Interlude Five point Two, The Wanderer at the Docks
The Wanderer was down on the docks, travelling with no particular
aim, just keeping an eye out for trouble. A movement caught his eye.
Out from between two warehouses, a figure staggered into view.
Cautiously The Wanderer crept toward the staggering figure, taking care to
remain hidden by the nighttime shadows. Was this some fellow who had one too
many? Is he injured? There must be more to the story that a patient, watchful
eye can glean -- from a closer distance, thought The Wanderer.
The Wanderer saw a nearer vantage point and with soft inrush of air,
vanished from where he stood and reappeared at that point. From there
he saw the man stumble and down to one knee. When the man fell, the
Wanderer could see a weapon of some type, a dagger perhaps, protruding
from his back.
Covering the distance in the blink of an eye, The Wanderer was beside the fallen
figure checking him for vital signs and scouring from whence the man came
looking for anything which could explain this violent act.
The man was dressed like a typical dock worker of the rougher sort, with a
cap pulled down over his head. He was perhaps thirty years of age, but
with a face and body that suggested hard use. The dagger protruding from
his back was of an unusual design and was clearly
a throwing dagger. The blade was coated with a dark viscous substance.
Even as the Wanderer checked the blade, the man gave a cry and spasmed
before collapsing dead.
The Wanderer gave the body a cursory examination, sniffing for the scent
of alcohol but finding none. He listened, but heard no interesting sounds --
not of work nor of violence.
"It appears my friend, that your ship has come in," whispered The Wanderer in
solemn respect. The Wanderer cautiously retraced the man's death walk keeping
a
sharp eye out for signs of a struggle, a trail of blood (or this mysterious
substance), and anyone who could have seen or caused this tragedy.
Following the man's trail was fairly easy, since he had bled copiously.
The trail led up into an alley, and ended with a pool of blood, probably
the point of injury. Lying on the ground just in front of the blood
was a small cheap handgun, a "Saturday Night Special".
'Hmm,' thought The Wanderer, 'perhaps my friend was not as innocent as one would
initially think. To be struck from behind and to have a handgun nearby could
very well mean he was the aggressor. And then, in his withdrawal came to the
painful conclusion that he chose the wrong target. A point well taken,
obviously.' The Wanderer hadn't heard a gunshot in the still night, which meant
that there was no time to fire. 'Then again, perhaps he pulled the pistol in
defense of an attack, yet getting hit in the back is still troublesome.'
The Wanderer searched the alley for more clues, taking notice of hiding places,
nearby buildings, escape routes, and other information which may shed some light
on what occurred moments ago.
The street that the alley opened on was a little more of thoroughfare
that the streets nearby. A few restaurants and nightspots attracted
some more affluent patrons, who could easily be accosted and
driven back into the alley by an assailant. Working on that
assumption the Wanderer examined the scene more closely. If the assailant
had cornered his victims there, where the pool of blood indicated,
someone who was going to throw a knife and hit him in the back would
have to have been ... there by those crates. Examination of the crates
revealed nothing exceptional.
Looking for escape routes, the Wanderer found an embarrasment of
riches: the crates stacked against the wall would allow a reasonably athletic
person access to the roofs, there were doors into the warehouses on
either side of the alley -- one close by the crates, not to mention the end
opening onto the thoroughfare and the opposite end which opened onto a smaller
side street.
Playing a hunch, the Wanderer surmised that the presence of that unusually
designed dagger spoke of a certain pinache and style by it's wielder.
Naturally, that arrogance would cause the assailant to do what The Wanderer
himself would have done --- make a grand exit to the roof. The Wanderer climbed
up the crate tower to gain access to the roofline to look for clues, also
affording him a birds-eye view of the block. Perhaps there was some street
level movement this vantage point could lend.
From his position on the rooftop, the Wanderer could see up and down
the streets. Nothing untoward caught his eye. A small group of
well-dressed men and women were laughing and talking as they entered
"The Bay Scallop", a trendy sea-food restaurant.
