One Step Futher

According to the police report, Peter Louis Ganci, AKA "The Piano Man" had violated the 10 year girl with more than one object, in more than one place. The objects had seemed to range from a bottle to a power drill. Cause of death was credited to the blunt impact she had taken to the back of her head with a mallet found at the house of Peter Louis Ganci.

As I read through the fine details, I wandered off to the hole in my mind, where no one could find me. A place where reality hid me from the deciet all around me. A place of logic and of common sense. A place where the door to others is always locked.

The papers in my hand was telling me one story, while in my hole, I was indulging in a whole different concept of the death to this little girl.

Taking into account of what I already knew before receiving this report, that Peter Ganci does not do kids. I felt that shadow above me, the shadow of death was calling me.

Why or who, I was clueless, for one reason or another, I was being supeoned into another war with the crazed. The kind of killer that the public was not willing to believe in. Oh yes, they prey and the public is protected from some of them. And, this is one of them. That's why I'm here, cause nobody else wants to be. Nobody knows the backroads in their minds the way I do. And nobody knows Peter Ganci like I do as well.

The how, is what was telling me that this is an invite waiting at the door to hell for me. Someone, who knows me has sent it, and I never missed a invite to hell. The place that makes me feel most comfortable. The place I call home.

In my hole, I was talking to Peter. We was just passing the shit back in 1981 in the observation room of Bellevue Hospital.
I was doing my standard bid of testing for mood control and anti social behavior. Peter, was in as a short timer, 72 hours tops, since he walked in on his own.

Apparently, Peter was drunk, and roaming the streets of Brooklyn, when he ran out of cigarettes and noticed a pack of Marboros, on a dashboard of "79" Pontic Bonneville. He kicked in the window and opened the door to reach in and grabbed the free pack of cancer.

As he reached over, a sudden pull on his hair started to inflict pain upon his scalp. As his body was dragged from the car he used both feet to push off the console and power drive his attacker to the ground. Rolling off, Peter dropped with a elbow into the softboiled lump in the guys throat. A snap and a crackle, and Peter was up and reaching for his pack of Marbolo's again.

Leaving the corpse behind, he took a cab ride into the city and wandered somemore. When he found himself in front the hospital, it came upon him that this would be his alibi. The state would have him, but not for the guy with the crushed neck.

So, he claimed, he was feeling depressed and needed to talk to a doctor. Knowing full well, he'd be held, but with good behavior he be out within 72 hours, or as soon as they had a doctor talk to him.

Cry him a river, about the wife and kids, and how your job is getting on your nerves. All the standard crap and you may even end up with a script.

Peter, must have reconized me from one of my visits to 20th ave Pork Store. A Pork Store a friend of mine owned, a friend since childhood. Tommy Inzzets, he was the area boss, the capo that ran things in that neighbourhood. And Peter was working for Tommy.

I was nursing my 400 mg of Thorazine, when he approached me and asked if I was Clay. I nodded and he introduced himself.


We sat for hours passing the shit back and forth, but nothing of real importance, when he finally said.
"Hey Clay"

with a nod I let him know that I knew the storyline was gonna change and that I was ready
"Want to know why I am in here?"

"Shoot" I told and and he did.

But when he finished telling me the events of his evening, he continued on to tell me that he was known as the "Piano Man" and how he always has and always will kill by the piano string.

Just his signature of death, and tonight was the first time he wasted someone without his piano string.

He continued on how, upset he was, and how was he gonna explain it to Tommy, how he shouldn't be killing on his own personal time, and how, he's gonna get hell for it.

"Well, Peter" I started off leaning into him, and lowering my tone.

"No one knows you did it, except for me. I'll keep it buried, if you want me to. No sweat to me."

"You'd do that for me?" he whispered back "You'd forget what I said here tonight?"

"Like I said, no sweat to me" confirming my stance.

"Thanks Clay, you need something you ask, anytime, anything!" with a burden lifted he continued.

"I just had to tell someone, you know get it off your chest. Thanks"

Within the few hours Peter was on his way home, while I still had another 6 days to stay and take my mind candy.
Maybe because of this I had forgotten our conversation, untill today.

I knew Peter would not kill in this way, and so did someone else. That someone, somehow knew me. That someone was out there creating victims, cruel treatment to human flesh, young human flesh was his signature.

But, he was taking things One Step Further, beside giving us victims, he was also on the prey to offer us perps.

He was doing the crimes then taking the time to set up outsiders with no motive to the actually do these murders.

I had to wonder how many more he has done. How many more innocent people were serving time for his actions.

This sick motherfucker was playing both ends of the law. And, for some reason, he wanted me to play along.

Focusing back to the papers in my hands,

I turned towards the window and searched the cobblestone below, looking for a answer.

Who would be that fucking crazy to want to get involved with me?

Copyright ©2004 D. Walsh