by Avelyn Paige
Taking either side of the back-patio door, I peer in through the blinds, and see no one in the vicinity of the room. Taking my gloved hand, I try the lock, and it pops open.
Dumbass should’ve known to lock the doors, when he’s doing illegal as fuck shit. Apparently, no one taught him protection skills or he’s just that fucking cocky.
I nod to Slider, who readies his weapon. I quietly shove open the door and step inside, gun drawn. Slider follows directly behind me, and mimics my every step.
The room is quiet, and it reassures me that there isn’t a guard dog that is about to tear my face off. Slider scans the room, and at this point, our risk taking is about to go up another notch of crazy. Voodoo was able to secure the house layout, from the general contractor plans that were provided to the zoning board for the building contract. It was just another reason why I owe that guy big time when I get back. The hall directly in front of us is diverged into two sections of the house. Slider steps forward into the hall, and waves me on that the coast is clear. I wave back, and we separate. My piece of the hall is nothing, but a series of closed rooms one after another. The first room on my left grabs my attention when I see a large padlock panel on the outside of it. Without even having to look, I know this is Asher’s room. His forlorn look of dread, when he saw this man, makes more sense now than ever before. He was a prisoner here just as his sister was in her jail cell. The same man being responsible for both deeds.
A growl of anger tightly coils inside of my stomach, but I force it down.
Save the rage for him. He is about to get everything he deserves.
I clear another set of rooms, before I finally hear signs of life coming from the one at the far end. A muffled voice comes from the crack in the room at the end of the hallway. I peek inside, and see my target. Ronald Boatman is seated at a large desk with his ear plastered to a phone. His face is filled with irritated anger as he begins to scream at the person on the other end of the line.
“I am trying to get you your money. I just hit a snag is all,” he bellows. His hand rubs his brow as he listens to the response of the other person on the line.
“I promise this is the last delay. I didn’t expect her to actually go through with the filing. Once she’s convicted, the heat will be off the boy, and we can take care of the situation.”
There is coldness of his voice, as he talks about his daughter and likely his own son is unfathomable. There is no caring, no concern, and no love present in anything that he is saying for two people who share a piece of him. The lack of any emotion towards his kids is sickening as fuck.
Every word that comes out of his mouth, enrages me even more. Its fucking torture listening to him speak, while waiting in this hallway. I want to jump in there and end it now, but the caller might just call back or show up. Something that I can’t have, until we’re done here.
I lie in wait like a predator, until he gives me what I need. He dismisses the person on the other line, and tosses the phone down on his desk. I watch as his head falls back, and his eyes close.
I slowly push open the door, staying as silent as I can. It isn’t until the door creaks that he’s aware he’s not alone. He jumps in his desk chair, scrambling to leave it.
“Don’t move, motherfucker,” I order with my gun trained on the center of his forehead. “You shift and I shoot.”
His hands come up into the air, in a show of surrender. His eyes flicker to the phone on his desk, and I can already see the wheels turning in his head. He starts to lower his hands to going towards his one lifeline in the house. In a few short strides, I reach his desk, before he can make it, and snatch up his phone in my gloved hands. I slide it into my back pocket, and end his plan dead in its tracks.
“What do you want?” he mutters. “Money? My car? Take it!”
“I’m not here for your money, Ronald. I’m here for much different reasons.”
I can visibly see him shaking as he tries to decide my motives. It isn’t until he focuses on my face that I finally see the recognition, that I have been waiting for. I don’t want to hide behind a mask of fear. I want this asshole to feel everything that I do to him. Maybe then he’ll realize an ounce of the pain that he’s caused my wife. His narrow gaze and furrowed brow form in realization.
Go ahead, motherfucker. Try to posture yourself up to me. No angry glare is going to save you from this. You sealed your fate. Not even the devil himself can recall the contract on your life.
“You,” he announces. “You’re her fucking pimp.”
“Pimp?” I laugh. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“If you think this scare tactic will get me to help get her out, you’re delusional. She deserves to be in there.”
The rage stored inside of me unleashes. I round the desk, hitting him twice directly to his temple. He cries out with each strike, and blood begins to pour from the cut over his eye. Boatman slumps in his chair as I hear a heavy set of dragging footsteps coming down the hall. Slider’s face comes around the corner, his gun drawn.
“Rest of the house is clear, Ratchet.”
“Good. Get over here and keep your gun on him. The fun is about to begin.”
The man I tower over looks up to me with a flash of fear is in his eyes. I turn back to Slider and nod. Pulling a few wire ties from my pocket that I had stashed away, I bind his wrists tightly to his chair. He will not escape his fate.
“Will a thousand dollars help end this now? I can get that for you in less than an hour. If it’s money that you need, just let me help you, and this can all be over.”
“Are you trying to bribe me? And how could you help, Ronald? Are you going to admit to me that you were the one who planted the drugs? Because that’s the thing that you can help me with.” I bait him. He remains silent. I shake my head at him, and spin his chair to face me. The smell of piss wafts toward my face. What a fucking pussy. Two headshots and he’s already pissed himself. How could someone like him take the life of his son?
