It's Friday night, December 14th, 1984 and it's hunting season in Manhattan. At least it is for Terry Walsh, Kevin Dillon and myself. We've staked out an area in Inwood Hill Park, at the northern tip of the Island overlooking the Hudson River.
It's ten past eleven and the sky is streaked with those long, wind blown winter clouds. The full moon slides out from behind a cloudbank and for a moment the tree branches silhouette against the moonlit sky. Briefly, it looks the lattice of heaven is visible to the earth. Then, just as suddenly, another cloud covers the moon and everything goes black.
We've already gone through half the case of beer we brought and Kevin's cracked open the quart of Southern Comfort we took along, "for warmth." This is the third night that he and I've been criss-crossing these paved paths amidst the wooded hills of the Park that sits upon the ground where Peter Minuit bought the borough for beads.
The wind picks up and I can tell that Terry's at least as cold as I am. I swear I can hear his teeth chattering and I'm a good ten feet behind him.
This is the start of the third hour of our third weekend out here. It's Terry's first weekend with us. I don't think he likes it too much, but he was never much for drinking and there hasn't been any action. Kevin and me are going on fifteen hours and we've yet to bag any game. We're determined not to go home empty handed tonight. Next weekend is the Christmas weekend and I doubt we'll be able to hunt.
We're all decked out in black to blend in with the dark and we're well equipped. I brought the guns. Four forty-four caliber pistols and two .357 Colt Pythons. All of them set up with silencers. Terry supplied the alcohol and Kevin brought two pair of night vision glasses, one for the point and one for the backup team.
Terry and I have come back for the weekend from College. He's down from Binghamton and I've come west from Stonybrook. We're both halfway through our junior years at schools within a couple hours of the city. Terry and I often come back on the weekends, though this is the first time we've gotten together. Now that Medical School is on his horizon, he's even more stuck up than he usually is. A couple more years and he won't even talk to Kevin or me. Terry's as skinny as he was in high school, damned near hairless as a chuiwawa and only slightly more pompous then he was when he bagged valedictorian honors at St. Luke's
Kevin's just back home after a two-year hitch in the Marines. His mind is an unmade bed with half thought out ideas and unsubstantiated opinions spilling out in all directions. He's twenty years old and he still thinks that the greatest thing in the world is to be feared. Bet he wishes he could've scared off the monsters that raped his sister about sixteen months ago in this park.
Kevin's always saying shit like, "Ya gotta buy low and sell high." He don't even know what that shit means. He's even more fucked than I am. He just don't know it yet. Try tellin' him that, though.
Almost every bad thing we deal with comes to us as a gift. This hunt was originally my idea. I was surprised that Kevin jumped right on it. He used to be a regular Dudley-do-right, but since his sister got raped he's been mad at the world.
I guess it's Kev's bad luck that we found each other. We were both a little worried about taking Terry along cause he ain't never killed nothing before, in fact, I doubt he's ever fired a gun. Still, he's the fastest of us, always was, even when we all ran track together at Saint Luke's a few years back.
The fact remains that I'm the only experienced hunter here, though Kevin's at least killed in the service. He got three confirmed kills when the Marines landed on Grenada.
We're all clear on the rules. Hell, there's only four:
(1) No game gets out of these woods.
(2) If any game does get out, we finish the pursuit in the streets.
(3) We each take the front or point position for a two-hour stretch.
(4) We bag what we kill and load it in Kevin's Suburban and run it out to my folks place in Sullivan County, in upstate New York tonight, no matter how late.
Terry's just taken over the front from Kevin. I move up closer to Kevin and we share a swig of the Southern Comfort. The wind's died down a bit and there are no sounds except for our whispering. Kevin and I are maybe twenty feet behind Terry, who's just rounded a bend, when the woods up ahead crackle and Terry lets out a single high pitched yelp.
****
I can't believe I'm out here with these two idiots. I'd book, but I'm afraid that Kevin and JC are drunk enough to hunt me down if I did.
This is it, though. This'll be the last time I hook up with either of these two jerks again. You'd think people would mature after high school, but both these guys got worse—a lot worse. Poor Kevin is just stupid, but JC is really out of his mind.
We've been out here for over two hours and it's windy and getting cold. I'd have thought these two would've had enough to drink by now and would be ready to call it a night, but no such luck. I feel bad for Kevin and his sister and all. Hell she was almost killed out here in this very park, about a year and a half ago.
