WILLIAM E. LOPEZ
Approx. 996 words
©2002 by W. E. Lopez
The Carpet
King was in the tattoo parlor. Was it a
coincidence?
The
Carpet King
By
W.
E. Lopez
The gray BMW pulled to the curb across the street from the yellow
cab discharging its passenger. The dark
man driving said, “Do you think he’ll really do it?”
“Twenty bucks says he will,” the passenger replied. The two men watched as Richard Henry King
paid the cabbie and walked into the tattoo shop.
* *
*
The patrol car identified as David-24 on the Long Beach PD
tactical frequency, squealed to a stop in front of “The Rose,” a tattoo and
piercing business on
“Police! Freeze!” Glenn shouted at the man about to
swing a stool at the unconscious body on the floor.
Richard Henry King stopped the stool in mid-air and stood
there awaiting the next command from the two police officers.
“Let it drop, slowly,” Glenn said quietly. As the suspect softly set the stool on the
floor, Velasquez approached the prone figure and felt for a pulse. It was strong but ragged. He grasped the mike of his tactical radio and
called headquarters. “Dispatch, David-24
requesting an ambulance at 1706
“Roger, 24. On the
way.”
Officer Glenn approached the suspect and indicated he should
move to the sales counter and “assume the position.” Swiftly he gave the man a professional
pat-down then placed the handcuffs around his wrists.
“Okay, buddy, what’s your name?”
“King,” the middle aged man answered. “Richard Henry King. Surely you must have seen my commercials on
the television? I own twelve retail
carpet outlets from here to Berdoo. I’m ‘The Carpet King,’ don’t you know?” Glenn did know. Now that he had a name to go with the face,
he remembered the commercials which frequently punctuated the late night
movies.
Glenn holstered his weapon and began making entries in his
notebook. “Okay, Mr. King, what’s the
story here? What’s your beef?”
“That jerk!” he shouted, pointing to the man on the floor
who was just beginning to regain consciousness.
“He took advantage of me when I was drunk! He put this tattoo on me, see?” Because his hands were cuffed behind him, all
the suspect could do was hunch his shoulder a little to the left. As he did so, the loosely buttoned shirt
opened enough to give Officer Glenn a glimpse of a fresh tattoo just above Mr.
King’s heart. The tattoo, about five
inches tall and four inches wide, depicted a swooping eagle with out-stretched
talons grasping a heart with the name Brenda
emblazoned across it.
“Nice looking tat,” Glenn said. “That’s why you beat up the artist and
smashed his store front?”
“Cripes, yes! I
didn’t ask for this tattoo, why the hell would I? I’ve been happily married for twenty-two
years and my wife’s name is Iris! I’ll
catch hell for this, forever and next year too!”
“Yes, I can see how that might cause a little
difficulty. But, I’m sorry Mr. King,
there’s been property damage here in addition to assault. I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in
for booking. It won’t take long, and I’m
sure your lawyer will have you out on bail so you can get home before it’s too
late.”
“It’s already too late, officer! I can’t let Iris see this. I want you to arrest that man too! I know there’s a law in this state about administering
a tattoo to an intoxicated customer. I
intend to press a few charges of my own.
Just wait until I see my lawyer!”
By this time the owner of the shop was holding a hand to his
aching head but Velasquez required him to remain lying on the floor. The paramedics arrived and examined the
man. They put a C-collar on him and
allowed him to stand under his own power then took him out to the waiting
ambulance.
“Mr. Wilkins is surprisingly calm, all things considered,”
Velasquez told Glenn. “He wants us to be
sure and get the surveillance tape from the VCR in a closet in the back
room. He says it will prove that Mr.
King was not intoxicated.”
“Right, Eddie. You
fetch it and bring it to the squad. I’ll
take Mr. King out and we can head downtown.”
Officer Glenn began reading the Carpet King his Miranda
rights while leading him to the police cruiser outside and placing him in the
rear seat. Officer Velasquez came out of
the tattoo shop and paused to close and lock the door, but with all the broken
glass it was a worthless gesture. He
climbed into the front seat and exhibited the VCR tape to his partner. “Got it, buddy. Let’s roll.”
* *
*
The driver took out his wallet and paid the passenger twenty
dollars in American money. “It looks as
though our field trial was successful, Akim. I knew it would be, but it was necessary for
us to test it upon an unsuspecting and typical American. I’m happy to say it worked beautifully.”
“This will be the most wonderful weapon in our arsenal, Rashiid. Allah may
forbid us to take alcohol, but sharing a drink with a target must surely be
forgiven. Don’t you think?”
“Praise Allah, wise with all his mercy. And as soon as the drug takes effect, we can
program the unwitting subject to do anything we require. There will be no one we cannot have
assassinated by a trusted associate.
There will be no target we cannot have destroyed by an infidel American
after we have conditioned him with the drug and provided the means. Allah is great! Allah is good!”
The two men smiled as they watched the Carpet King being
driven away by the police. Akim turned the key and the two men pulled away from the
curb and headed for LAX, their mission completed.