'A life is lost and still joy can find a home...what a strange world this is,'
thought The Wanderer. Concluding that the trail had run cold, The Wanderer
climbed back down to the alley and carefully approached the body, making sure
that they were still alone. What was the motivation for this slaying? did this
man have identification? money? and what about that knife? was its design a
clue?
The man had an id which showed him to be one Brian Donnelly, but had little
else of interest: a few dollars, no credit cards, a few loose .38 bullets
in his pocket, a pack of cigarettes, a few matchbooks and that was nearly all.
The Wanderer took a closer look at the knife. The weapon was shaped loosely
like a hollow triangle in shape, with no strange protrusions to hinder its
flight. The metal was blued so that the knife appeared almost black in the
dim light. The hollow of the triangle was filled with the gooey black substance
the Wanderer had noticed before. The weapon did not appear to have
any great appearance of age, looking almost aggressively modern in design.
Satisifed that he had seen all there was to see, the Wanderer phoned the
police from a nearby pay phone, then returned to the roof to watch
the "Bay Scallop" and think.
The crisp night air invigorated mind and with it, a torrent of questions and
speculation. 'It appears Mr. Donnelly was the one armed, albeit too slow on the
draw...That knife is certainly uncommonly modern, yet used in a common crime as
old as this world...And that substance does add a mystery to the mix, is it
poison? that would be overkill, wouldn't it? Or is it part of some propulsion
device? the design would seem to dictate an aerodynamic design to slice through
the air instead of tumble through it. Is it some kind of massive dart? and if
so, what device could launch such a large missile, or better yet, who? And that
is the question, isn't it?' contemplated The Wanderer with elbow on knee as he
propped himself at the roof edge, strangely resembling Auguste Rodin's
masterpiece.
Shortly thereafter, Port Alexander's finest showed up to begin the ritual of
casualty disposal and righting whatever wrongs could be identified. The
Wanderer watched the homicide detectives arrive on the scene to observe what
tactics, means, and conclusions they may draw from the late Mr. Donnelly.
Taking great care to be inobtrusive, The Wanderer silently watched the police
cordon off the area and follow the blood to the pool in the alley.
The Wanderer watched until the circus began it's three ring act of coroner,
crowds, and media and then paid close attention to the growing crowd. Would the
perpetrator return to the scene of the crime? did anyone look suspicious? At
this hour of the night just who would be entertained by this macabre sight?
The denizens of this area seemed content to keep to themselves
and hurried past the police with heads down. The patrons of
the "The Bay Scallop" on the other hand usually had some reaction;
some crossed the street and hurried past, some tarried for a few
moments and watched the proceedings, one group asked the policemen
guarding the cordon what had happened.
The Wanderer, from his position on the roof, heard snatches of conversation
from below. "Poison? Looks like ... Who phoned in? Anonymous ...
Looks like Donnely finally tried mugging the wrong guy ..."
Slowly, the business drew to its conclusion. Donnelly was loaded in a
wagon and sent to the coroner's office. The photo teams packed up their
lights and went off to develop their pictures. The detectives shook
their heads and went to their cars.
"It appears that justice was indeed served, only by a vigilante," sighed The
Wanderer. One thing Port Alexander did not need was a vigilante roaming the
street looking for, or inviting, trouble; especially one armed with a
particularly nasty choice of weapon poisoned for good measure. From the knowing
voices below, The Wanderer gathered that Donnelly was a bad egg who had tried
this before, which means he was experienced, and perhaps careless. But deep
inside The Wanderer knew that the bad element tended to prey on the weak, or at
least the perceived weak; so Donnelly wasn't one to take any risks. Whoever did
this probably looked like an easy mark, unassuming and vulnerable; this could
prove beneficial for whoever wanted to be a target would make themselves too
easy to pass up --- just the kind of person The Wanderer would be looking for
from here on out, alone, incredulous to his (or her) surroundings, and seemingly
vulnerable, like a coiled viper.
