by Doug Kelly
“Pete’s eyes grew wide. “Hold it, lady. You better put that down. I don’t need any attention over here.”
“You don’t want to trade for it?”
“That’s not the problem.” Pete hastily looked around to see if anyone had noticed her jewelry, then he whispered, “You need to hide something like that.”
It was too late. The crowd had seen the glint of gold. A man from Sam’s militia stepped forward like a shark that had sensed blood in the water.
“Pete,” said the man with a disapproving tone.
He wore a dark leather jacket and pulled it open for everyone to see his holstered pistol. His hair was long and red. His sunken eyes sat close together under what appeared to be one long, thick eyebrow. Pete recognized the man and knew him simply as Red. Pete did not know if the nickname was due to his hair color or his reputation for dispensing cruelty and brutality.
“Red, I’m trying to do business here,” Pete replied.
“Pete, how come I get the idea that you’ve been holding out?”
“Don’t lean on me like this. It’s bad for business. You’re going to scare people away.”
“No, this is bad for business,” Red remarked, as he lunged toward Mary.
Mary, shocked at the man’s bold approach, had not hidden the necklace. It still dangled in her grip, and Red quickly snatched it. She gasped.
“Give that back!” she cried out.
“Shut up, bitch. You don’t know who you’re talking to.”
Red did not notice Brad circling around behind him.
“Leave her alone!” Brad warned.
Red turned and sneered at the boy. “You need to back off, if you know what’s good for you.”
“That necklace is mine. You stole it from me!”
“Give it back to her!” exclaimed Brad.
Red turned and sneered at the boy again. “I’m going to teach you a lesson that you won’t forget. Now get!”
“Leave him alone,” pleaded Mary. “Just give me back my necklace, please.”
Red pulled up his right sleeve and showed her his tattoo of the number thirteen on his forearm. “I own you, bitch.”
Red yelped when he felt the incredible sting of Brad’s bow striking his thigh. He spun around quickly and tried to hit the boy, but Brad swiftly dodged him. Red sprang toward him again, and Brad fell backward onto the black asphalt parking lot. The back of his head hit the pavement. He was dizzy, lying on his back and still clutching the bow with his left hand.
Enraged, Red straddled the boy and glared at him with wild eyes. Mary screamed when he put his hand on his pistol. Brad blinked and tried to focus his vision. Red removed the pistol from its holster, and the crowd began to recede. Mary screamed for help. He pointed the pistol directly at Brad’s head and racked the slide. Hearing the crowd gasp, he looked back at Mary and saw her kneeling on the ground and begging for mercy. Red took a step back as she bowed her head in submission, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Then suddenly, Red violently stomped on Brad’s left hand, the hand holding the bow, and said, “There, I taught you a lesson.” Under his boot, Red had felt the bones break. He holstered his pistol and disappeared into the crowd.
Mary saw it happen, and it felt like a train hit her when she heard the young boy scream. She rushed to him, and Pete did, too. Pete helped her get Brad into the bike trailer, and then she peddled home as quickly as she could. Brad screamed in pain all the way. While going past Jim’s house, she saw Joel talking to Jim in the front yard. She yelled for help. As she rode onto the driveway, Joel ran toward her and saw Brad’s crushed hand. Although he had seen things like this many times, it was different now. This time, the injured was not only someone he knew, but also an innocent child.
“What happened?” Joel gasped.
Mary, trying to speak as she cried, did her best to answer. She told them everything that had happened at the bartering lot.
“Jim, go get Dylan. Tell him what happened, and I’ll get Brad inside.”
Jim jumped into Tom’s old truck and sped away, grinding the gears during his hasty departure.
When Dylan returned, he was visibly pale, quiet, and in a state of emotional shock. Joel met him at the door.
“Dylan, I’m so sorry,” said Joel.
“Don’t feel sorry, just help him.”
