The Son Also Rises

"I have my sources," said my father.

"You win," I said, "Why do you have to kill me?"

The statement caused my father to pause. He did not expect that I was admitting defeat.

"Did you just say that I won?" asked my father.

"Yes," I said, "What more can I say?"

"I like that," said my father.

The central theme in my father's life was winning. My father always had to have the last word. He always had to have the biggest house, the biggest car, and the most money. It did not matter who got hurt or trampled or killed. It was always about my father. No one else really mattered, especially not me.

"After I die," I said, "You will be running from the law forever and your fortune will be sold to the highest bidder."

I looked at my father's face. He suddenly realized the truth that I had just presented him.

"How much are they going to sell my real estate?" my father asked.

"Not enough," I said.

"There has to be something left after the mortgages are paid," my father said.

"Right now," I said, "We will only get fifty cents of every dollar we owe."

"That is not enough," said my father.

"Exactly," I said, "We won't be able to pay off the mortgages."

My father was disappointed.

"There won't be anything left for you or anyone else," I said.

My father didn't like what he was hearing. He paced around the room in an attempt to clear his mind.

"Is that why you made a deal with the Acme Athletic Company?" asked my father.

"I have six months to get all the late rent payments," I said, "I think I can get the vacancy rate down to 1% or 2%."

"I like that," said my father.

"I learned it from you," I said.

My father nodded. However, he still looked at me suspiciously.

"What is in it for you?" asked my father.

"If the Acme Athletic Company gets their money," I said, "I might get that endorsement check back."

"I see," said my father, "This is all about getting your check."

"Exactly," I said, "The Acme Athletic Company wants their money back from the bankruptcy judge."

"I don't know why I am not included in any of the bankruptcy negotiations," said my father.

"I didn't expect that you would cash my check and take the money," I said, "No one expected that."

"Would you have turned over the money to me?" asked my father.

"I would have given you a fair price for the apartment complexes," I said.

"I don't believe you," said my father.

"I am the maintenance man," I said, "I know exactly what the apartment complexes are worth."

My father shrugged his shoulders. He could not dispute my claim. I was the one who saw all the maintenance problems and how it would affect the resale value of the apartment complexes.

"Let me get this straight," said my father, "You were not going to spend all that money."

"No," I said, "I wanted to buy the apartment complexes from you."

"How do I know that?" asked my father.

It was my turn to shrug my shoulders. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"Everything I know is property management," I said.

"Would you have bought an apartment complex from someone else?" asked my father.

"I thought about your apartment complexes first," I said, "I know more about your apartment complexes."

"So you want to be in real estate like your old man?" asked my father.

"I have learned from the best," I said, "But I never thought it would turn out like this."

My father stood there with the knife. I could only guess at what was going through his mind. I knew he wanted to kill me, but my father needed someone to take care of his apartment complexes. Those apartment complexes were the source of his wealth. I was sure he did not like the bankruptcy judge asking for a quick sale. Still, the Acme Athletic Company needed their money right away. A quick sale would only garner a fraction of the real estate value. There would not be anything left for my father when he finally got out of prison.

"I will let you live," said my father finally.

At that, my father slammed the point of the knife onto the hospital bed. To my dismay, my father drove the point of the knife to a location between my legs. If I had not been paying attention, my father would have driven the knife into either one of my legs. I laid there breathless. My father glared at me in his most intimidating face. I started to sweat. My blood pressure shot up to dangerous levels. The heart monitor started beeping uncontrollably. I was starting to breathe faster.

"If you cross me," my father hissed, "I will hunt you down and kill you."

"Okay, okay," I said breathlessly.

My father laughed. He seemed to enjoying bullying me. He loved to see his son cower before him like a whipped dog.

Finally, my father turned around started to leave.

"I know the police are watching this place," my father said, "But they are never going to catch me."

My father made a grand gesture. He was mocking me and all the police that were stationed in around the hospital. I swallowed hard. Did my father have all those police officers killed?

"Did you come here just to kill me?" I asked.

My father didn't answer my question. In fact, he was completely ignoring me, because he was putting on his disguise. It was like watching a vintage spy thriller. From a bag on the opposite corner of the room, my father was pulling out a fake mustache and pasting it under his nose. He was also pulling out and putting on fake glasses with oversized lenses. I wanted to laugh because my father resembled a high school student on the first day of drama class. He was not fooling anyone, but I was not about to tell him that. I bit my tongue.

