Winter Is The Season Of Endings


By Tyrone Slothrop

Chapter 1: Fly On By, Sweet Angel

The information was good. Angel liked it when the information was good. He welcomed this mission as a change of pace, a visit to his merciful side. Angel had thought he had lost any chance at being compassionate over the last few years.

The targets were going down, and he intended that they would go down hard, but he could reserve the final stroke unless they forced his hand. He found himself humming the theme from “Cops” and smiling.

It was a cold day in the city and the wind pushed at him as he made his way to the Municipal Court complex. He felt the heavy door slam behind him as he crossed the threshold. The guard smiled at him, a broad and friendly smile, with an approving nod. Angel returned the smile as he set his purse on the security conveyor. The guard helped him remove his fur coat.

“Let me get that, Ma’m. Any jewelry might set the detector off if it’s big enough.” The man offered Angel the plastic bin. Angel removed his necklace and decided his earrings would be fine left in place. He thanked the guard.

The process determined that Angel was sufficiently harmless and he ducked into the ladies room to repair his appearance. After touching up his makeup and running a brush through his hair, he determined that the weather had lost this round, he still looked fabulous. That setting gel worked wonders, he thought and reminded himself he would have to thank Bob for the tip.

He looked in the full length mirror, a luxury the old Court Building provided. No new construction would allow for such a nice touch. His five foot seven inch height was increased by the modest heels he wore, which matched his dress. He decided he was the wealthy but distraught mother of a problem teenaged boy. That was his role today and that is what he would be. He made another note the thank Frank for the fur coat. It added to the image perfectly, plus it was really nice in this winter weather. He walked out into the lobby with a carefully measured pace, with just enough gentle sway. Angel loved walking in heels.

The Judge’s private chambers were on the sixth floor. He rode the brass railed elevator alone, impressed with the silent efficiency of the machinery. He knew it was old before he was born and he was old. Nearly twenty five this year.

Chapter 2: Court Of Last Resort

The Judge had been doing her job for over fifteen years. The poor mother in front of her was a sight she had seen many times before. She often reflected on why it was always the wealthy who asked for her help and intercession when their little devils screwed up, and just assumed it was because they felt she could help them. Word did get out that she had helped other boys in trouble before. She never considered that only the wealthy would even think of asking a Judge for help, much less be granted an appointment.

“Mrs. Delacourt, may I call you Amy? I understand your son has been in trouble before. And you have tried other diversion programs?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Amy will be fine. We have tried  several programs and he has been expelled from them all. He is not violent, just strong willed, I guess. He’s my husband’s child, you know, and I’m so close to him in age, I think he resents me marrying his father. And this latest thing, date rape, stealing a car, resisting arrest. He’s just fifteen, your Honor. Please, what can I do? My husband is out of the country and he has told me to follow my cousin’s advice.” Angel tried to add just enough powerlessness into his projection. Playing older than you are is always hard to do. Fortunately , Angel had excellent role models as a teenager.

The Judge looked over the criminal files on one Brandon Delacourt. They went back to age nine and were larger than the files of some gang members she had sent up. None of it indicated he was dangerous, just out of control. She thought the date rape charge was flimsy and could be beaten. She knew she would not subject the accuser to the Delacourt defense team. She never considered if it might be a false accusation.

The Judge knew of the Delacourts by reputation, private, wealthy and not to be crossed but also useful if they were on your side. She had verified the woman in her office as being recommended by a cousin whose heir apparent to the family fortune was a graduate of the “Special Program.”  The Judge smiled inwardly at the memory of Young Charles. He had been so precious. And now he was inheriting one of the largest fortunes in the state. And ready to marry a hand picked girl who knew how to make him happy. The Judge had been part of that selection process.

After some more discussion, the Judge decided to intervene. She assured Amy Delacourt that there was some hope, a very effective program for troubled young men. She had Amy sign a number of papers, one of which would conditionally grant legal custody of Brandon Delacourt to the headmistress of the “Special Academy” in the event of a court order.

After Amy had thanked her profusely and departed, the Judge called her clerk and had the case shifted to her docket. She then made a call to the Academy.

Chapter 3: Angel Of The Morning

Angel waited at the train station, his leather jacket shielding him from the wind bouncing off the New England concrete. He had decided black was the best bad boy look he could conjure up. Black leather, black jeans, black sneakers, black tee shirt. He had his shoulder length brown hair pulled back at his neck and he had his small gym bag over his shoulder, his only luggage.

Projecting false bravado covering fear was the order of the day. He was playing fifteen which was fairly easy as his height and face fit right in. He still only shaved his beard every other day and was probably doomed to have a childlike baby face until he died.