When Joel walked back into Brad’s bedroom, Dylan, still in the foyer, turned to look into the living room and noticed Mary sitting on the couch, face buried deep in her hands. Consoling her, Kevin was at her side. As she looked up, Dylan continued to stare. She mouthed the words, “I’m so sorry,” to him and then turned away. Dylan shook his head and walked toward his son’s room. Joel was standing in the doorway.
“I think I can try to fix it,” said Joel. “I can make a splint and wrap his hand, but—”
“But what?”
“I’ll have to set the bones first, and you don’t want to be here when I do that.” Joel stepped away from the door and spoke more quietly. “I’m saying this as a father. When I set the bones in his hand, your son is going to scream. Believe me; you don’t want to hear that. It’s hard enough when it’s a child, but when it’s your own, well, you shouldn’t be here. His screams will haunt your nightmares forever.” Joel put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Do I have your permission?”
“You do what you have to do. I already know what I have to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Kill somebody. No votes this time.”
“Don’t go back there.”
“Nothing is going to stop me.”
Dylan noticed Joel’s first-aid kit and bag of medical supplies in the doorway. He opened the bag and shuffled the contents. Dylan saw an arm sling and removed it.
“I’m taking this with me.”
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t have time to explain, but I have an idea how I’m going to do it.”
Dylan went into the master bedroom. He opened his sock drawer and fished out the gold coins that the delirious old man from the bartering lot had dropped when he abandoned the goats.
Dylan found Kevin still sitting with his wife, still consoling her. “Kevin, you’re coming with me. Meet me in the garage.”
In the garage, Dylan put the sling on his left arm and hid his knife inside, concealing it behind his forearm. Kevin entered the garage, and Dylan explained his plan. He would go back to Pete’s tables and drop the gold coins to attract the man who had hurt his son. Kevin would take the rifle and stay back to cover him. Kevin felt guilty about his wife’s actions and immediately agreed to help.
Kevin parked the truck a block away from the bartering lot. Walking toward the lot, they split apart. Dylan went to Pete’s area and saw him alone behind his tables. Junior was wandering in the crowd. Due to the recent disturbance, the crowd kept a distance from Pete’s tables. They did not want any undue attention from Sam’s militia. Dylan stood next to a wooden table, not acknowledging Pete’s presence. Pete looked at the man and tested his memory. He thought he might know him, but after witnessing so many people come and go, he was not sure.
Pete looked at Dylan’s sling and said, “I don’t have any medicine, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for.” Dylan dropped a gold coin on the table.
“Hold on now.” Pete waved his arms dramatically. “I don’t need that kind of attention around here. Put that back in your pocket and go, just leave, if you know what’s good for you.”
Dylan dropped another coin on the table. The crowd saw it, and whispers of gold coins spread like wildfire. From a safe distance, close but concealed, Kevin watched the crowd for fiery-red hair. Dylan dropped coin after coin on the table as his eyes swept the crowd. Pete finally recognized Dylan.
“Hey, I remember you. That was your boy here earlier, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was,” Dylan replied, still watching the crowd. “I expect you know what this is all about.”
Pete stopped speaking when he saw the crowd part. Red was back, smelling blood in the water again. Kevin also saw him approach and saw that he had two friends with him. Red’s two comrades stayed back, but just inside the crowd’s edge. Kevin casually walked up behind those two men.
Red confidently advanced toward the wooden table, took a close look at the coins, and smiled. He looked at Dylan and considered him a cripple.
“Business is good for you today, isn’t it, Pete?” asked Red. “So, tell me, what kind of stuff are you moving? Anything we need to know about?”
As Pete answered, his right hand casually brushed across the outside of his hip pocket, hoping to find relief in the bulging outline of a pistol in his overalls. “Nothing’s going on here.” Pete’s pocket was empty, and he was defenseless. He stepped back and raised his hands, yielding to the man’s authority.
Dylan was in arm’s reach of Red. At that moment, Dylan wanted to grab him and strangle him to death, but a quick glance at the crowd revealed Kevin. After they made eye contact, Kevin tilted his head in the direction of the two men in front of him. Dylan understood the nod and nodded back.
