“What did I do?” the fifty-something-year-old homeless man said in a reedy, slurred voice. He resembled Jafar from Disney’s Aladdin, when Jafar dressed up like the nutty old guy to trick Aladdin into retrieving the magic lamp. I realized that I was staring at his lack of teeth and the black rot of those few that remained. I gave my head a quick shake and met his bloodshot eyes.
“I told you,” I said. “We’ve received multiple complaints about you.” “Complaints?” His eyes bulged. “About me? Who would complain about me?” “You’re intoxicated on a busy sidewalk, yelling obscenities at people, and you pushed a woman who wouldn’t give you a dollar. Plus, you have a warrant. You’re under arrest.”
The homeless Jafar impersonator wheezed with slow motion laughter and pointed at me as if I’d got him good with a hilarious prank. Sighing, I led him by the arm to my car, supporting him so he wouldn’t fall.I helped him into the rear seat, gagging when I got anywhere within range of his halitosis. We headed to the county jail.
Moments after pulling onto the freeway, a horrific stench punched me in the nose. I grimaced, then glared at the homeless guy in my rear-view mirror. Grinning, he said, “How’s that for my right to remain silent?” “Are you freaking kidding me?” I rolled down my window and leaned towards the fresh air. Homeless Jafar cackled. “Don’t do that again,” I said. He ripped a loud, sputtering fart, clearly audible above the roar of wind through my open window.
I clenched my teeth and waited for the inevitable wall of stink. When it hit, I gagged. I dry heaved. I doubted I’d smelled anything worse in my life. I couldn’t take it. I pulled over, jerked to a stop, yanked the key out of the ignition, and burst out of the car. I gulped fresh air with only a hint of car exhaust.
Traffic rushed by at seventy miles per hour. Despite the cacophony of passing vehicles, I could hear his maniacal laughter from within the car. He yelled, “I got another one for when you come back. Gonna hold it until you get in.” His face was red as a tomato from laughing so hard. I ground my teeth. I wanted to pull him from the car and kick the fart out of him. I squeezed my eyes shut and ordered myself to act professional. No matter how degenerate, he was still a human being. Eventually, I got back in and we headed to jail, front windows open.
As soon as I had left the jail and the homeless Jafar, the radio buzzed. Officers needed help. 10-78. Expedite. I didn’t turn on my lights and sirens, but I sped onto 33rd South, heading back to the freeway, but breaking a few traffic policies to try to get to my comrades. A quick hop on the freeway and off at the offramp and a last quick left.
There they were, just outside of the homeless shelter. Officers grappled with someone, what we called a “pig pile-up.” I stomped on my brakes, tires screeching. I jumped out of my patrol car, dashed to my comrades, and joined the pile-up. My first thought was, This isn’t normal. “Stay down!” I yelled at the man beneath us. “Quit fighting!” I leaned forward and tried to pin the man’s right shoulder and head to the sidewalk.
The officer to my left cursed. The officer to my right panted and grunted and gushed sweat. The man on the ground convulsed, twisted, and heaved. He kicked and the officer holding the man’s leg flew backwards. The officer rolled. He scrambled to his hands and feet, then dove again, snatching the man’s leg and trying to pin it beneath his body again. Watching, I thought of Tarzan wrestling an anaconda.
The suspect appeared to be in his early forties. He could have been an extra in a vampire movie: pale skin; long, slick black hair; well-trimmed goatee. And strong. Freakishly strong. Yeah, like a vampire. The officer to my left shouted, “Stop resisting! Stop resisting!” My hands ached. My arms and shoulders burned. I yelled, “Stay down!” I thought, He doesn’t stink like most homeless guys.
I gave my head a quick shake. What was I thinking about? His smell? The man laughed, a jerky sound full of dark amusement. “How many does it take to keep me down?” His amusement twisted, becoming rage. He roared.I nearly lost my grip. What was he on? Amphetamines? Five cops against one guy and we could barely keep him down. They’d kicked him out of the homeless shelter because he wouldn’t stop screaming. Handcuffs finally ratcheted.
The man bellowed. He arched his back, bending taut like a bow pulled to launch an arrow, straining against his restraints –straining, straining, then suddenly relaxed. The man squirmed halfheartedly. “Knock it off already,” the officer on the left leg said. The man’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. I realized his breathing was almost normal. Not ours. We gulped air and wheezed.
We rolled him onto his back and the man’s gaze locked with mine. I felt a jolt inside my head and an invisible thump to my chest. The man’s lips pulled back and twisted in a corrupted version of a smile. I shrugged, suddenly and overwhelmingly uncomfortable. Those eyes. They weren’t just dark. They were pits, and I sensed something lurking down in those depths, something infinitely sinister. I wanted to turn my head, but couldn’t. I had to break this bizarre spell, so I said, “What’s your problem?” The man glanced at my nametag. He licked his lips and his eyes returned to my face. He said, “What’s your problem, Moutsos?”
His perfect pronunciation of my last name and the familiarity in his voice startled me. Nobody gets my last name right. I pulled back as far as I could without breaking my hold on his shoulder. Slowly, we drew back, but remained ready to re-engage the man if he started to fight. We hauled him to his feet. “Moutsos,” someone said. I turned. Our sergeant exited his vehicle and strode toward us. I nodded a greeting. “What is this?” I glanced over my shoulder. One officer held the man’s right arm, another officer held the left. They searched him for weapons and anything else he shouldn’t have.