Come on, motherfucker. Give me part of what I came here for. Squeal little piggy.
“I’m waiting, Ronnie,” I bellow, drawing the knife out that’s strapped to my leg and placing it against his throat. He gasps for air when I appeal just the tiniest bit of pressure on the blade. “Tick tock.”
“Yes,” he gurgles. “It was me. I planted the drugs.”
“Good boy,” I goad him, while I remove the knife from his throat and pat his head like a dog.
“I’ll kill you,” Ronald seethes. “You will fucking die.”
“Let’s make a deal,” he pleas while jerking against his restraints. “You want her out? I can do that.”
“A deal? Just like the deal you had with the mother of your children?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffs.
“Lying to me isn’t going to save you. I know all about the bank account and the life insurance policy. Killing your charge and what I can only guess is your son over money. How fucking pathetic.”
“I didn’t want to do it. It was all her idea.”
“While that may be true, here you sit preparing to finish what she started.”
He starts to utter yet another excuse, but I cut him off when I plunge the knife into his leg. He screams out in pain, and the sound brings a smile to my face.
“What did I tell you about lying to me?”
I sit on his desk, and observe the gushing trail of blood streaking down his piss stained pants. He squirms against the metal buried in his flesh, only deepening the wound further.
“Try again. The truth this time if you please.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he calls out with tremors of panic and fear lacing his voice.
That’s it. Fight me more. It will only make this last longer.
He cries out in pain, and feigns ignorance again. My hand wraps around the hilt of the knife, yanking it from his leg. He watches me spin the blood-covered blade
in my hand, before I repeat the action into his other thigh. Thick streams of blood now run down both of his legs. His eyes tell me that he’s finally getting the gist of why I am here, when he starts to flicker his gaze between Slider and I looking for a way out. He is in deep shit without a canoe or paddle to get himself out of it.
With what I have in mind, I have to keep my knife as far away from his bones as I can. The way I have envisioned his death in my mind over the last few days only end one way. My way. Striking the bone would leave evidence behind, so I stick with the meaty flesh to do my damage.
“Tell me, Boatman. Tell me why do you want to kill your son.”
He spits at me, and tries to wrench his arms free again. The wire ties dig into his flesh, drawing more blood from his body. With the way things are currently going, he’ll die from blood loss, before I get the chance to kill him myself.
Even as his instincts call for him to fight, I can see his will to keep on going ebb. His continued silence irritates me more.
I rear back, and pound into this face and stomach in quick succession. The impacts are clearly making him dizzy and incoherent even more.
“Tell me why,” I order him again. His silence is excruciating to my ears, and even Slider is bothered by his lack of compliance. He has to know that this is only going to end in one way.
“Just fucking kill him already, Ratchet He’s not going to tell you anything,” Slider interjects, just as I told him to do should this happen. When someone is cornered and in his position, they are desperate for an ally. Stalling may extend his shelf life, but it does nothing for them in the end. Slider’s act of playing devil’s advocate would give him a reason to speak. A reason to try to fight back.
“Shut up, asshole. He’s going to talk. Just point the gun at him, and do your fucking job.”
“I don’t like this,” he continues on with the charade. “It’s taking too fucking long. Someone is going to notice our guys outside.”
“Shut up or get out. I’m not leaving until I finish this.”
Slider adds a slight tremor to his stance, and Boatman takes the bait.
“Your friend is right,” Boatman finally croaks out. “This doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you run along and go back to being a fucking loser. My daughter should be out in five to ten years. She might even wait for you.”
I let him regain in his confidence, and his hope that this ends differently. His attempt of baiting is giving me the fuel I need to let the final piece to my plan to play out.
Slider turns his gun on me. His eyes are filed with anger-induced fury of someone who is on the edge of loyalty. His entire body screams I want out of this mess, and that he’ll do it at any cost, including killing his partner-in-crime.
Keep it up, Slider. Sell it.
“I’m over this bullshit,” he declares. “I don’t want to be your minion anymore. Drop your gun and slide it over to me.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Smart move, son,” Boatman sneers. “Untie me, I’ll help you kill him.”
I do as Slider asks, cussing him the entire time. He circles the table, and presses the barrel of his gun to my head.
“On your knees.”
I comply, and growl the entire time as my knees touch the ground. The smell of urine and blood fill my noise, and I wretch from the smell of weakness coming off the man next to me.
“Son, you kill him and then release me, and I might just have some business for you to do,” Ronald repeats with an added sweetener to his deal.
“Like what,” Slider inquires.
“Let’s just say that I have a small problem that needs to be taken care of. I’ll give you fifty grand to do it.”
“You want me to kill the kid, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Boatman replies. I try to stand up, and strike out at Slider, but he presses the gun barrel harder against my scalp.