Red pulled up his right sleeve to expose the tattoo of the number thirteen on his forearm. Rage immediately flashed through Dylan’s body.
“No,” Red snapped. “It looks like something is going on, and I’m going to take our cut right now.”
Dylan already had his hand on the knife’s handle by the time Red extended his fingers over the gold coins. When Red’s right hand was close to the table, Dylan quickly pulled the knife out of the sling and thrust it directly into the back of Red’s hand. The sharp tip of the blade pierced the hand, sank deeply into the tabletop, and pinned his hand to it. Red reeled back, shocked at the unexpected attack. Pain radiated from his hand. Screaming now, Red tried to pull his hand away as he stumbled backward. His immovable hand made the table tip and fall with him. Dylan flung the fake sling from his arm.
The two men in front of Kevin darted toward their fallen companion. Kevin pounced forward and, with rifle raised high, commanded them to their knees.
Dylan pulled his knife from the upset table and twisted the blade, wounding Red’s hand even more as he did. He kicked away the table. Holding his knife with his right hand, Dylan put his left hand forward and jumped on Red’s torso, knees first. He squeezed Red’s throat. Red’s useless right hand, not much more than a flipper now, left him with only one hand for defense. He used it to hit Dylan. Then Red changed course and clawed at the hand that had started gripping his throat more tightly, choking him. Red’s face turned purple as he tried to gasp for air. After a brief struggle, he stopped fighting back. Dylan released his chokehold, wanting Red conscious for what came next. Dylan put the tip of his knife over the man’s heart and rested it in the valley of two ribs. Leaning forward, Dylan put downward pressure on the knife’s handle, and it began to sink into Red’s flesh. As the knife went deeper, Dylan whispered into Red’s ear, “Now I’m going to teach you a lesson.” The pain brought the man back to consciousness, and he began to scream. When Dylan plunged the knife as far as it would go, the screams abruptly stopped. The blade had found Red’s heart. The freshly severed cardiac muscle began to fibrillate, spasmodically vibrating the knife handle protruding from the dying man’s chest. Blood pooled around Red’s torso until the heart stopped quivering. After it did, Dylan removed the knife and found Mary’s little golden crucifix necklace in Red’s jacket pocket. Dylan saw the pistol holstered to the man’s belt. After cutting the leather belt and removing Red’s pistol, Dylan clipped the holster to his own belt. He stood in front of the two remaining men who knelt on the asphalt. His grip flexed angrily on the bloody knife’s handle as he breathed hard and stared at the two. He wiped the blade on the closest man’s shirt.
The man looked at the blood Dylan had smeared on him, and then he looked at his fallen companion’s corpse and boldly said, “Sam is going to make you bleed for this.”
Dylan slashed the left side of the man’s face and hissed, “You first.” Then he defiantly said, “Tell Sam that I’m looking for him.”
The painful sting of Dylan’s knife had bent the bold man over. Dylan wiped his blade once more, this time on the back of the man’s shirt. Dylan and Kevin took the men’s pistols, and the crowd parted for them as they walked away.
The bold man, disarmed and dishonored, stood up. After tasting the blood dripping from his cheek, he slowly walked over to Pete.
“Pete, you need to come with us. Sam will want to talk with you.”
After taking Pete to the food warehouse and after the two soldiers debriefed Sam Deville on what Dylan had done at the bartering lot, Sam ordered them to remove Pete’s handcuffs and bring him upstairs to the office. They went down the metal staircase outside of Sam’s door to get Pete. They released Pete’s handcuffed wrists from the metal handrail of the stairs and escorted him up the steps. As they entered Sam’s office, Sam gestured for Pete to stay against the wall. Before the two men could get close to the chairs in front of Sam’s desk, he ordered them to summon Michael and John there, too. While they waited for Michael and John to ascend the metal stairs, Sam stacked the gold coins that Dylan had left at the bartering lot on his desk. He leaned back in his reclining leather chair and stared at Pete during the awkward silence. Michael and John came through the doorway, and Sam nodded his head to the right as a signal for Michael and John to stand to the side. The two soldiers took seats in front of Sam’s desk.
