When Mad Mike Cried Threatening black clouds added to the solemn mood of sadness surrounding the act of funeral rites; moderate winds blew their note of coldness that chilled the air in the cemetery grounds. All was quiet as a gathering of mourners stood in reverence around the raised elaborate coffin set on a ceremonial covered stand above the open grave. The black veiled widow of the deceased remained immobile on the hard-back chair set in front of the grievers, taking comfort from her close kin. The mourners were silent as the priest intoned the services for the soul of the deceased. A few wept copious tears and others remained glum as the solemn Latin litury was chanted. Words of eulogy were then recited for the departed. The bank manager his employer, in his earthly life, added his words of praise. The official told that deceased was employed as a guard at the bank; the good man was well liked by both the customers and his fellow workers. He described the former living soul as known for his chubby appearance, always with a pleasant smile and kind word. He told of the guard's helpful nature and good service. Then in a grave voice, the bank official added heroic words, which told that the brave man had died in the line of duty, without detailing the event that led to his death. The manager's voice broke as he said that his devoted employee was nearing his pension age and he was looking foward to the golden years of retirement. The manager's said with tearful words that the good man will be missed by all that knew him. Tears moistened the reddened eyes of the proud man and the words choked emotionally in his throat. A simple worded 'Amen' ended his thoughts. One man stood out amoung the mourners; he was known by his buddies and the villians alike as "Mad Mike", a detective of the local constabulary. He looked upon the funeral ceremonies with grief mixed with anger. The tall, heavily built officer stood quietly, in the ache of the misery of his mind as he reverently attended to the funeral ceremonies. His conscience panged him with a deep feeling of remorse. Numbing thoughts rumbled thought his mind. "Could of saved him. If only I acted a might bit quicker. He didn't have t' be gunned down like that... Damn an' holy damn... I'm really gettin' old an' slow.." The guilt of inaction wasn't deserved, as the act that brought death was sudden and callous; only being a witness to the foul deed caused the feeling of guilt. The chilling winds blew through the wisps of his grayish hair, causing moisture to appear in his eyes. The detective bundled himself in the thickness of his topcoat against the shivers of cold; but the nippy feeling was more than the frost of the day. As the devout Latin liturgy celebrated its solemn verse, Mad Mike's memory flashed back to the past and to the tragic incident that brought the mourners together. The detective, earned the nickname "Mad Mike" by his fellows in his last official position in some eastern city. The square jawed officer, with the look of murder in his steely blue eyes and in the quickness of his scarred fists, was well known for his acts of mayhem against villians. The sight of his smiling devilish features was feared by the lawbreakers under his brutality. Thus many complaints, during the years, forced his early retirement from that city's police force. Mad Mike was baptised Aloysius Michael O'Hara, but those who dared to call him by his first name would find themselves with a large dental bill. So he was known affectionately as Mike and later to his nickname. Mike was known to have been married with three growing youngsters, but through special dispensation on the grounds of cruelty, separation from his family was finalized. It was followed with the loss of his house and car; and on top of his losses, he was presented with a writ for the payment of child support. Mad Mike, nearing his middling years, was in need of employment, but only at a small town in a state in New England he was able to continue in the type of work he knew. So, Aloysius Michael O'Hara put his mark on the contract and the villians that abounded the town remained subdued in fear of his murderous ways. And the good citizens within its boundaries were blesssed with additional peace and quiet through his contribution. The incident, which led to sudden death, happened only two days before the final rites; that day was sunny and pleasant, a rare treat in the autumn season. Detective Mad Mike, in need of a small loan, had used his lunch break for a trip to the bank in order to complete the neccessary arrangements to finalize the transactions. He made his way with known heavy footfalls through the portals of the bank, pausing to spiel few words to the bank guard; a few words of greetings followed by a rude joke that lit up the cherubic face of the guard. The detective tipped his fedora to him as he made his way to the official in charge of loans. Mad Mike and the bank guard were part of a mob of drinking buddies that gathered at odd evenings at the local bar and grill. Hours passed in genial talk, mainly about the latest football or baseball game. Sometimes off-colour jokes or the mention in vivid terms of a local beauty would be bantered about with