He had arrived on an earlier train than the one he was scheduled on, just so he could get the lay of the land. He was tempted for the tenth time that year to have a cigarette as waiting in stations and airports was so conducive to smoking. Angel grinned and realized he had not had any tobacco since he was twelve, when he was a chain smoker. His mistress had encouraged the habit and his mother thought it made him look sophisticated. Frank, his foster dad, had broken the back of it in three difficult weeks.

A large Town Car pulled up and a tall imperious woman emerged, along with a pretty teenager. Angel noticed that the younger one was fairly good at appearing female, but not yet perfect. It was the little things like how the boy closed the car door that gave him away to Angel’s practiced eye. The pair looked as if they had descended from a 1950’s fashion show for wealthy white women with questionable fashion sense.

“Are you Brandon Delacourt?” the woman asked, crisply but without any warmth in her voice.

Angel gave her his best sneer. “I was told not to talk to strangers, and you are the strangest person yet today.” He turned his back to her, knowing what would come next. It is very difficult, especially if you have been highly trained to defend yourself, to take a shot when you know it is coming. Angel’s work had required him to master that skill.

The woman spun him around and landed a firm but open hand slap to his face. Angel exaggerated the hit and fell over. He had learned at an early age that making a blow look more effective than it was satisfied the sadism in his tormentors. It also enhanced their sense of control. Angel made himself sob and generated some tears. The boy in the taffeta skirt helped him up. Good cop, bad cop, just like Angel had learned at the police academy.

“I will not tolerate that form of verbal insubordination, Master Delacourt. I have papers assigning me as your legal guardian. You will come with us. Now. If you wish to leave you may do so after I explain the terms of your court ordered stay. And I do not discuss business in public places. So come now or I will leave you here for the police as a probation violator.”

Angel opted for surly silence for the car ride. The boy had been introduced as Barbara and Angel played along with his masquerade. The woman was to be referred to as Madam J. Angel assumed they would generate some femme name for him, to be revealed soon, probably tomorrow.

One of the problems of having a method is you become predictable. Angel had debriefed Charles Delacourt extensively. Charles was Brandon’s cousin who had graduated from this place and the one who, after joining the Group, had turned their eyes towards the Academy. Angel loved it when the intelligence was good. So far, it was according to script.

Chapter 4: Angelina, Louis Prima

Angel was shown his quarters, which seemed to be a monument to every mother’s fantasy of a little girls room, one which no self respecting girl over six would have anything to do with. Ruffles, frills and lace seem to be the theme, liberally laced with pinks. Barbara chattered about getting ready for meeting Madam J in her office in ten minutes.

Angel slid two packets out from his bag and secreted them on the bottom of a drawer. The rest of his things he left, assuming they would be missing after they drugged him.

At five pm he was standing in Madam J’s office while she casually berated his manner and deportment. Angel had to admit to himself that she was good. Almost no fifteen year old boy could withstand the practiced psychological cruelty she inflicted. But then again, Angel thought, they should not have to withstand it. He had spent most of his life dealing with adults who thought they could treat children as objects to mold or use.

“Master Delacourt, Brandon, You will need to consider your options. You are here because your mother has consented to let me correct your behavior, and a Judge has ordered it instead of sending you to a juvenile facility. If you refuse to do what I require, you will be sent directly to prison. I want your word that you will comply with my requirements or I will have no choice but to send you away. It is past time to call the appropriate state agencies so you can answer me in the morning. Do you understand?” The woman seemed intent on playing the psychological dominatrix to the hilt.

Angel answered with as much attitude as he could deliver. “Nice try. Call the police if you want to. You want my word? Here it is – screw off.”  He knew the slap was coming, rolled with it and began his sobbing routine from the floor.

An older woman came in, she seemed French from her accent, maybe an immigrant. Her wrists locked onto Angel’s arms like vise clamps.

“It is too late to send you out tonight. You will be fed and then sent to your room. Maybe tomorrow you will be more amenable to civil discussion.” Madam J said, barely containing her mirth.

Angel felt the drug they concealed in his food working. As Barbara led him to his room he could barely feel his feet. He fell into the bed face down. Barbiturates, he thought to himself as he lost consciousness.

Angel heard Barbara enter his room at around three am. She grabbed everything in his bag except for his toothbrush and removed them from the room. He maintained the façade of being asleep as Barbara the boy and the French woman struggled to undress him. Angel was glad he had hidden his spare pair of sneakers in the boxspring of the bed.

About seven am Madam J swept into his room and ripped off the sheet, exposing Angel’s naked body. He grabbed the sheet and cowered in the bed.

“Brandon, your lazy ways are over. Get up, clean yourself and clean that filthy hair. Put on some clothes and meet me in my office for tea. You have twenty minutes.” Madam J said , her voice a combination of command and cruelty.

“But my clothes! They’re gone!”

