Oliver Stark: 88 Killer

‘That right? You can be American when it suits but you only care about your own kind.’

Aaron Goldenberg walked up the stairs through broken glass. His heart had been walking through broken glass for days.

The 88 Killer. The man who had his daughter, Abby — who had her imprisoned somewhere — was in his building. He reached the first floor and then started up to the second. He wanted his daughter. He wanted revenge. The purpose focused him.

‘Abby,’ he said to himself. ‘Abby, Abby, Abby.’ In his heart, he felt she was dead. That was all he’d learned to expect, that there was only worse to come — a broken, beaten corpse, his daughter’s magnificent life reduced to nothing. Tears were streaming down his face, a burning agony in his chest. He had never known feelings like these. Suicides and murders hadn’t ever come within his world, but now his purpose was clear. He could not live without his daughter. He would not live without her. Not another day.

He would not walk alone on earth without love. And the killer would not walk on the earth another day either. Let this be the end.

He knew what he had to do.

Inside the exhibition room, Carney stood up. ‘They’re here. Time to take you all for a walk.’

He took the cell phone and brought up the number of the receiver hanging around Jeb’s neck.

‘Time to go, goat-boy. Crawl forward.’

Carney moved to the door and pulled it wide open.

The security guard and Denise Levene stared in horror at the hostages on their hands and knees.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Carney demanded.

‘Security.’

Carney laughed. ‘Fuck you.’ He pulled out his gun and shot the security guard without a thought. The gunshot reverberated throughout the building. Denise felt a wave of shock and nausea. She stepped backwards.

Carney stood at the entrance to the exhibition room. ‘Ah, Dr Levene — you made it.’

‘I understand you, Jack,’ she said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. ‘You need help. We can get you help. This isn’t the end of the line. There’s a way out here.’

‘What do you mean? This is it. The media is all run by Jews. No one tells the truth, that’s why I’ve got to splash the truth all over the front page.’

‘Is that why you’re doing this, for attention?’

‘American soldiers die every day, we report that, but every day, Americans here in America are being destroyed by the Jews running the country.’

‘How?’

Carney walked across to the stairwell and leaned over. There was a solitary man walking up the stairs, but Carney could see all the way down into the foyer.

‘I represent true American interests,’ he shouted. Down in the foyer, horrified people stared up at the killer, paralyzed with fear. ‘I am fighting to free America from the insidious influence of the Jew and his kind. These here are the Jewish scapegoats. These poor Jews are going to die for the sins of their brothers and sisters. They are going to be sacrificed.’

He turned to Denise. ‘In my hand here, you can see the detonator. One move and I blow them, and the rest of us, sky-high. If my thumb presses dial, this little goat will erupt, splattering his offal all over you. So back right off, Dr Levene, and watch the show.’

Carney pulled back. ‘Keep walking, goats,’ he commanded. Jeb and the other eleven hostages started crawling towards the stairs.

Harper was at the far door of the exhibition room when he heard Carney talking and shouting. He then heard a woman’s voice and realized that it was Denise. He could see the poor hostages, all stripped and tied with wire. Carney had lost his mind. He was going to go out in a blaze of hatred. There was no time to wait.

Harper saw the detonator in Carney’s hand. Any trigger and Carney could blow them all to pieces. The security guard raised the thumb on his fist and raised his eyebrow. It was enough. Harper got it. The explosion was a single movement of his thumb.

Down below, on the marble floor, Harper could hear the sound of boots. Lots of boots. The cops were coming up the stairs. At this point, that was bad news. Carney would blow them all up.

Harper pushed off his shoes and started to move across the floor of the exhibition room, his Glock held out ready to take a headshot. Denise saw him move. She understood. ‘Hey, Carney, you know what Lucy said in the ambulance?’

Carney turned. ‘What did she say?’

‘She said she thinks you’re right.’

‘What?’

‘She doesn’t understand why you took her. She’s not a Jew.’

‘Because she knows I am,’ he said. ‘I made that mistake in school, I made that mistake with Lucy. You tell someone you’re a Jew and they shit all over you.’

‘Damn right, they do,’ said Denise.

Harper was five feet from Carney. His gun was aimed at his head. Carney caught one of the hostages glancing behind him and Harper saw him tense. A boxer knows muscles — and Harper had boxed for years. He knew what muscles did when they sensed danger, when they were about to move. And Harper saw Carney’s right arm and shoulder flinch ever so slightly. The hand crease, the finger move.

Carney had just about begun to turn his head. Harper had the start on him and lowered his gun. He had to get the cell phone, but couldn’t afford a struggle. In a struggle, everyone was dead. Even with a headshot, the thumb could press the button.

Harper moved in tight and pulled the trigger. The nozzle of his Glock was thirty centimeters from Carney’s elbow and the bullet ripped the joint to pieces. Carney’s body froze. Enough time for Harper’s right hand to grab Carney and pull his thumb from the detonator.

The two of them slumped to the floor. Harper’s left hand reached out towards Carney’s right hand. Carney’s arm was limp but his hand was still hard-gripped around the cell phone.

Denise Levene watched in stunned awe. She didn’t move. Her mouth just opened wide.

The room went silent. They were all waiting for the blast. Harper’s right hand was firmly around Carney’s thumb. Harper’s left hand slowly prized the cell phone, finger by finger, from Carney’s grip.

Harper suddenly realized he needed to breathe. He’d been holding his breath the whole time he’d walked across the room. Maybe two whole minutes. He breathed in deeply, took Carney’s other hand and crushed it with his boot until the Luger dropped. Harper grabbed it and rolled away from Carney with the gun. He held up the cell phone.

He looked at Jeb. ‘It’s okay. Keep calm. I got it. Denise, untie these people.’

Harper checked Carney and cuffed him. They could deal with him later. Denise and Harper moved across to the hostages. Behind them, Aaron Goldenberg reached the top of the stairs. He could see Jack Carney lying on the ground. All he could feel was anger and pain. He wanted this man dead. He stopped and stood over Carney. ‘You know who I am?’

‘Yes,’ said Carney.

‘Where’s my daughter?’

‘She’s dead. You’re all dead.’

Aaron pointed the gun at Jack Carney’s head. ‘Then I’m going to kill you.’

‘Then do it, Jew.’

Denise turned and saw the gun rise and tremble. She called out, ‘Aaron, stop, don’t do it! Don’t ruin this now!’

‘After what he’s done,’ said Aaron, ‘why shouldn’t I kill him?’

Aaron’s hand was shaking. His finger tightened around the trigger.

Denise was next to him now. ‘Aaron — we got Abby. She’s alive. Abby’s alive. Don’t throw it away now. She’s okay. I mean it — I’ve seen her.’

Aaron Goldenberg seemed not to hear. Then his head turned. He looked at Denise. ‘Where is she?’

‘Brooklyn Memorial.’

Aaron Goldenberg dropped the gun and ran towards the stairs.