I can't feel anything but contempt for JC! He's no idiot, I mean his SATs were higher than mine, which were 1480. He's one of the smartest guys I've ever met, but his intellect is offset with a double dose of insanity. Still, how crazy does that make me? I'm out here in the woods with these two!
I've just taken the lead position. I don't like this at all. I mean what am I gonna do if we come upon someone? I know JC's crazy enough to kill. Of that I've no doubt. There's no question that Kevin could kill too. I'm sure he already has, but me - no way. After this pass through the park, I'm telling them I'm through.
We're approaching a clearing, heading south toward the Dyckman Street entrance and Fort Tryon Park. To our right is the Hudson River. This is a gorgeous spot during the day, but like most places, it loses a lot of its charm in the dark.
What the hell is this, now?
"Arrrggghhh!"
****
Tonight was a mistake. I can feel it. JC's even crazier than he's been the last two weekends. What did I ever see in either of these two jerks? Stuck up Terry and psycho JC!
Still, if I could just run across those guys - hell, even some guys like those mutts that attacked Colleen last year, it'd make all this worth it.
It's getting a little chilly now, with the wind picking up, but it's a beautiful night. The moon is full and the sky is streaked with those long, thin clouds. I just wish I felt a little better about the company.
JC is very focused, like he's been each of the past two weekends, but Terry's really nervous. I can't believe he came out here with us. Maybe it was JC. He has a strange kind of charisma - always has. He could always get guys to go along with his wacky, half-baked plans. Hells bells! He got me to go along too, so I can't blame Terry too much, right?
Anyway, I've about had enough of this shit. This'll be my last pass through the Park. Truth be told, I'm glad we haven't run into anyone suspicious. Twice, me and JC ran across a few kids out drinking back here. They didn't bother us, thank God, and we didn't fuck with them either. Apparently the wind has kept most of the kids out of the Park tonight.
Maybe now I can put my feelings about what happened to Colleen away. Even if I wasn't away, there's nothing I could've done about it. I just wish the hell there was, you know.
We're maybe thirty feet from the clearing, which is the halfway point through the Park when Kevin screams. JC and I get down low and move in for a closer look.
****
Kevin and I get down low and move in on the noises up ahead. As soon as we round the bend, Kevin peers through the night vision glasses and sees Terry surrounded by four figures.
Kevin mutters, "Rapist bastards," and holds up four fingers just as one of the figures yells, "Gun!"
"Now," shouts Kevin. We leap up, no more then fifteen feet from the group, with pistols drawn. As he levels his Colt Python, Kevin yells, "Terry, duck down!"
Terry hits the dirt and we start firing. The homemade silencers allow the shots to sing out staccato in a'capella. Sounding like sheets of tinfoil being ripped from the box and the echo-like sound of someone blowing into the top of a bottle. Eleven—fourteen—a final count of twenty-one shots and three of the figures are down and one is running, shrieking through the woods.
We stare through a gray fog of airborne powder. We are frozen momentarily, breathing in the bitter sulfurous air. Kevin coughs, as I yell, "Confirm the kills, Terry. We'll get the fourth."
We race after the shrieking figure, running toward the end of the clearing. We're on her in only a few seconds. She falls to the ground and looks up into the perfect circles of our pistols and screams, "Cop!"
Kevin looks at me and I shrug, "Everybody goes."
Two more shots and we've finished our fourth. We check out her body and sure enough, she's got a police shield around her neck.
"Fuck me!" I grumble. "We just popped a bunch of cops."
"Oh shit—Oh fuck," shouts Kevin, "what the fuck do ya think they were doin' here?"
"Probably same as us," I reply. "Hunting."
"Quit fuckin around man. What are we gonna do?"
"Well, we're gonna change the last rule, Kev," I announce. "We're gonna leave 'em here. It'll look like they lost a gun fight. Now let's look in on Terry."
"You fuckin' idiot! They're cops man. Dead fuckin' cops."
"Shut the fuck up! We're wearing gloves, there's no evidence that'll link us to this. Besides, they didn't even have the time to get on their radios. Let's just leave 'em and get the fuck outta here."
Kevin glares at me and demands, "What about Terry? He's covered in blood and he's losing it. Look at him."
"Yeah, it was a bad move takin' him along."
We approach the clearing where Terry stands sobbing over three dead cops.
"You OK?" I ask.
"Not—ha—hardly," says Terry between sobs.
One of the cops moans and writhes on the ground. I whirl around and send two more slugs into its torso.
I turn back toward Terry and say, "I thought we told you to confirm the kills."
