Heart of the Dragon

When I took the assignment to interview Rico Mendoza, I didn’t have a clue that the interview would take place on the last day of his life.  I have been a reporter for the Charlotte Observer for over ten years.  Recently, I was promoted to the main source of legal matters including capital punishment cases. While this may sound exciting and engaging, the reality of sitting in a courtroom day after day isn’t really a picnic, if you ask me.  

Rico was sitting on Death Row in the Central Federal Prison in Raleigh for multiple murders that began when he was wandering the streets of Los Angeles since he was twelve-years-old.  In the timeframe of twenty years, he had been convicted of over fifteen murders including his own mother.  When the LAPD started putting on some heat, Rico landed in Durham near the university where he continued his killing streak until he was finally apprehended and convicted.  Despite the legal insanity plea his defense attorney presented in his trial, Rico was given his death sentence and transported to Raleigh.

“Ken, you will be given a rental and an expense account for room and meals while you’re up there.” Nolan Gruenning, the chief editor of the paper and my boss, explained, “Now Rico Mendoza is scheduled to be executed tomorrow around seven in the evening.  What makes this story so big is he will be the first person to be executed since 2006.  Lethal injection. Now the administration at Central is a bit leery of using that substance since Arizona had some problems with one of their prisoners.”

“What kind of problem?” I asked.

“It took him over two hours to die.” Nolan glanced over at Sal Vindaggo who was my immediate supervisor.

“Geese.” I uttered under my breath. 

“Yeah and another things you should be aware of.” Sal tapped his foot on the carpeted floor, “Rico is a tough nut.  Be careful what you say.  Now the guards will be watching you every second, but still, Rico is considered dangerous even when he’s not armed.  I doubt he will try anything, but you never know.  He nearly strangled a guard at the facility with his shower towel when the guard made the mistake of turning his back on Mendoza.” 

“You won’t have to supervise him during shower time.” Nolan smiled as he glanced at Sal, “But fair warning.” 

“I got it.” I nodded. “When do I leave?”

“Now would be good.” Ken glanced at Sal again.

“This could be big for you, Ken.” Sal smiled which was rare for him, “You might win an award.  The public is very interested in the man who will go to the Death House for the first time in over seventeen years.” 

“Ken Plaiton.” I showed the guard my press badge upon entering Central.  There is no way to sugar-coat the interior of the prison as it is all cement and iron bars with strict security. 

“My name is Officer Manny Blanco.” A rather large man in a blue uniform greeted me at the gate, “I will be your escort while you are here.” 

“Ken.  Ken Plaiton.” I shook his bear claw of a hand as I walked in his immense shadow. 

“Up from Charlotte?” He asked as he walked in a brisk pace through the hallways of the prison. 

“Yeah.”

“So, how are the Panthers looking?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Not so good.” 

“Yeah, I’ve lost a lot of money this year.” He shook his head. “You will be in this room.” 

The heavy door opened with the click of his key. He glanced at me, “Make yourself comfortable while we get Rico.  He’s a hard dude to get along with, so we will be close by.” 

“Reassuring.” I waved as he continued on.  There was only a foldable table with two chairs inside the stark room.  I sat down in one of the chairs.  I noticed there was a door in the wall facing me. The door opened and a man in an orange jumpsuit entered between two armed guards.

“They told me I was gonna be talking to a brother.” He shook his head as one of the guards escorted him to the other chair at the table.  When he sat, his smile widened.  His skin was dark olive and his black hair was combed straight back smelling heavily of Brylcreem. “You’re just a white dude.  What’s up compadre? What are you here for?”

“I’m here to interview you.” I made sure to speak up so he could hear me.  In the press release it said that Rico was a bit hard of hearing.

“You don’t have to shout, amigo.” He laughed, “I ain’t deaf.” 

“Funny, it said you were hard of hearing.” 

“Don’t you get funny with me.” He pointed his index finger at me like a weapon. “I ain’t gonna take your shit, you got that Yankee?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” I removed my pad from my briefcase.

“Listen to me, Hermano, tomorrow after dinner, I will be walking into that room where some banda is gonna put a needle in my vein.  I only gots today and tomorrow and I won’t have no disrespect.” 