The crowd thinned out, until only one detective remained, seemingly lost
in thought.
The crackle of dimensional planes shifting propelled The Wanderer to the shadows
of the alley, "Penny for your thoughts, constable," said The Wanderer in a
reassuring tone so as to not startle the detective.
The detective turned slowly, although whether that was due to a laconic nature
or a desire to appear non-hostile in the face of an unknown and potentially
hostile arrival the Wanderer could not tell. He looked into the shadowy
area where the Wanderer stood and asked, "Who's paying?"
"You may call me The Wanderer, as that is my name," said The Wanderer as he
stepped out of the shadows. "I see the events of this evening have us both
puzzled, Detective..." questioned the man in black.
"McNally," replied the man. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but
who the hell are you and why do you care?"
"I could invoke the cliched line that I'm a citizen who cares about this fine
city, but let's just say the late Mr. Donnelly got his own fine point on my
watch and expired in my arms. Whoever did this is dangerous and needs to be
apprehended...this was no ordinary homicide," stated The Wanderer.
"No, and you appear to be no ordinary concerned citizen," commented
McNally wryly. "Is it possible that Mr. Donnelly received his come-uppance
not only on your watch, but at your, ah, hands? Would you mind, by the by,
keeping those hands where I can see them, sir?"
"You don't appear to be an ordinary doughnut eater either," said The Wanderer
holding his hands aloft. "Certainly if I had done the deed, I could have found
a much better forum to fuel my ego than an honest, no-nonsense cop that cares
enough to stay at the scene on his own time."
"Who says I'm on my own time? It's only quarter-past, and I'm on duty till
midnight. This place is more interesting than the precinct house." McNally
looked the Wanderer over carefully, "As for your forum ... we both know
this whacko is not your garden variety serial killer, who knows what might
make sense to him. Maybe returning to the scene and accosting a poor
cop is right up his alley."
"It may very well be, lucky for you I'm here to throw a monkey wrench in his
plans." The Wanderer paced around a bit taking care to avoid the chalk
outline,"you said 'serial' killer, this isn't his first victim?"
"Unless, you are him," replied the detective. "Tell me again why I should
trust you?"
"We have a common goal here McNally. Simply because you want to catch the
animal that did this, and so do I. You know this guy is like nothing Port
Alexander's finest has dealt with before and because of that you can't afford
*not* to trust me. If you want to play the Lone Ranger fine, but you know
you're going to need help. When I catch him, just remember whose collar it
could have been," sneered the black clad hero before disappearing.
The Wanderer materialized several yards behind Detective McNally in the shadows
to await his answer and to gauge if this detective was more paranoid than
justice bound.
McNally sucked in ihs breath, then looked around quickly. He advanced a
few careful steps and waved his hand through the space where the
Wanderer had been.
"I do detest parlour tricks, so what about it McNally?" questioned The Wanderer.
"Do we forge a partnership to catch this butcher, or do we give him the upper
hand by working independently?" stated the man in black while walking out from
the shadows. With arms outstretched in a non-threatening manner, "I got skills
homey, can ya dig it?" he mused.
McNally whirled to face the Wanderer. A slow grin crossed his face, "I guess
you don't want me dead, 'cause you had me dead to rights there." He
became serious again. "You still look like a suspect though: that little
trick of yours would explain how you got behind Donnelly. And who knows
what else you might have up your sleeve. Still, better a suspect in front
of me than no suspect at all, which is what I've got right now."
"Do you drink coffee, Wanderer?"
"Yes, black...like my wardrobe," said The Wanderer through a grin proposing,
"Unfortunately, I'm not exactly dressed to frequent most establishments but I'll
tell you what...get the joe-to-go and then we can compare notes."
"You think that outfit will raise an eyebrow around here?" asked the
detective. "Most of the people here wouldn't see a crime if it was
comitted in front of them. To their mother. By their worst enemy.
