The Seven Deadly Seasons
Chapter Four - The Storm Lifts
Slade Gangrene, from All Star baseball playing hero to No Star serial killing zero.
"We know you're in here Slade!" Dirk shouted nervously. "You might as well give up and we'll end things peacefully so you can be taken to the penitentiary and be given a lethal injection."
There was a really eerie clang from somewhere inside the dank bowels of the asylum and Dirk fumbled for his radio.
"Copperhead this is Papa Doc, come in. Over." Dirk whispered into the walkie-talkie.
"Papa Doc this is Copperhead, I read you five by five. Over." Came Biff's hushed reply.
"Is the pheasant in the magical cave?" Dirk asked.
"Papa Doc, please repeat, I'm not sure what you mean. Over." Biff was a rookie and didn't understand the homicide squad secret radio codes.
"Damn it all Newly, check in your homicide code book. It should be in the rectangular pouch on your homicide utility built."
Dirk reached a large octagonal room covered in the same graffiti as the rest of the asylum. It was probably some sort of crazyman recreation center back when the asylum was in use, or if this was actually all an elaborate movie set it may have housed the craft services table. Suddenly there was a thump to Dirk's left and he whirled, bringing his flashlight that I forgot to mention earlier to bare on the shadowy corridor from which the sound had emerged. He edged cautiously forward, ready to fire at the first sight of Slade. A bell ringing sounded nearby in a doorway and Dirk turned quickly and fired, startling a goat which had been hiding in the corridor. Then dozens of bats swarmed out nearly knocking him over. He laughed at the high comedy of thinking that a goat and several dozen bats were actually a serial killer.
Suddenly again there was another loud thump, but this time it was followed by a stifled cry and instead of coming from a nearby corridor it came over the walkie-talkie. Dirk fumbled for the unit and thumbed the send button.
"Copperhead this is Papa Doc, what's your status?" Static greeted his question.
"Copperhead come in!" More static, then a hideous laugh he recognized from the televised 1999 All Star game.
"Slade Gangrene!" Dirk remarked rhetorically.
"Do you really want to hurt me?" Asked Slade with an evil titter.
"No Slade, we just want to get you some help." Replied Dirk.
"Do you really want to make me cry?"
"No, look Slade, if you just give yourself up this can all be over and we can go home." Dirk explained carefully.
"Precious kisses words that burn me. Lovers never ask you why."
"Well, I appreciate that you think I'm attractive Slade, but I can't say I swing your way. No matter what the vice squad boys might tell you. I mean, if I did you would be the first guy I would fall for, but think about it. A serial killer and a homicide cop, our relationship would be doomed from the start."
"Yes! Doomed, detective." Slade hissed with a really totally evil voice. "Doomed like your pitiful partner here is and like you soon will be."
"Nooooooooooo!" Dirk screamed.
Then Slade started laughing and pressing the "signal" button that makes that high pitched squeal sound over and over again, forcing Dirk to turn the walkie-talkie off. It didn't take long before Dirk found them, just a montage of him searching through the asylum that only lasted about twenty seconds and was followed by a horizontal wipe that coincided with a moving dolly shot from behind a black wall.
"There's no point in fighting Slade, you're surrounded." Dirk tried to bluff.
Slade held the tied-up Biff in a headlock with the detective's pistol pressed against his temple.
"Shoot him Dirk, he'll kill us both!" Shouted Biff heroically.
Slade started to give some speech about how Dirk might as well give up and Slade was the serpent and some other evil stuff, but Dirk never was one for letting villains get away with self-aggrandizing monologues. He seized the opportunity to shoot Slade though the eye and in that one violent moment ended the second darkest incident in baseball history. The first darkest incident was when Ty Cobb was allowed to have his negro slave pinch-hit for him when he was tired and needed to nap late in a game. If the slave struck out the umpire was authorized by George Washington to shoot him with a musket and replace him with a stereotypical Indian.