Sam, wearing a skeptical expression on his face, was ready to interrogate his two soldiers, and said, “So, a man—”
“Two men,” interjected the bold scar-faced soldier. He sank into his seat when he saw the expression change on Sam’s face.
“Never ever interrupt me, ever, again.”
Both soldiers sitting in front of Sam looked down at their feet.
“So, two men killed Red, incapacitated both of you, and took all three of your weapons. Is that about right?” Sam paused, but did not expect an answer. “And please tell me again who this man is that said he is looking for me?”
The bolder man’s comrade sheepishly turned his head and gave Pete a sideways glance.
Pete caught the look and quickly responded. “His name is Dylan, but I don’t know him.”
Michael and John scowled at the name, and Sam noticed their reactions. Both of them despised the man. Sam turned his glare at Pete. He regarded him as stupid and unthreatening.
“So, Pete,” Sam said sarcastically. “You know who he is, but you don’t know who he is. Does that sound right to you?”
“We traded handshakes, but I don’t know him. I see a lot of people, but I don’t know ‘em all.”
“I think you were trading more than handshakes,” stated Sam. “What was he trying to get you to sell for him?”
“No, no, no,” said Pete, as he flailed his hand in front of himself. “He was asking about liquor, moonshine, but I told him that lot was yours. He moved on.”
“That so?”
Pete nodded eagerly, and then Sam told Pete to wait outside the door and close it behind him.
Sunk deep in their chairs, the two men seated in front of Sam were at the receiving end of his cold stare. Sam wrapped his fingers lightly around the stack of gold coins on his desk. He picked up the column of coins and then let the coins fall back to the table individually, making a new column in the process.
“Let’s play a game,” announced Sam.
The two men raised their stares from their feet and suspiciously looked at Sam. Sam smiled mischievously at them.
“Alright, then,” said Sam, as he grabbed three of the gold coins. “Hold out your hands.” He gave a coin to each man and took one for himself. “We are going to flip for the coins. If you win, you get to keep them. Are you with me so far?” Both men nodded. “We’re going to do this fast and at t
he same time. Still with me?” Both men nodded again. “As soon as I call it, flip your coins onto the backs of your hands. Ready?” They nodded for the third time, eager to win. Sam raised his eyebrows and quickly said, “Heads I win, tails you lose.” The two men flipped the coins into the air and caught them on the backs of their hands with a slap of their palms. In the moment just after they realized the trickery of Sam’s wording, Sam quickly pulled a pistol from his top drawer and said, “You see, I always win.” He then shot each man once in the chest and slammed his pistol on top of the desk.
Pete was outside of the double doors to Sam’s office. Each door had a large window, and Pete saw what Sam had just done. Through the glass, Sam gestured for Pete to come back in. With a shaky hand, Pete opened a door and stepped back into the room.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Sam said sadistically. “I’d offer you a seat, but…”
Pete looked down, afraid to make eye contact with his interrogator.
Sam shifted his attention to Michael and John.
“You two. Get over here,” ordered Sam.
They hesitated.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to flip any coins with you just yet.” He sniffed the barrel of the pistol and placed it back into the top drawer. Michael and John relaxed.
“It looks like this Dylan character isn’t going to work out. We need to do something about him.” He looked past the two corpses in front of him, out the door of his office, and focused briefly on the far wall of the warehouse.
“I can’t have somebody going around killing my men and telling people he’s looking for me.” Sam shook his head. “Looking for me.” He clenched his teeth and fists and looked at Michael and John. “And if you two can’t take care of this problem, then I’ll have to do it.” Sam relaxed his hands and put them flat on top of the desk. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before sighing loudly as he exhaled. As he opened his eyes, Sam slightly inclined his head to the side, and turned toward Pete. Sam glared at Pete. The scowl frightened him.