“I will do my best.” I swallowed hard as I now understood what Sal had warned me about.

“I killed my madre when I was twelve years old.” He smiled, but there was no joy in his facial expression. “Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Cause she was getting dunero for pulling tricks. I used my knife on the guero too, but he got away before I could do any damage. But for my madre, well I slit her throat.  She tried to speak, but all she could do was gurgle her own blood.”

I began writing down what he was saying.

“Amigo, you don’t have to do that.” He laughed, “It’s already in the newspapers.  What hick newspaper you with?” 

“I’m with the Charlotte Observer.” 

He considered this for a moment, “They senchu all the way up here for little old me?” 

“You are scheduled to be the first to be executed since 2006.” 

“Wow, I had no idea.” He put his hand to his chin, “I hope the bulls let me put on my Sunday best for the honor.” 

He shook his head as he was consumed in a fit of laughter.

“You know my defense attorney was whiter than you.” He quit laughing as he spoke. “He did all this to convince the jury to let me go on the account I am a lunatic.  Do I look crazy to you?” 

“I am not a psychiatrist.” I shrugged.

“I ain’t loco.” He said with a bit more sobriety in his tone, “I do what I do, because I belong to the dragon.  I have the corison of the dragon.  It’s right here on my arm.” 

There was a tattoo on his upper arm of a dragon with wings and fire coming out its mouth.

“Do you know where the heart of a dragon comes from?” He leaned back in his chair, glancing at the two guards standing next to him.

“No, I don't.” 

“The devil.  El Diablo.” He chuckled, “I know I will meet him after they release me from this life.” 

“Why are you so ready to die?” 

“Hmm, why am I not afraid to die?” His dark eyes scanned the ceiling above. “Maybe because I have never been welcome in this life.  I have been treated like I do not belong.  And I never go where I am not welcomed.”  

His eyes refocused on me and a smile reappeared, but once again his smile did not express what he was feeling inside. He glanced at the guard and the guard nodded.  The guard pulled out a pack of cigarettes and gave one to Rico.  The other guard pulled out a Bic lighter and lit the cigarette.  A cloud of smoke made Rico disappear for a moment.  His shackled hand reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips. 

“Gracias.” He nodded to each guard.  He took another puff, “You see senor, I am not concerned with the health hazards of smoking.” 

“When did you come to North Carolina?” I asked as another cloud of smoke covered him.

“When the police figured out I had killed my madre.” He spoke as he clenched the cigarette in his stained teeth. “Of course by then I had murder a couple more chompiras.  Since I was handy with my knife, it became my weapon of choice.  Do you know why?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Because it is quiet, not like a gun which makes a very loud noise.” He stomped out his cigarette on the cement floor under the heel of his heavy shoe. “When I kill, I wanted to be close to my victim. I wanted to share his or her experience.  It was so silent.  So peaceful.”  

“Did you ever kill for sex?” 

“Rape and murder?  Non, non, non, it is forbidden in the heart of the dragon.” He gave me a half shrug, “Do you know who the heart of the dragon came from?”

His one laser-like eye was staring at me as he spoke.

“Mythology, I assume.” 

“Non, non, senor.” He shook his head slowly, “It was the creature Dracula worshiped.  His name means dragon in Romanian.  He was known as Vlad the Impaler.  Ate his lunch as he watched victims slide the spikes he impaled them with.  Many I’ve cried out for mercy, but he just laughed as the life was sucked out of them for his entertainment.” 

“I am familiar with the legends.” I shook my head as my stomach turned.  

“These are not legends, amigo.” He snapped at me, “These are what I was in a previous existence.  I do not believe I was Vlad, but I know I hunted with other vampires. I was one of them.”

“So, you believe in reincarnation?” I shrugged.

“There are a lot of things I believe in.” He leaned closer to me, but I saw both guards take a step toward Rico.  Seeing them, he slid back into his chair and presented me with another smile, “I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.  It was not my intention.” 

“Alright, did you ever drink the blood of your victims?”

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” He laughed, “I find such practices repulsive now.” 

“Have you ever drank the blood of someone you killed?” 

He presented me with a half-smile, “What do you think?  Tell me honestly.”

“I have heard that you did.” 