“Why do you want the kid dead? Why not bring in that free state money for watching him?”
“I have some financial investments currently in his possession. His mother fucked up my plan, and now I need to remove one more complication. Once the boy is gone, the money is mine. What do you say, son? You in?”
“As generous as your offer is, there’s just one problem,” Slider declares, pulling the gun from my head and pointing it directly at Boatman. He hisses realizing that his own pride has just revealed his true plans to us both, and now he sees the mic currently strapped to Slider’s chest, recording his confession. “Unlike you, I don’t betray my family.”
Game. Set. Match.
In a sweeping motion, I rise from the floor, and retrieve my knife from his thigh.
“My wife sends her regards, motherfucker,” I announce to him, before plunging my blade into his throat, slicing it open.
The blood pours from the open wound, and I stay still, watching as the last ounce of life leaves him drop by drop. Satisfaction rolls over me like a rogue wave hitting the beach. My girl is safe, and soon will be free.
Slider re-tracts his gun, and holsters it, putting his hand on my shoulder.
“Time to light the place up, Ratchet. Let’s finish this.”
A demented smile forms on my face.
“Let’s burn this bitch, and go get my girl.”
“Please rise,” the bailiff calls out to the courtroom. “The honorable Judge McKenzie Chaplain presiding.”
The entire room lifts to their feet as the judge walks up to her bench. She wears a hardened look on her weary face as she descends to her throne of judgment. Her black robe flows behind her like the rags on the grim reaper. She may not have a scythe in her hand, but her gavel would serve as her instrument of my impending damnation.
I have to admit that I never thought my case would get this far into the process, as I stand here in the middle of my arraignment hearing. My diminished hopes and doubts convinced me that this day would come, while the other half of me thought my husband would save me. The man who, besides the first day visit, has been all but absent.
Was he even still here in Kentucky or did he cut his losses and go back to California? If I had been in his shoes, the latter might have been the option I considered the most, but it would have been a far more difficult decision to make. Why would you wait for someone who may spend the next several years as a resident of the Kentucky State prison system? It was a dead end, and there was no guarantee that I would even be freed once convicted of the false charges that lay against me.
Much to my dismay, the public defender that I was sure that I fired showed up, when I was ushered into court with my hands and feet bound. This man standing next to me would all but assure that I was going to be calling the gray bar hotel home.
“You may be seated,” the bailiff declares. “Your honor, this is case number one-zero-one-three-one-seven the State of Kentucky versus Erica Azzo. The defendant is charged with a class D felony of possession of an illegal substance with the intent to sell and resisting arrest.”
“I did no such thing,” I blurt out, before my attorney jerks me down into my seat and orders me to be quiet.
“Control your client counselor, or I will be forced to charge her with an additional account of contempt.”
“Of course, your honor. Excuse my client’s poor manners,” he drawls, shooting a glare at me for my outburst. I nearly flip the man off, but I doubt the judge would go for that. “She’s from the big city and doesn’t know how to keep her outbursts in check.”
Yep. Leroy is about to get a slap to the back of the head, before he has me dragged off to jail. Maybe even a couple more for good measure.
The judge’s eyes turn back on me, and I shrug a sorry to her. It’s hard to keep quiet when your fate lies in the hands of man who probably couldn’t tell the difference between his own dick and a Cheeto.
“How does the defendant plea?” the judge calls out to my attorney. He looks down at me, urging me to say the words he wants. But I a
m not guilty, and I will not let my father win by admitting to something that I didn’t do. That’s not how this story will end for me or for Asher.
“Not guilty ─ I stammer out before a sheriff’s deputy busts through the closed chamber doors. His feet drag against the wooden floors of the courtroom, and the judge’s face instantly turns to anger at the intrusion. The few people scattered in the court chamber’s turn in a flurry to see what is going on. I mimic their motions, and sigh when I don’t see Ratchet sitting behind me. I guess that’s my answer about whether or not he stayed. It would have taken an act of God for him not be here prior to my keeping secrets about my father. It goes to show that even when I’m happy, that I can still fuck up my life.
“What is the meaning of this, officer? This court is in session. How dare you interrupt this case,” she reprimands him, smacking her gavel down. “Order in the court!” she cries out. “I will have order!”
He steps forward, through the swinging wooden gate that separates the onlookers from the Judge and the tables for the plaintiff and me. Bead after bead of sweat, drip down his forehead and onto the collar of his uniform. His body quivers from the spotlight being on him, and it makes me wonder if he lost a bet to have to be the one here doing this. The officer’s hands shake as he musters up the courage to speak to the judge.
“Permission to approach the bench, your honor.” The officer holds up an envelope in his hands for the judge to see. “I have evidence that Chief Moulton thought you might want to see, before you proceed any further.”
“Proceed, officer,” she advises him. The man slowly walks toward her with carefully calculated steps. He’s on edge, and the entire courtroom can see it. He hands off the envelope to her, and the judge reaches into it, retrieving a shiny, circular disc.
