Читать книгу Demon Dancer - Alexander Valdez - Страница 26

Chapter 21

The Desert Inn Hotel

Walking home from school in mid-September, we rounded the corner onto the street where the old dance hall came into view. To our amazement, there were many construction-type machines that had taken up positions around the building. We commented to one another, though neither one of us had any idea of what was going on. Nicky’s dad had mentioned to him something about a hotel that might be going in eventually, but not for some time. We approached the front of the building and stood there watching as some bulldozers crashed into one side of the building, bringing it down with a loud crash and stirring up huge clouds of dust.

It was then that I caught sight of Mr. Jamison, the man whom we had met months ago when he came to look over the building. He recognized me and said that the old dance hall would soon be a part of history and that a fancy new hotel would soon stand in its place. My friends and I stood for a while, and maybe we were a little saddened at the sight. It was, after all, part of our hood and property they were taking from us.

With each swing of the wrecking ball against those old walls was a loud crash that followed, and I have to admit, I liked the concept of destruction. We all decided to head home for a snack and to set ourselves down to knock out the homework that was a pain in the ass. Many thoughts raced through my mind about the old building, but most of all, I thought of the unexplained slam I heard when we first broke into the place. What was it or, better yet, who was it?

That night at dinner, I was confronted by my dad as to where I went when I was in Mexico. I started to suspect he had gotten wind of my excursion to the country club and possibly the old dance hall. I couldn’t lie to him, so I shamefully admitted going up to the old hall. He prodded me for details, but I didn’t offer much and certainly not the part about having seen the image of a tall dark stranger.

He gave me that stare that indicated to me that he knew I wasn’t letting out the whole story.

My old nana couldn’t keep her trap shut and threw me under the bus to my dad. Years later, I came to learn that they knew things I didn’t, and it was then that they had really become concerned for my welfare. After dinner, my dad turned on the television right at news time, which was like clockwork every night with him.

Bulletin: Two teenaged girls found brutally murdered on the west side of town.

One girl was found on the riverbed sand, and another girl discovered on the stone table where the statues of Jesus and his apostles had their “last supper.” These statues still exist below the Congress Street bridge. The area is called the Garden of Gethsemane, which I believe Google has a site for them as they look today. They looked the same fifty years ago as well, but without the brick floors, walls, and fencing. They were just out there in the dirt on the riverbank. On the opposite side of this display on the opposing bank stood the old dance hall.

Back then, there was no fence, and people moved about the area freely. This area also had a statue of Jesus on the cross and still does to this day. As miscreants, my fellows and any other fellows who came around never bothered this area. We respected the reverence of it all, and though we were jokers, this area was off-limits.

Throughout the years, as moral compasses became more lax and disrespectful, vandalism reared its ugly head. Hands, noses, and heads of the statues have had to be restored from time to time due to the new breed of assholes who were coming up in the ranks. My group of guys always swore that if we ever caught someone in the act of defiling the statues, we would drag them over to the swampy area and let them feel some quicksand for a while until we feel we had scared the shit out of them. Now there had been murders on the site.

Someone had now placed a mutilated and defiled teenaged girl on the “last supper” table; this was beyond sacrilege. This type of evil was not yet commonplace in our society; it was the worst of the worst. In today’s movies, we have the worst type of debauchery the twisted mind can conjure up, but back in the ’50s, one could practically be burned at the stake for even thinking like this.

Who could have done this or, better yet, who had been doing this and committing the murders as well?

Pieces of flesh had been removed from the body parts that would suggest they would be the prime pieces if one were to practice cannibalism. This was not information that was in the newspaper or on the television, no chance. I got this from our friend Jackie, an older boy who would come around sometimes when he had nothing better to do.

His father was a deputy sheriff and told him all the grisly details about any events. I guess old man French wanted to see if Jackie could come back with any tips he could scrounge up out in the streets that could benefit the case.

As Jackie gave us the blow by blow of what he knew, us boys were practically throwing up on the spot, horrified by this news. The one girl who the detectives determined to be about fifteen years of age lay sprawled out naked on the stone table with pieces of her young, newly developing breasts missing as if they were bitten and ripped off savagely.

What kind of monster was now in our midst? Women all over town stayed indoors and only ventured out with their menfolk. Young girls were escorted to school by parents, and walking home became a thing of the past. Things really tightened up around my neighborhood. Since these latest murders were but three blocks from my house, the womenfolk naturally assumed they were next on the menu.

My friends and I went about our normal routines, walking to and from school. We had knives and other various weapons in case someone came about with trouble on their mind. Somehow, we weren’t afraid if the sun was out, but come night, we never ventured off our block, and we packed it in at a decent hour.

The area below the bridge and the area immediately under the bridge were cordoned off, and nobody was allowed in, except for law enforcement.

As we walked to school the following morning, we stopped by the bridge and looked down into the Garden of Gethsemane, where the brutality had occurred.