It's like Hogan's Heroes ..." he waited for the Wanderer to finish the line.
"...they see nothingk, hear nothingk, eh?," approached The Wanderer.
"So come on, there's a spot around the corner we can go. It's not the
Bay Scallop, but the coffee is drinkable." The detective set off.
The Wanderer fell into step behind the detective with a watchful eye toward the
surroundings, still not convinced that they were alone. These were streets that
had witnessed an event of evil and therefore were never deserted, forever
harboring the unrest caused by injustice.
If there were hostile eyes watching them, they kept their peace. The
pair walked a block or so to a small restaurant whose name appeared
to be either "Diner" or "Waitress Wanted". McNally slid into a booth
and waved a hand with the familiarity of a regular. Two cups of
coffee appeared soon after. After ladling his full of "cream" and
sugar, McNally spoke, "All right, you first. What have you got that
might help."
"Not much beyond speculation at this point. We have a stiff who liked to make
his money the easy way and came upon the wrong mark," The Wanderer paused as he
blew on his coffee. "As to whether this was a set-up or not by the killer I'm
not sure, but shooting him in the back with some kind of Buck Rogers weapon
looks to me like he came prepared for trouble. Most safety concerned citizens I
know don't goop things up with poison." The Wanderer shifted deep into the
booth and tugged his wide brim lower before tossing the ball back into McNally's
court, "Earlier you said 'serial killer,' you and the press been keeping
something from the public?"
"Not really, at least not actively," replied McNally. "For some reason,
though, it's not getting much press. Maybe it's just because the victims
are all like Donnelly -- three time losers and street punks that no one
will miss. The knives are all pretty much the same, though they aren't
always poisoned. We don't have much more to go on than you do."
"Is there a pattern of sorts? perhaps we could predict his next strike. Could
you tell me when these similar killings occurred?" asked The Wanderer. The man
in black then seemed to stare off in thought, thinking aloud, "By focusing on
society's lost and unnoticed it could be a game of sorts. Or even worse,
perhaps these aren't just thrill killings but practice for something bigger,
once he works the kinks out of his methodology."
"There's no pattern that we've been able to deduce ... except this,"
replied McNally. "All the killings do seem to have been of criminals
caught more or less in the act: Donnelly had a gun out we think, Jenkins
had a knife in his hand when we found him, it's hard to tell with Hall since
he was a big bruiser who used his bare hands, but it seems likely that
he was in the process of a mugging. You get the idea."
"The odds of the killer just stumbling upon a mugging and robbery are too great,
besides the 'saved' victims would surely be vocal in their gratitude and the
inability of the police force to protect them," offered The Wanderer.
"Therefore, I think we can be safe to conclude that our man is playing the
helpless decoy or at least employing one. Has there been any physical evidence
indicating more than one assailant? Did this Hall get ahold of his target?"
"No, no evidence that we found. We think Hall did get his hands on
the killer. He was found with the dagger stuck up through his belly and
into his heart. No poison on that one -- and none needed."
"Did most of these occur around here?"The Wanderer swept his arm around
indicating the current neighborhood. "Also, since the stiffs all had a history
of robbery, what do you know about their victims? our killer may be a female if
these guys had a thing for the ladies. A woman walking these streets would
really pique the interest of a scumbag."
"The killings have taken place all over. Well, not exactly. They've all
been in areas where the street crime level is high. They're also areas
where people tend to mind their own business, so there might not have
been a report even if there was a victim other than our boy. Or girl.
It might be a girl, we really don't have much."
"Hopefully we can get more info without adding to the coroner's burden. I'll
be sure to let you know what I see and hear," said The Wanderer while standing.
"I'll be in touch. Next time the eats are on me," trailed off into the void as
The Wanderer vanished from sight causing McNally to jump. His incredulity was
stifled as a tap at the window revealed The Wanderer standing outside, a smart
salute and a smile, and he was gone again.
Last Updated 4 May 2000