I explained the situation to our sergeant. As I spoke, I noticed the man watching me from about twenty feet away. He did not occasionally glance in my direction, but stared intently, black eyes glittering. His attention made the hairs of my arms and the base of my neck stand on end. Goosebumps. His lips were moving. I realized he was saying my name, over and over, just loud enough that if I stopped talking I could hear, but not loud enough that the officers searching him would be so annoyed that they’d order him to shut up.
“Moutsos. Moutsos. Moutsos…” “All right then,” our sergeant said, and nodded in satisfaction. “Moutsos. Moutsos. Moutsos…” “Book him into jail.” I blinked at our sergeant. “Me?” I said. “Sure,” our sergeant said. “Get this wacko booked.” “Moutsos. Moutsos. Moutsos…”
I grimaced and considered asking if he’d have somebody else take the man to jail. “Moutsos. Moutsos. Moutsos…” Don’t be a wuss, I silently told myself. “Moutsos. Moutsos. Moutsos…”
I headed for my patrol car. Halfway there, I glanced over my shoulder. The man’s head was slightly bowed, but he peered up at me from beneath his slim, black eyebrows. His lips still moved with the shape of my last name. My stomach twisted. I thought, He’s possessed. He’s full-on demonic.
I noticed that we had drawn an audience of homeless people a short way up the street, closer to the entrance of the shelter. The rest of the way to my car, I felt watched, eyes drilling into the space between my shoulders. I told myself not to let my imagination run wild. He was just a man. But that strength? And that…that darkness inside and around him? Was that darkness my imagination, too?
I started my car, then arced around to the other side of the street, parking near my partners, our sergeant, and the bizarre vampire-man. The arrestee’s body language was calm, but a weirdly pleased smile had slithered onto his face. He stared ahead, looking at nothing. I lifted my chin, clenched my teeth, and exited my car. This man would not scare me. Look at him. He’s handcuffed. He’s deflated. Defeated.
I swung out of my car and walked toward the man and the officers who held him. Vampire-man’s head slowly turned in my direction. His gaze locked on mine. He smiled, licked his, lips and said, “Moutsos is back.” I scowled and stood straight, but inside I squirmed.
I seized the man’s elbow and yanked him away from my partners. I did a quick search, patting him down, but found no weapons or drugs. I doubted I would. If the guy had anything on him, my partners would’ve found it during their search. Still, it felt better to double check. I then escorted him to my patrol car, shoved him inside, and clicked the seat belt into place. I threw him a final glare for good measure, to let him know who was in charge here. I went to the driver’s seat and ran his ID on the computer. No criminal record, just a few traffic infractions. That surprised me. I was certain he’d have something.
Into my radio, I said, “B-187, I’ll be en route to jail with one from the shelter.” “Copy, B-187,” dispatch said. I headed towards the freeway.
Out of habit, I turned on the radio, searching for a good tune to listen to while I drove. Nothing but commercials. I considered throwing on a CD, or an inspirational talk. I had an audiobook on my phone. Maybe I’d– Click. I glanced up at my rearview mirror.
He now sat on the middle of the back seat, leaning forward, his face hovering an inch away from the cage that separated the rear of the cab from the front. The click had been his seat belt releasing. “Moutsos,” he said, “I know who you are.” A chill wriggled along my spine. Unwilling to show fear, I snorted and said, “What do you mean, who I am?” My voice trembled slightly, betraying my outward bravado. “You know nothing about me.” “What does the ‘E’ on your name-tag stand for?” he said, grinning, eyes glittering, not with mirth, but like the eyes of a snake, simply reflecting light. I glanced down at my name-tag. I opened my mouth to reply, but he spoke first.
“Hello, Eric. It is Eric, isn’t it, Eric?” I tried to hide my surprise by changing lanes. “Eric Moutsos,” he said, perfectly, and chuckled softly. My face felt cold. My heart beat too fast. I had the urge to slam on my brakes so his face would smack the cage. Instead, I picked up my phone, deciding to distract myself by calling my wife. No answer.
The man said, “Everyone knows who you really are, Eric. You aren’t fooling anyone. I know your sins. Everyone sees through you, just like me. Those naughty thoughts you think. What if your family knew? They’ll see you for who you are as they get older, as they learn more about how this world works, and how daddy’s mind works. Yes, Eric, they’ll see how big of a fraud you are. They’ll figure out what you’ve done when you were younger. Those were wild years, weren’t they, Eric?”
Fear paralyzed me. He continued, getting specific about some of the things I’d done in my past, before coming back to church, before Stacey and our marriage. Was he guessing because everyone has a past, or did he actually know my exact sins? I felt like I was pinned down.
I stared at this man, this stranger. I wanted to scream at him, deny everything he said, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t speak, so I prayed in my heart, and the thought came to play some spiritual music. I fumbled for my iPod and turned on a church hymn. He laughed. I turned up the volume. He laughed louder. I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal. I wanted him gone, booked into jail and gone.
He raised his voice to be heard above the music. “You’ll never be forgiven for those things. God doesn’t forgive a faker.” I started praying in my heart. Please, God, please, make this stop. The man shrieked and snarled. “Fake! Your children will grow up to call you cursed! Cursed and fake!”
I turned onto jail property. The man’s foul words assaulted my ears. I announced myself to the jail and entered the booking area parking lot. I parked. I turned off my engine. I removed my seatbelt. In a quiet voice, my prisoner said, “I’ll always be watching you, Eric. I’ll make sure you’re fake.”
I exited the car. The man said nothing more. He followed every order.I booked him in and fled the jail. I went home. I didn’t sleep. Who could sleep after a conversation with the devil?