“Only when I was stalking the streets of North Hollywood.  The people I encountered there were phonies.” He scoffed.

“Sounds like you were buddies with Holden Caulfield.” I allowed myself the luxury of a smile.

“We might’ve hung together as compadres.” He laughed. “You see, back there I went to a lot of parties. They were so naive.  All of them. Some of them suggested I drink their blood as I dispatched them.  One of them asked why I was killing who I was killing.  I did not have time to explain.  I could have killed them all, but I am selective.”

“If you had your chance, would you kill me?” I asked.

“Nine times out of ten, no, I would not.” He seemed quite amused by my question. 

“Why not?” 

This question really silenced him for a moment.

“I have a certain…type.” He chose his words carefully, “You are not my type.” 

“It brings me some comfort to hear you say that.” I shook my head.

“You see, I choose my victims carefully.” A smile flashed across his face and vanished. 

“What about Addie Townsend?” 

“Why on earth are you bringing her up?” I could see from the fire in his eyes, this was a sore subject.  One of the guards took a step toward him.

“She was your last victim, wasn’t she?” 

He sat  there with his arms crossed over his chest, his head turned to one side away from me.

“She was able to get the police to come once I had finished her.” There was suddenly a deep somber tone to his voice. “They got there before I could flee.” 

He sat there for a moment in silence.  

“I wish you had not brought her up.” He scowled.

“She was a college student out walking the campus with her friends.”

“And they fled as soon as I appeared.” He said in a quick cadence. 

“Sure, sure.” I felt as if for the first time I had gained an edge in my interview. “You told her that you were sent by the devil.” 

“It’s the truth.” He slammed his fist on the table.  One of the officers glanced at him. 

“Is it?” I mused.

“I’ve shown you the tattoo and told you where it came from.” His breathing was suddenly heavy and labored.  “This interview is over.” 

“Is it?  I have more questions I’d like to ask you.” 

“I have no intention of answering you.” He sat up straight in his chair with the defiant expression of a spoiled child etched into his face. 

“What about your father?” 

“We only had brief contact.” He looked the other way.

“What was he like?” 

“A bastard and a fool.” He shot back. “He was an entertainer who never quite made it in that Tinseltown place. In the end he drank himself to death.”

“Did he?  Or did you kill him, too?”

“Huerta Jimenez was too wretched to kill.  Whatever God willed was good enough for me.” He shook his head, “He called me his bastard son.  He knew I hated it, but he kept calling me that.” 

“Seems to me, your own history weighs you down like an anchor.” I pushed against the table as a signal that the interview was over.  I felt as if I had been soiled listening to him answer the questions.  

“Are you leaving me, amigo?” He asked.

“Unless there is something you’d like to add.” I shrugged and glanced at the guards who had stayed as still as statues through most of the interview.  I felt safe with both of them in the room.  Their silent presence was a comfort to me as I sat in the room with Rico Mendoza.  Born and raised in Southern California, he knew his life would not be worth the execution he would receive tomorrow in only a few rooms down the hallway.

My own views were against capital punishment, but there were those souls whose lifelong misery could only be solved by a needle in the arm.  As I walked out with an escort, I could not help feeling sorry for him.

“One more thing, amigo.” He said as I was about to leave the room, “You will remember me tomorrow at 7 pm knowing that I will meet my maker. He will take one look at me and tell me to go to Hell.”

His laugh would echo in my ear as I walked out.  

“So Ken, what did you think?” Nolan asked when I walked into his office the next day.

“I don’t ever wish to do anything like that again.” I handed him my voucher, an itemized list of my expenses.  He did not show any expression when he scanned it. 

“He was a tough nut to crack.” Nolan looked at his watch. “Five minutes ago they administered the syringe.  Rico Mendoza is no longer.” 

“Are you going to print my interview?” I asked before leaving his office.

“Are you kidding?  The first man executed in this state in over fifteen years?  You bet I am.  Front page.” He promised. 

I wished I could say that this made me happy.  In my time at the Observer, I rarely had an article appear on the front page, but my mind could not clear itself of the heavy burden I left with, knowing that the Heart of the Dragon was gone.  Where he lingered now was anybody’s guess.