Death of a Pharaoh (6 page)

Thoth took a break from his reading. It created a complex picture of a
strong-willed teenager who sometimes exhibited a lack of judgment. His respect
and compassion for those in a weaker position were commendable and it would
engender sympathy on the Council. There was still no word from Timbuktu
regarding the transfer of powers, so Lord Thoth went back to his review of
Nkosana’s dream file.

After I turned sixteen, I became more comfortable with my powers and
was even able to block out some of the traffic to make life more manageable. I
was super conscious of the need to respect the privacy of my friends since they
had no idea I had access to their most intimate memories. It didn’t seem fair
to intrude uninvited, especially in Tony’s case. He had suffered unspeakable
horrors as a small boy. His stepfather used to beat him with a stick and put
cigarettes out on his skin. When the creep needed money to pay off a debt, he
sold Tony to a syndicate that organized illegal brawls between young boys;
fights that often resulted in the death of the loser.

Only eight years
old at the time, he was big for his age and he fought well. His tattoos
actually immortalized the faces of champions he managed to beat; most of them
in battles to the death or irreparable brain damage. He had nine faces across
his back and shoulders, all boys eleven and twelve years old. Tony didn’t feel
bad when they died. It was either them or him. Strange as it sounded, Tony
never cried. He lost his virginity at twelve; a gift from his promoter. He
spent his time between bouts living in cheap hotels with booze, drugs and
prostitutes as his only company.

One night they
arrived in a small town near Zacatecas for a big fight. He entered the
makeshift ring first. When his opponent walked in, Tony almost fell over in
shock. He couldn’t have been more than 9 years old and had the face of an
angel. So skinny, he knew they had kidnapped him off the street with the
promise of some food and money. Tony couldn’t fight him and the boy was too
scared to defend himself. They danced around while he cuffed his opponent
lightly a few times until the crowd became impatient.

“Mátele,” his
promoter yelled, “kill him!” He wanted blood.

But Tony had had
enough; the carnage was over for him. The crowd almost rioted and his promoter
gave him a beating with a metal rod before he locked both of them in a shed
behind the hotel while he decided what to do with them. The boy’s name was
Manuel and he was an orphan. He had survived until now stealing food and
robbing tourists. He couldn’t stop whimpering after the fight and Tony wrapped
his arms around him and comforted him until he slept. That night Tony cried for
the first time he could remember.

He waited for
everyone in the hotel to go to sleep then whispered his plan to Manuel. They
coated his slim body with some old axle grease they found in a rusty tin can.
Tony held Manuel on his shoulders and he managed to wiggle through the bars of
the only small window. The same tire iron the promoter used to punish Tony now
blocked the door. Manuel struggled but eventually pried it open. They were long
gone by dawn.

They hitched
rides, slept under the stars and snatched food whenever they could. Tony became
fiercely protective of his young ward and never let him out of his sight. It
took a month to make their way to the border near Ciudad Juarez. A week later,
they crossed over into the United States.

At thirteen, Tony
ended up in juvenile detention and joined the Border Brothers, part of the Gran
Familia gang. The next year, they sent him to New York to help smuggle
chemicals for Meth super labs. He left Manuel with a Mexican family in Fort
Worth who promised to take care of him. He wired money every month. Tony proved
his worth in no time. They found that his fighting skills made him perfect for
collecting drug debts. Only problem, he wouldn’t kill and he knew that
eventually they would give him no choice. So he quit. He showed up at the
doorstep of a distant relative who took him in and gave him the stability he
had never known.

Tony’s horrific
experiences made me feel ashamed that I often complained about my powers. Sure,
I had to see terrible things but unlike Tony, they hadn’t happened to me. I
found that if I concentrated on other things, like when you want a woody to go
away while daydreaming at school, I could block out some visions. Still, I
couldn’t walk around without getting close to someone and picking up shocking
details about people kids trusted like teachers, coaches, doctors and
especially priests. Why didn’t they just let them get married already? Some
days, I’d become saturated by the sheer volume of evil. I suspected cops and
social workers got to the same point where they had to disconnect emotionally
or they’d go nuts. My new friends saved me.

Everything was
down for once in my life and I even looked forward to college or university; my
GPA was actually decent despite my problems. That was until the day I bumped
into Mr. Slomkowski. I had my earphones in and was busy selecting the next
track when I should have been watching where I was going. When I turned the
corner, I barreled right into him and he dropped a bag of groceries.

“Watch where
you’re going!” he yelled his face flush with anger. He softened visibly when he
looked at me.

Our hands touched
when we both reached for the same frozen pizza that had tumbled out of the bag.
I recognized the young boy in his thoughts; his picture was everywhere in the
neighborhood and even on the local news after someone snatched him two days
earlier. Volunteers plastered missing posters everywhere with a number to call.
His name was Samuel.

