Memory Man

Leopold seemed to understand this, because he smashed his knee against Decker’s wound. Decker screamed in agony. But he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and, little by little, managed to straighten his legs out from the sitting position he had been forced into by the chair and duct tape. He felt the tape lengthening, though it did not break. But inch-by-inch Decker pushed and stretched and pushed some more until he was finally flattened out and his three-hundred-and-fifty-plus pounds were lying directly on the much smaller man.

Leopold’s breathing was ragged now. His body lurched up, trying to throw Decker off. But it was like an elephant on his chest.

And then Decker started to do something he never would have with Bogart, because he had never intended to end the life of the FBI agent. He very much intended to end the life of this man. Without the duct tape holding him back, he would already have killed Leopold. But he still would, he just needed to be patient.

So he began to inch his right shoulder in a new direction, a small measure at a time, while his other shoulder and upper arm remained jammed down on the limb holding the gun, keeping his opponent, in effect, weaponless.

The Smith and Wesson was not going to kill again.

Leopold kept kicking and pushing and bucking but the space for him to operate was now severely limited and growing ever smaller. Decker kept his eyes closed but the tears were running down his face with the pain. The bile rose to his throat and he threw up on Leopold.

The smaller man gagged and spit and cursed and heaved. He knew time was running out, and he was not going to go quietly.

Decker was in terrible pain; the wound was bleeding freely again. He felt his strength start to be sapped by the blood loss. But he didn’t really need strength. He just needed his bulk concentrated on one spot in particular. So he kept working at it and his shoulder finally fell into the crevice that he had been striving so mightily for.

Under Leopold’s chin and directly against the man’s throat.

And then Decker let his weight bear down directly on this spot. His bare feet touched the concrete, gaining traction and leverage, and he thrust his pelvis forward and with it his huge shoulder, ramming it against the man’s windpipe and compressing Leopold’s chest so his lungs could not inflate. His big belly was sucking in and out through the opening of the jumpsuit with the effort of it all. Sweat dripped off him though the room was cold. He was not going to stop until this was done. His heart was hammering out of control. He felt dizzy and sick. His head felt ready to burst. But he didn’t think about any of that. His one focused thought was to kill this man.

Decker let his bulk collapse, making himself as much dead weight as possible. He wished he weighed a ton. He kept driving and driving like he was slamming into a blocking sled over and over. He never had the talent of others on the gridiron, but his motor had never stopped. And no one, from the superstars down to the journeymen, ever worked harder than he did.

So this was his moment. This was his one play to end all plays.

He heard gasping, which wasn’t enough.

He kept compressing. He was a gunner’s knot. He was the constrictor. He was never going to stop until this was over. Never.

He heard gurgling, which still wasn’t enough.

He pushed down harder. He was a whale on a minnow. It had never felt so damn good to be obese. He wanted to swallow this piece of shit whole. He wanted to make him disappear from the earth.

He heard a long, low exhalation, which would never be enough.

He rammed his body down with all his strength. In his mind his DVR whirled. Every victim, every face raced through his mind while he was slowly killing their killer.

Then his DVR slowed and two faces held steady. Cassie and Molly. That was all he could see in that enormous cavern his mind had become. It was the whole damn universe in there; it could hold so much and was ever-expanding. Yet still, right now, it held only their two faces. That was all. And it seemed more than fitting. More than right.

He smashed down one more time as he mumbled, “I love you, Cassie. I love you, Molly. I love you both so much.”

Then he heard nothing. Nothing at all.

The lungs had not inflated because they no longer could.

And Leopold’s body finally went limp and the gun fell to the concrete.

That was enough.

He lifted his head and stared down at the man.

There were few things in life that were certain.

There were many things in death that were.

He was staring at three of them.

Eyes wide open.

Pupils fixed.

Mouth involuntarily sagging.

Dead.

In Decker’s mind the images of his wife and daughter slowly faded, like a movie ending.

And I miss you both so much. I will miss you forever.