in the master bedroom with her daughter; little girl was sick and was home from school. They were sitting in bed watching some cartoon.” Mike looked up and met Ely's steady gaze, “The crew chief decided this was a good time for us all to make our bones, those of us that hadn't really been accepted into the gang.”

“Yeah, see they dropped you into a crew kind of like as probation or something. They had gotten pretty organized and had this kind of shit all laid out. On that crew there was just me that wasn't an actual member, so they said I could earn it right there. All I had to do was smoke the mom and kid.”

“They were home, somewhere the gang didn't want them to be. That's all the reason. But I was too soft, I couldn't do it.” Mike looked away again and spoke facing away from Ely. “So they decided if I couldn't kill for the gang, I could die like everyone else.” Mike stood up, letting Ely's cane topple back into Ely's grip, and he lifted his shirt to reveal an ugly pucker just under his rib cage on the right side.

“They tried to kill you.” Ely stated. He stared at the scar, a morbid curiosity not allowing his eyes to be pulled away from the horrid mark on Mike's torso.

“Yeah, they did. What they, and I, didn't know was that Bellomorte was there. I guess he used the commotion to get in, must have heard some of the deal go down. Before I knew it the other three guys were dead or dying and he had a blade to my throat. He saw the blood already leaking and he punched me so hard I passed out. When I woke up I was here with Isabella explaining how things would work from now on.”

Ely leaned back and thought over Mike's story. He toyed with the orb on top of the cane, allowing his fingers to trace the squiggles and lines while he churned the story in his mind.

“Yeah, he'd been cutting off guys heads for about two months by then. No one really knew what was going on, sometimes the bodies weren't found. It took a while before the gangs realized that someone was hunting them. They first thought it was other gang members, triggered a little retribution to folks who weren't completely loyal. Sims gang is in charge now, all the other ones were killed off or joined up with him. Wasn't till then that they figured out they weren't the only hunters out there.”

“Not a fucking clue. All I can really tell you is he makes my blood turn to ice when he looks at me; I think he's still wondering if he should have saved me or not.”

“That's just it though, I was on my way. I could go on stealing and maybe beating a few folks up for the gang, for my crew. Hell, people step out of your way when they know you're on a crew, you get respect. Sometimes I think Bellomorte should have just ended me right there. He ended up saving my life because I was weak.”

“Don't say that, Mike. Not killing a mother and her daughter isn't weak, especially since you had to know what the penalty would be for not following through would be.”

“If you ask me, “ Ely paused to make sure he had Mike's attention, “Choosing to show mercy, to do the right thing knowing the cost of that action is the very definition of bravery.”

“I think fear is a sign of intelligence.” Ely leaned back and smiled, “Being stupid would mean you would be worm food right now.”

They both sat in silence, the library creaking around them as the few inhabitants slept, read or simply looked to the sunlight from the high windows and wondered if sunlight would ever hit their faces again without anything diluting it's rays.

As the sun cast it's last rays over the decaying landscape Bellomorte reached a decision. Answers like he was being tempted with didn't come along often and he would have to check it out; potential for ambush be damned.