In the vision, I
saw him tied to a bedpost and he looked terrified. The man was on his way home
to rape and murder him. He stopped to watch a bunch of the junior kids playing
a game of soccer in the schoolyard across the street. I suddenly realized that
he was shopping, just as he had done in the supermarket a few minutes earlier.
Except this time, he was looking for his next victim. I had to stop him but I
was at a loss for what to do? I didn’t know the man’s name or even where he had
the boy.

On the spot, I
decided to follow him and I’d improvise the rest. He was on foot so he couldn’t
live very far. Seven blocks later, he took a smaller residential street. I held
back and watched him stroll half way up the block then turn into a
semi-detached with a one car garage and blue siding.

A taxi had just
dropped off an elderly lady ten yards in front and the driver got out to help
her to the door with her groceries. The engine was idling and I didn’t
hesitate. In a flash, I was behind the wheel, put the motor in gear and gunned
it before the cabbie even knew what happened. It was my first time driving
except in video games! He started to run after the taxi yelling in a language
that sounded like Russian. I kept my eye on his progress in the rearview
mirror, he sure was fast for his size, and I almost missed the driveway. I took
a hard right, bounced over the curb then smashed into the garage door doing
about forty. I heard a loud crash as the wood splintered and the sound of the
airbag exploding. Then I blacked out.

When I came to a man in a uniform was leaning through the window
calling to me. I looked around at all the commotion. I counted two police cars,
an ambulance, the Rescue Squad from the fire station and a crowd of curious
onlookers. The paramedic warned me not to move. He wrapped a brace around my
neck then two firemen helped me out and put me on a stretcher. Just then,
another team brought someone out of the garage in a body bag. I felt sick to my
stomach. I vaguely recalled jumping into the taxi but for the life of me, I
couldn’t remember why. A little boy was sitting in the back of a police car. He
cried while a lady cop comforted him. Everyone turned as a car screeched to a
halt and a woman jumped out. She ran to the boy.

“Samuel, Mommy’s
here!” she assured him, “Everything is going to be alright.”

She wrapped her
son in a hug neither of them would ever forget and I assumed he was the reason
I found myself on a stretcher waiting to go to the hospital. I knew I was in a
shitload of trouble but happy that nothing happened to the kid. This time,
there were no regrets.

They wheeled me to
the ambulance and past the taxi driver standing on the sidewalk cussing out
some cop. He looked pissed. They took me to emergency to make sure I didn’t
have a concussion. My parents arrived shortly after; they looked more worried
than angry. The doctor told them I would need to stay in observation for a few
hours. I had a nasty bump on my head and a few bruised ribs. A uniformed stood
about ten feet away with his hands crossed in front. He kept looking at me.

My Dad told me not
to worry. A man in a suit walked in, whispered something to the cop then came
over to my parents.

“Mr. Murphy, I’m
Detective Angelini and I’d like to talk to your son if that’s alright?”

My father nodded
his agreement.

“Hello Ryan, how
are you feeling?” the detective asked me, real friendly like.

“My head’s a bit
sore.”

“Do you remember
what happened with the taxi?”

“I think I killed
that man.”

“You sure did,” he
affirmed. “Question is why son?”

“I didn’t mean to,
I just wanted to help the kid.”

“That’s the
problem we’re having, how did you know that Samuel was there?”

I hesitated too
long trying to find the right answer.

“If you knew that
Mr. Slomkowski took the boy and was holding him in his home then you are an
accessory to kidnapping and you’re in big trouble.”

My Dad’s face
turned red with anger and he interrupted the detective.

“If this is an
interrogation then I think you should wait until our attorney arrives. We’re
expecting him any moment.” It wasn’t a request.

“Sure, no problem!
The officer will stay though,” he told them. “Ryan has to take a ride to the
precinct as soon as the attending gives us permission. Tell your attorney that
if your son doesn’t start to spill what he knows there will be charges. The
Deputy District Attorney is working on the file as we speak,” he announced.

He turned to my
mother, “My apologies for the interruption Ma’am,”

When the doctor
assured my parents that I hadn’t suffered a concussion, the cop drove me in his
squad car to the station. My legal counsel, Lloyd Hamilton a founding partner
of Hamilton and Dunbar, sat at my side. My father assured me that he was one of
the best criminal lawyers in New York. I didn’t really understand why I needed
one.

When we arrived,
Detective Angelini announced that he needed to meet with the District Attorney
before we started. I felt exhausted while we waited in the interview room on
the fourth floor of the 22
^nd
Precinct. I tried to piece together in
my mind what had happened. I remembered bumping into the man on the corner and
I must have picked up something very bad to follow him straight away.

Without a doubt,
it had something to do with the kid they found tied up in a small bedroom in
the house. I lost the vision when I blacked out but I was certain the boy had
been in danger. The cops told me there was no sign of abuse. Still, this was
far more serious than starting a fire in the internet cafe. I killed someone
and it would prove difficult to explain how I came to be at the house. I
couldn’t just tell a detective that I was clairvoyant. I hadn’t mentioned it to
my lawyer, but even I knew it wouldn’t hold water as a defense against
vehicular manslaughter.