lots of guffaws. The bar tab was split amoung themselves; and, many a time, a voice would ring out, "Drinks on me!" Mad Mike would usually be the last to leave, as there was no warm hearth for him, only a sparsely furnished two-room apartment awaited him. True, the detective was sometimes invited to share a Sunday meal with the family of one of the fellows, but he mostly declined their offers, preferring his lonliness. According to the official police report, the hour was quarter pass twelve when two pasty faced young punks burst into the bank premises shouting, "This is a holdup.. Don't make a move.." The sight of a hunting rifle cowed the bank�s clients and a 38 caliber held by the bandits; the bank guard was alert and his hands went to his weapon. But, his efforts were met with a trigger-happy finger that sent a rifle shot to his chest; blood flowed as he collapsed to the polished floor. Detective Mad Mike was also alerted by the call of banditry; he pushed aside his chair as he readied for action. He crouched low, his police issued revolver was in hand ready to fire. The officer was too late when he rushed crab-like towards his adversaries as the rapid-fired rifle bullet quickly tore through the body of the bank guard. Anger welled in him as his saw the murderous deed; the detective jumped up from his cover. He screamed out, "Y' god-damn dirty bastard!" With two steady hands he pointed the weapon towards the trigger-happy killer. The trigger was pulled together with a foul curse from the curled lips of the angry officer. The surprised killer turned his rifle reflexively towards the detective only to feel a fiery shot aimed at his shoulder; he dropped the rifle and grabbed his pain driven shoulder. His partner, waved his pistol with shaking hands and tried to back away, but a bullet from a police special ripped through his stomach, dropping him to the floor into bloody, screaming agony. Mad Mike charged the villians and with his free hand felled the shooter with one hard crippling blow to the jaw, accompanied by the spitting of blood and teeth. Pain gripped the hand of the detective but he just shook it twice to alleviate the ache. "Bastard, y' bloody bastard," he yelled as one of his brogues found a weak spot in the killer's stomach. An agonized scream rewarded his efforts. The other, covering his bloody wound to the stomach and groveling on the veiny marble, didn't need any special attention from him. The detective immediately called out for the summons of medical help for the guard, "Quickly, quickly," he commanded. Two bank employees answered the call; one immediately dialed and the second with the aid of two knowlegeable patrons knelt by guard. "And you and you," the barking commands continued, "pick up the guns and watch these fellahs... and you, there, call the station..." Then the detective rushed outside to complete the collar. The driver of the getaway car had managed to lock his vehicle onto a passing tractor in his bid to escape. His door was jammed and he tried to slide across the seat to the other side when Mad Mike pulled open the door and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. The angry detective wasn't quite polite when he chatted with him. Mad Mike read the rights to him and then proceeded to drag him from the car, pummeling him with vicious slaps to the face. He pushed the culprit into the bank and with one chop felled him to the ground. Then the officer collected the guns from the volunteer deputies and stood guard over the villians as he waited for offical assistance. The town's medical clinic was nearby and within a few minutes a doctor and a nurse had arrived and was attending the wounded guard, but their grave faces told of their hopeless efforts. "Give me hand to carry him to my car.. have to take to the county hospital. The wound is grave... the bullet hit his lungs and lodged near the heart," the doctor cried out. As the wounded man was slowly lifted he let out a death rattle and a gushing flow of blood streamed from his mouth. Detective Mad Mike looked on in anger as the body was lowered and covered upon the doctor's orders. It took the strength of two fellow officers, called to scene, to prevent him from inflicting additional mayhem on the badly hurt robbers. Subsequent investigation revealed that the three young culprits were involved in a string of bank holdups to satisfy their need of funds to obtain opiates in order to placate the craving in their sick bodies. The priest waved the vessel of holy water and its drops blessed the holiness; he intoned the 'Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament' for the soul of the deceased, followed by the sign of the cross. There was a silent pause at the end of the services; then the tearful mourners crossed themselves and slowly filed passed the elaborate coffin placing bouquets of flowers on its cover. Some paused for a moment or two offering a comforting hand to the widow and adding their blessings to the deceased. Detective Aloysius Michael O'Hara remained rooted in his stance, just staring at the proceedings. The chilling wind bit into the hard features of his face as a few tears flowed down his reddened cheeks.
Copyright © 2002 Norman A Rubin |