"Do what I ask you to do," command my father, "Or I will be back to kill you."

At that moment, my father's eyes grew large. He froze. Someone stepped out of the adjoining bathroom. It was Betty and she was dressed in a nurse's outfit. Her determined face glared at my father. Her hand was extended and almost touching my father's back. I saw the pain in my father's face and realized that Betty had stabbed my father in the back. I saw a few drops of blood hit the floor behind him.

"You won't ever come back," said Betty.

"You tricked me," gasped my father.

My father glared at me. I guess my father thought I had planned this.

"You leave my son alone," said Betty.

"Damn you, Betty," roared my father.

With a grimace, my father tried to walk away, but I could see Betty turning the knife. My father trembled as Betty used both hands to turn the knife. From his facial expressions, the knife was causing excruciating pain.

"I am going to kill you," roared my father.

"Not if I kill you first," said Elaine.

Dressed in a nurse's outfit, Elaine emerged from the adjoining bathroom and walked between me and my father. She had a large knife in her right hand. With a mighty swing, Elaine drove the knife deep into my father's gut. My father groaned as the knife sliced its way deep inside him.

"That is for leaving me and my daughter," said Elaine.

"Why?" asked my father to Elaine.

"Did you know what I kind of jobs I had to do?" asked Elaine.

"Of course not," said Betty, "He never paid for child support."

"Or alimony," said Elaine.

To make matters worse for my father, Gretchen came out of the adjoining bathroom with her own knife. Dressed in a matching nurse's outfit, Gretchen came around and stood with Elaine.

"No more running around on Mom," said Gretchen.

With two women cheering her on, Gretchen plunged her knife into my father's thigh. My father screamed. To my father's dismay, the young girl turned the blade a few times before pulling it back out. There was large gash on his thigh and bright red blood started to soak his trousers. Still, Elaine and Betty held their knives steady as my father writhed in pain. Gretchen watched for a moment. She held her crimson-stained knife ready for another thrust.

"You won't be putting any more hands on other women," said Gretchen.

Once more, Gretchen thrust her knife forward. My father felt the blade slice through his left wrist. He screamed.

"Stop," cried my father, "I am dying here."

"You are not dying yet," said Betty.

"We want you to feel our pain," said Elaine.

By this time, Gretchen had calmly made her way to the opposite side. Without warning, Gretchen sliced up my father's right wrist.

"No one messes around with my Mom," said Gretchen.

At that, Betty and Elaine pulled out their knives. My father stood there in a daze. I could see the gash in his midsection and the trail of blood to the floor. He held his useless hands forward in an effort to elicit sympathy from anyone. Betty, Elaine, and Gretchen backed away from my father and stood next to my hospital bed. Gretchen saw the knife stuck between my legs and picked it up.

"I don't think he will need this anymore," said Gretchen.

"Thank you," I said.

"Anytime," said Gretchen.

Betty came and put her hand on my face. Immediately I smiled.

"What did he do to you?" asked Betty.

"I am so glad you are alive," I said.

"I ran as soon as I had a chance," said Betty.

"Someone had your clothes," I said.

"That is all they every got," said Betty triumphantly.

Elaine and Gretchen giggled.

"Some guys are just stupid like that," said Elaine.

"You said it, mom," said Gretchen.

"Call me a doctor," cried my father.

By this time, my father's wounds were bleeding more profusely. He was literally standing in a pool of his own blood. His bewildered face did nothing to stir any sympathy amongst the women near me.

"Did he just ask for a doctor in a hospital?" asked Elaine.

Betty rolled her beautiful eyes.

"You are such a baby," said Betty, "Be a man and go get your own doctor."

"I am so disappointed," said Gretchen.

"What did you expect?" asked Elaine.

"Sorry dad," I said, "I would call for help but you cut the cord."

Betty picked up the button to call the nurse's station. Elaine and Gretchen shook their heads.

"Why did he do that?" asked Gretchen.

"He wanted your brother to die," said Elaine.

"Did you see the size of that knife?" asked Betty.