“I cannot help it if you misplace your clothes. Now take something from the closet after you shower. And make sure you shampoo. And stop worrying about me seeing you. You are  just a boy after all, hardly anything to see.” Madam J said. Angel knew she was lying, he was very well endowed and had seen the woman staring at his equipment.

“But those are girl’s clothes!” Angel was whining as best he could. The woman was so predictable she was on the same script from ten years ago.

“If you stay here that is all you will wear until you learn to behave. We will discuss if I will even allow you to stay or just send you to jail!” Madam J said, turned on her heel and left.

Angel retrieved his packets from the drawer. He did shower but avoided the  shampoo bottle and used his own soap from his stash. If Madam J had specifically mentioned it, he knew it was part of the setup.

 He looked over the selection of  dresses and decided to get into character. He quickly attached his packets to the inside of a petticoat with the Velcro tabs, then  found a camisole slip. He casually stepped into a ridiculous dress over the petticoats and sat down at the vanity to do his face. After brushing out his hair he decided he looked fine. He then grinned and completed his ensemble with his hidden sneakers over  his hosiery.

He knew he did not need to get dressed given the next phase in the plan, but he wanted to, just to have fun with the Madam J. He finished blow drying his hair and was glad to find his door open.

The French woman was waiting in the hall, he could see her shadow and smell her perfume.  He sang to himself “Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do when they come for you…”

Chapter 5: Heavenly Host Descends

Angel wanted the French woman reasonably intact, so he started to run for the window. As she reached out from her hiding place, he jabbed a stun gun (which he had secreted in his packets) into her solar plexus while hitting her on the side of the neck with  a stiffened hand. She went down hard. Angel dragged her into his room and administered one of his hypodermics. She would be out for a while. He found Barbara in the kitchen preparing tea. He grabbed the boy from behind and gave him a shot with the next needle. He gently set him in a kitchen chair, closing the boy’s open mouth.

Angel made a rapid sweep of the house and keyed his radio. He then proceeded to bring the tea set to Madam J’s office.

As he approached the room he heard the faint sound of helicopters passing overhead. He grinned and sang “The boys are back in town”.

Angel decided on a grand entrance. He opened the door quietly and then kicked it so hard it almost rattled off the hinges.

“I heard you wanted some tea, you pompous windbag!” He threw the opened pot at Madam J’s face, the pool of liquid coming out in midair. She mostly ducked but caught a lot on the top of her head. Angel smiled as she screamed. He waited for the woman to get up and she charged at him. He easily evaded her. Having an enraged opponent is very helpful if you have tactical skill. He was particularly happy knowing his ruse had worked. The tea was room temperature but Madam J’s assumption was it was her normal scalding level, creating the fear and panic Angel had wanted.

“Going to slap me again and feed your need, honey?” Angel taunted. The woman began an arm swing but this time Angel’s hand reached out, faster than the eye could see and just held her wrist, stopping her momentum dead on the spot. The woman squealed.

“The problem with learning a little martial arts is when you encounter an opponent better than you are you make it difficult for him to avoiding hurting you.” Angel said. “So you can either keep trying to fight me or just do what I say. Sit down. And shut up. I have a lot to say and little time in which to say it.”

The woman sat down. Her eyes were on fire. Angel was smiling, looking beautiful and soft in his frilly dress and carefully applied makeup. He proceeded to duct tape her to the chair, enjoying the process immensely. Taping her mouth shut was almost a sexual experience.

“Was that good for you, sweetheart?” Angel asked in a lover’s voice. Her eyes were boring holes in him, pouring out sheer madness and anger.

“My my, little Missy, that tape does not go with your ensemble. What are we going to do with you? You’ve managed to get yourself all wet. How very clumsy of you. “ He said, imitating the French woman.

Angel suddenly shifted gears into overdrive.

“Now that I have your undivided attention, for once in your life you will listen to someone other than your delusions. So where to begin? Oh yes. Your days of pleasure with the  torture of young men are over. You have been targeted for, shall we say, a form of discipline which you seem to lack. The discipline to let boys to be boys.

“Let me introduce my Group. We are all the victims of women who tried to mold us for their own enjoyment, and we have made it our mission to remove those kind of terribly ill souls wherever we find them. That’s my job.

“Now normally I would just shoot you, but we have decided that over the years you have been ‘in business’ you have contained your sadism to brief periods of time, releasing your victims to make their way in the world. So you get a bit of mercy.

“We also know you use their fear of exposure to help keep your little game here under wraps. So we end this now and leave you with your life.

“Please remember, if you try again and we find out, you will be killed, without any remorse on our part. “

Angel listened to his radio, chatter coming through his earplug. “They are telling me your friend the Judge has just been arrested on kidnapping charges for one Brandon Delacourt, who is believed to be in this area. I would like you to meet Brandon now.”