"I did—I mean—I thought I did."
"Oh that's alright," I say, trying to sound calm, "let's get outta here—now."
"What about them," Asks Terry.
"No, they can't come," I laugh. "No way."
As Kevin snorts out a chuckle, I turn around and fire twice more, this time into Terry's chest. He makes a loud wheezing sound as all the air goes out of him and then he slumps to the ground.
Kevin jumps. "What the fuck?!"
"We had to, Kev. Now the cops got their man. It'll look like they all shot the shit out of each other in the dark, up here in the woods."
"WE? Ya mean you. I don't recall you asking me about Terry."
We, Kev—WE! We had to do this. Believe me, I couldn't sleep knowing Terry'd be out there with a guilty conscience and the bargaining chip of not having shot nobody. With him alive, we were both fucked."
****
"Stop where you are. We need to talk with you."
The commands sound professional and authoritative. I'm thinking cops, even before I see the badges that hang around the necks of the two of the men approaching me.
I stop with my hands raised in plain sight. Four figures approach from my left. As they get closer I can see there are three men and a woman.
I know that JC and Kevin are just a few yards behind me. I want to tell them that these guys are cops and I want to warn the cops about the two drunken assholes with me, but before I can say a word, Kevin jumps up and yells three words,
"Terry, duck down!"
Then all hell breaks loose. I barely hit the ground, bullets whiz around me. I can't even count how many shots. I want to scream, but I don't seem to have enough air in my lungs.
I'm still on the ground when JC yells over, "Confirm the kills, Terry. We'll get the fourth." His voice is cold and dead—no emotion at all.
They proceed to chase down the woman and they shoot her too.
When they return, JC asks, "You OK," in that same dead voice.
"Not hardly," I respond.
Just then, one of the cops lying nearby, moans and moves. JC whirls around and shoots him twice more.
He turns to Kevin while addressing me, "I thought we told you to confirm the kills."
"I did—I mean—I thought I did," I lie. I did no such thing.
Then his voice changes as he tries to sound human—concerned.
"Oh that's alright," he says. "Let's get outta here—now."
"What about them," I ask.
"No, they can't come," he laughs. "No way."
Kevin sort of chuckles, as JC levels his gun at me and fires two shots into my chest. Two heavy weights drop onto my chest and I can feel all the air rush out of me. My body's exploding. There's tremendous pain that rises to a crescendo, then everything goes black.
****
Kev looks at me funny and I begin wonderin' about him too. I mean deep down inside he's still that same old Dudley-do-right he used to be. Right away I start thinkin' about him too.
Kevin's walking behind me single file as we head along the path leading out of the clearing and into the woods. I can't see him, but I swear I can feel his glare burning holes into the back of my head. The thought strikes quick, I can't let Kevin leave the clearing. Two more paces and I'll make my move.
With my next step I begin to whirl around. I never even hear the click. I don't even get all the way turned around when I'm driven off my feet with the force of Kevin's first shot. I don't hear nor feel a thing—nothing. I'm falling back when I see the flash from the second shot. It misses but, I'm already done. I just know it. My heart is beating fast and a dreamy weakness covers my body like a blanket.
I'm lying on my back looking up at the night's sky. The full moon passes from behind a cloud and momentarily lights up the winter sky. The barren tree branches create veins against the moonlit sky. I'm thinkin' to myself, Behold the shadow of God, when, the moon's light is snuffed out as Kevin's head eclipses it.
Through frozen eyes, I see Kevin standing over me. He's sputtering, red faced with spit flyin' from both sides of his mouth, but I can't hear a thing.
A second later the sound comes back, "-kin psycho bastard!" he shrieks. "You fuckin asshole—you god-damned fuckin asshole!"
Kev moves back in the direction of the clearing and I lose the sound again. He returns a moment later. Tears are streaming down his face as he stares down at me. I'm hardly breathing now. I feel detached, like I'm here but I'm not.
I can see Kevin, but it's like he's far away. I want to tell him I ain't even mad or nuthin.
The sound comes back and he's sobbing. "Why? Why?! WHY!?"
He raises the pistol to his head. I want to call out, "No," but I can't.
I hear that weird whoosh of the silenced shot as the moon disappears behind another cloud and the night goes completely black.
****
JC and I are pretty buzzed. I'm out of here after this pass through the park. The clearing's just ahead and that's my unofficial halfway mark.
When Terry hits the clearing, we watch from the woods. He's maybe halfway through the clearing when he lets out a high pitched yell.