Gretchen showed everyone the knife that my father had so rudely threw down between my legs. It was a large black knife with a serrated edge on one side. It was a knife used by hunters. I looked at the knife with great fear. My father could have easily cut me to pieces, especially if I was unconscious.

"I can't believe he wanted to kill his own son," said Betty.

"I can't believe you want to kill me," said my father.

"We don't want to kill you," said Betty, "But she does."

My father whirled around. Behind him, Greta came from the adjoining bathroom. To my father's dismay, Greta also had a knife. She held the knife close to her nurse's uniform. Greta did not want my father to grab the knife from her hands.

"Help me," said my father.

"You are such a bastard," hissed Greta.

"No," said my father.

"You were going to leave me high and dry like you did everyone else," said Greta.

My father shook his head.

"No, honey," said my father, "I would never do anything like that to you."

"It is a little late for all of that, honey," said Greta.

"Please don't kill me," said my father.

"Give me one good reason why I should not kill you right here and right now," said Greta.

"You can have everything," said my father, "I will sign the divorce papers."

"The judge says our marriage was invalid," said Greta.

"No," said my father, "That can't be true."

"But you knew that all along," said Greta, "You never divorced my mom."

"I can change all that," said my father, "Just tell me what to do."

There was desperation in my father's voice. I looked over at Betty and I saw her nod. Greta saw the signal and lunged with her knife. With one swift stroke, Greta drove her knife deep into my father's crotch. My father bent forward in pain.

I looked at Elaine and Gretchen. There was no sympathy on their faces. Betty seemed to be enjoying her daughter's treatment of my father.

"You are such a bastard," said Greta, "You knew I was your daughter and you still wanted to get into my pants."

"You are such a sick bastard," said Betty.

"He even had plans to get into my own daughter's pants," said Elaine.

"That is why he had that guy from my high school follow me around all the time," said Gretchen.

"He deserves to die," said Betty.

"I agree," said Elaine.

"This ends today," said Greta.

Greta pulled out her knife with one motion. By this time, my father was trembling. The pool of blood underneath him was growing larger by the moment. Even if my father could stumble down the hall to get a doctor, my father would have already lost a great deal of blood.

I looked at Greta's face. There was so much anger on her face. She had probably suppressed all of that emotion in the hope of winning a divorce settlement. However, all of Greta's plans turned to dust when she discovered that my father had never divorced his previous wives. In addition to that, Greta was outraged when she discovered the identity of her real father. Forever and ever, Greta would have to explain to people how she accidently married her own father.

"Don't kill me," said my father, "Please don't take my life."

"You wanted to take my virginity," said Greta, "You are going to die for that."

"Do it," said Betty.

With a wide sweeping motion, Greta slashed my father's neck. Automatically, his hands came up to his neck in a vain effort to keep the blood from escaping. All the women watched without sympathy as my father struggled to breathe. He fell on his knees and gasped for air. None of the women moved a muscle to give him any assistance. Within minutes, my father was motionless and face down in a pool of his own blood.

Then something extraordinary happened. Greta opened the door and motioned for someone to come into the room. Two men in white uniforms rolled a gurney into the room. Without a word, the two men picked up my father's lifeless body. Without sympathy, the two men plopped my father's body onto the gurney. Minutes later, the gurney was being wheeled away.

Betty, Elaine, Gretchen, and Greta took the knives and placed them into a box. Greta disappeared out of the room and returned with a cleaning cart. Gretchen dropped the box into the cleaning cart's trash receptacle. Betty took a bottle of bleach in the cart and dumped it onto the floor. Everyone grabbed a broom and started scrubbing the floor.

In less than a half hour, there was no sign of blood on the floor. The brooms and bleach were returned to the cleaning cart.

Before leaving, Betty came to speak to me.

"I love you, son," said Betty.

"Thank you for saving my life," I said.

"You know I would do anything for you," said Betty.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked.

Betty kissed me on the lips.

"I will find you," said Betty, "I lost you once before and that will never happen again."

"I love you, mom," I said.

Before I could say anything else, the women were gone. The room was quiet. I drifted back to sleep as the adrenaline wore off. I felt safe for the first time in my life.