Another Group member walked in holding the hand of a seven year old boy, who was dressed identically to Angel in the petticoats and frilly dress. He had long blonde hair, due to the recently applied  extensions.

“Brandon, is this the woman who took you and made you wear these silly girl’s clothes?”  Angel asked.

Brandon nodded and left the room with the other agent.

“You see, it’s interesting. We have a member who does a really good impersonation of you. It’s was a pleasure watching him imitate you kidnapping that child, feeding him drugs and telling him how he was going to be made a girl because boys were evil. Oh yes, you thought Brandon was a  fifteen year old delinquent, that’s right. Sorry. Too bad about all the narcotics in your house, too. I also believe the FBI has had all of your assets frozen for drug trafficking. And it was really interesting how when given the choice of being exposed as your victims or your willing participants, most of your former students chose to be exposed to the media as victims, listing your little tortures in great and graphic detail. I will give you credit, about ten percent refused to rat you out. Yes, we have released all of the information to the media, with the best pictures going to the racier tabloids. Especially the video of you threatening a seven year old boy with jail, calling him by name. That’s a classic. Our cameras at the train station really caught your dramatic essence.”

Angel held up his last hypodermic needle to her eye level. “You will sleep now, your heroin and cocaine mixture will be in your body when the FBI gets here to rescue little Brandon. We chose those two drugs because the public knows them. We wanted to make sure there was no confusion about your character.

“Oh yes. I saw those books on your shelf, the ones on “Petticoat Discipline”. The mistress my mother gave me to when I was eight had those books. She was a bit more direct than you were, using a cattle prod on me whenever I didn’t dress just the right way. In many ways she was just like you, but with more compassion.

“Please remember, I will kill you if you ever do this again, after you get over your little legal trouble of course.”

He administered the needle and after Madam J was comatose Angel removed the duct tape He left the room, passing a sleeping Brandon, now loosely tied up with his face on the unconscious French woman’s thigh. There was a pile of cocaine on the table and heroin works on the floor. A perfect front page tabloid picture, almost is if it were posed.

Angel and the crew left the house and got into the waiting helicopter. Barbara, already securely strapped in, was sleeping soundly.

Angel looked down from about 1200 feet and saw a series of state police cars and unmarked SUVs which he knew to be DEA and FBI rolling through the driveway. The media vans were right behind them.

He had already dealt with all the insults from the other Group members about his dress. Madam J deserved more punishment on bad taste alone he thought.

He started singing “Bad boys, bad boys..” but no one could hear over the rotor noise.

Chapter 6: Off Duty Angel

Frank was still recovering from the disease which had ravaged him for years. He was happy to see Angel, his adopted son. Frank felt pride and guilt at setting Angel on his life’s work since he pursued it with such a single minded focus, quite often approaching a level of coldbloodeness which scared him. He knew Angel was not a sociopath but he could act like one to do his job.

“I see that the Delacourt family is not one I would want as an enemy, Angel. How is their little boy?” Frank asked.

“He’ll be fine. We never terrorized him, just made him play dress up a few times. George was incredible as Madam J. He scared the crap out of me.”

“It might have been kinder to shoot the woman, Angel.” Frank said.

“I don’t know. It’s so damn messy. Plus I am sure she will be viewed as insane anyway. She is, you know. You also know half the charges will not stick and the only way she will do any time is if she covers for her friend the Judge.

“It will take her a while to disentangle her money from the Feds and then the Delacourts seem to have made it a personal mission to make her persona non grata in the business world. So she will be cash strapped for a while. “ Angel smiled. This indirect havoc stuff could be more fun than the ‘direct action’ he had been using.

“I understand  Mr. Charles Delacourt has decided to not pursue his planned nuptials with one of Madam J’s little followers. Is that right?” Frank asked.

“Old Charlie played her really well. After he came out and denounced Madam J’s process he pretty much destroyed her shot at the Social Register. Consorting with kidnappers and child molesters and drug dealers, oh my.” Angel grinned, ending with a very good Judy Garland impression..

Frank suddenly turned serious.

“Angel, will you ever do enough to make it go away for you?” Frank voiced the question he swore he would never ask.

“It already has, Dad. But there as so many more little Angels out there. And we are all they have. Nobody else seems to think it’s an issue.“ Angel answered.

Frank and Angel both knew he was lying. It would never go away for Angel. Frank was over fifty and it had not gone away for him.

Angel looked at Frank, whose waist length hair was shining, looking comfortable in his black tights and shirtdress. Angel smoothed his skirt and checked his hair in the reflection on the window. He thought how odd the Group was.  A band of brothers, bound by pain from the past, using it to heal wounds which never can be healed.

END

 

since 10/17/04