Four figures approach from the east, Terry's right side. I don't like the looks of them. Maybe it's THEM. I look over at JC, replacing his clips, and he nods.
I jump up and yell, "Duck down, Terry!"
We fire until the air is thick with a cloud of gunfire. As it clears, three of the figures are down and a fourth is shrieking towards the woods.
JC is surprisingly calm, maybe even cold. He yells, "Confirm the kills, Terry. We'll get the fourth."
I find myself running with JC toward the sprinting figure. As we get closer I can focus better and realize it's a woman.
She falls to the ground and screams, "Cop!"
She pulls a shield on a chain out from under her shirt.
I look over at JC and he just shrugs, "Everybody goes."
He sends two slugs into the face of the fallen woman.
"Fuck me!" I grumble. "We just popped a bunch of cops."
"Oh shit—Oh fuck," I yell, "what the fuck do ya think they were doin' here?"
"Probably same as us," JC replies. "Hunting."
"Quit fuckin around man. What are we gonna do?"
"Well, we're gonna change the last rule Kev," he says. "We're gonna leave 'em here. It'll look like they lost a gun fight. Now let's look in on Terry."
"You fuckin' idiot! They're cops man. Dead fuckin' cops," I scream.
"Shut the fuck up," growls JC. "We're wearing gloves. There's no evidence that'll link us to this. They didn't even have the time to get on their radios. Let's just leave 'em and get the fuck outta here."
"What about Terry," I ask, "He's covered in blood and he's losing it. Look at him."
Sounding calm and pensive again, JC muses, "Yeah, it was a bad move takin' him along."
We approach the clearing where Terry stands sobbing over three dead cops.
"You OK?" JC asks.
"Not—ha—hardly," replies Terry. He's crying.
One of the cops moans and writhes on the ground. JC whirls around and fires, sending two more slugs into its torso.
He turns back toward Terry and says, "I thought we told you to confirm the kills."
Terry stammers, "I did—I mean—I thought I did."
"Oh that's alright," JC almost coos, in a real phony drawl. "Let's get outta here—now."
"What about them," asks Terry.
"No, they can't come," JC laughs. "No way."
Even I have to laugh at that one, when suddenly JC turns and fires two shots into Terry. Terry makes a loud wheezing sound as all the air goes out of him and then he slumps to the ground.
I'm startled and jump shouting, "What the fuck?!"
"We had to, Kev. Now the cops got their man. It'll look like they all shot the shit out of each other in the dark, up here in the woods."
"WE? Ya mean you. I don't recall you asking me about Terry."
We, Kev—WE! We had to do this. Believe me, I couldn't sleep knowing Terry'd be out there with a guilty conscience and the bargaining chip of not having shot nobody. With him alive, we were both fucked."
He turns first and starts heading out of the park, like it's nothing. There's nothing but trouble coming, so I head after him, but I'm beginning to hate JC. And not just hate. I pulse with rage thinking about how easily he shot that woman cop in the face and how he calmly killed Terry.
I'm starting to think he's planning to leave this park alone. Hell, he shot Terry so easy, how hard could shooting me be?
I know that if he's gonna do this, it'll be quick. So I steel myself. The first move he makes to turn around, I'm pumping him up.
We're about forty feet from the clearing when I see JC start to turn. I fire twice with my forty-five and he's lifted off his feet and lands with a dull thud.
I walk over to him. There's no sound, but his eyes still have life. I start shrieking, "You fuckin' psycho bastard! You fuckin' asshole—you god-damned fuckin' asshole!"
I start pacing back and forth. What if he just wanted to ask me something? What if he just wanted to talk? I can feel hot watery streams running down my face.
I stand over him again and shout, "Why? Why?! WHY!?"
I can hear a siren in the distance. Are they on their way already? I doubt it. Like JC said, they didn't even have time to get to their radios. Still, they'll be coming soon enough and they're going to figure all this out. I mean, there's always evidence. I look back into the clearing. I can see Terry's body slumped near those cops. I look up the path and see JC's. For some reason Colleen springs into my mind and I think about all the hell she went through up here. I've always wondered what kind of human could be such a cold and callused predator, then think about what we've done here. The thought occurs to me, There's no going home from all this.
I stand over JC and raise the pistol to my temple. It seems like JC wants to say something. Knowing him, he wants me dead.
I think about Mom and Dad and Colleen one more time and squeeze the trigger. There's no pain - just instant blackness.
*