Months later, I stumbled into Stan's office. I waited for a husband and wife to leave Stan's office. After rising up from his desk, Stan was happily thanking the two for paying their rent on time. After they all shook hands, the husband and wife left. Stan came to see me.

"Mike," said Stan, "I am so glad to see you alive."

We shook hands.

"I am really glad to see you," I said, "Sorry it took me a little longer to get out of the hospital."

"Have a seat," said Stan, "You can tell me all about it."

I sat down as Stan went back around to his seat. The big man carefully sat back down. I could tell from his slow movements that Stan had been busy.

"I was scared that your dad was going to hunt you down," said Stan.

"My dad did visit me at the hospital," I said.

Stan's face lost all of its color. The thought of encountering my father evoked a great deal of fear from Stan.

"He did not kill me," I said.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief.

"That is good," said Stan, "There have been so many rumors about your dad hiring people to take you out."

"When I told my dad about our plans," I said, "He decided not to kill me."

"How did he get into the hospital?" asked Stan, "Why was I not allowed to see you?"

"I don't know," I said, "I had no control over that."

"I heard that your dad's friends broke nearly all the bones in your body," said Stan.

"I don't remember how many bones they broke," I said, "I was hurting for a long time."

"How do you feel now?" asked Stan.

"I still have a lot of pain in my arms and legs," I said.

"I am glad you are still alive," said Stan.

"Thanks, Stan," I said.

"Do you want to hear about the apartment complexes?" asked Stan, "Do you want some good news for your father?"

"If it were not for the apartment complexes," I said, "I have a feeling my father would have killed me already."

"Your father will have to kill you some other day," said Stan, "We have collected almost all of the rent payments that are late."

"Great job, Stan," I said.

"Thank you," said Stan, "I think your plan actually worked."

"It is not exactly legal," I said.

"Right," said Stan, "You are not supposed to intimidate your tenants into paying their rent on time."

"I don't feel right about bringing in those two guys to collect the rent," I said, "But we were desperate."

Stan shrugged his shoulders.

"Sorry," said Stan, "I don't have much sympathy for people who take advantage of the bankruptcy courts."

"I understand," I said, "The tenants were not paying the rent because they think the bankruptcy court is going to sell their apartments to the lowest bidder."

"Not anymore," said Stan, "We have a lot of buyers ready to pay top dollar for these apartment complexes."

"That is great," I said.

"I don't know the identity of the winning bidder," said Stan, "But the bankruptcy judge is happy that the banks will get all of their mortgage money."

"Do we know if any cash is left after the sale?" I said.

"We will find out soon enough," said Stan.

"I hope the Acme Athletic Company will be happy with the results," I said.

"Speaking of the Acme Athletic Company," said Stan, "You are scheduled to do that public service message soon."

"I am ready," I said, "I even memorized my lines."

"Good," said Stan, "You can get your check soon."

"I hope so," I said.

"What are you going to do with your money?" asked Stan.

"I probably need to hire bodyguards," I said.

Stan chuckled.

"With your father on the loose," said Stan, "I would not be surprised if you hired an entire army."

"My dad was waving a knife in front of my face," I said, "I was not too happy about that."

Stan's eyes grew big. He was not too happy that my father had threatened me. Stan could not disguise his fear concerning my father's warning. The big man swallowed hard and touched his neck. Like me, there was a chill running down his spine, too.

"Did he stab you or cut you?" asked Stan.

"No," I said, "But that was his plan until I told him my plan."

"Does he know about the deal you made with Acme Athletic Company?" asked Stan.

"Yes," I said.

"Was he concerned that you would get that money from the Acme Athletic Company?" asked Stan.

"No," I said, "My dad was more concerned about paying off the mortgages on the apartment complexes."

"Your father wants to know if there would be anything left when he got out of prison," said Stan.

"You are correct," I said.

Stan rolled his eyes. My father was not concerned about anyone except for himself, and we were not surprised about this fact.

"You need to be careful," said Stan, "Your father is still on the loose."

I nodded my head. I did not want to tell him about what happened at the hospital. Maybe it was all a dream. My father's body was never found by the police. I guess Betty's criminal contacts were good at disposing bodies. On the other hand, my father was not very nice to people. Betty could have turned my father over to other people who wanted him dead. Whatever the case, I did not want Stan involved. The less he knew, the better he was.