by David Carter
Blaze raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
Archer continued, “I see you and Danny have been busy making friends, but I’m betting every other man in here wants a piece of you after what you just did to Nugget. Because believe it or not, they all had respect for him—even though at some point he probably beat them within an inch of their lives. But time changes people. You learn to respect those who are simply bigger, stronger, and more powerful than yourself.”
“Well, they can all get down and suck my dick. I killed that sack of shit without even trying,” he interrupted, and spat through the bars at Archer’s feet.
Archer calmly continued. “I understand your scepticism, Bobby, but you have the opportunity to become the new leader in here. You just destroyed my number one gunner; you are a special breed. You have the skill set of a dozen ruthless men combined with a sharp and witty mind. Your only problem is that you have no respect for anyone. You think you are at the top of the food chain, when in reality, you’re nothing more than chickenfeed.”
Blaze had heard enough. “Cut the preamble bullshit, Governor. What are the rules to this game of yours?”
“Ah! I have your attention! See? That is progress already...”
“Whatever.” Blaze rolled his eyes.
Archer said, “I’m going to put you through your paces with Bulldog. You look as though you don’t need any help, so, Danny, you had better stay out of this or I’ll make sure you are crippled by sunrise tomorrow.”
Danny held up his hands in surrender and sat down on his bunk.
“What’s the catch?” Blaze demanded.
“It’s simple. I have given Bulldog your knife to even the playing field. I want to see you bleed this time. You must be drained of energy after beating Nugget’s face until it was unrecognisable—and I feel it gives Bulldog a slight advantage. If you are truly as good as you say you are, you will live to fight another day.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Blaze. “You’re saying that if I destroy Bulldog, I get my knife back for a deathmatch against any motherfucker I choose in this shithole?”
“Yes, that is precisely what I’m saying. This is your chance to earn some respect from both me and your fellow inmates.”
“And what happens if I lose?”
Archer stepped aside and ushered Bulldog forward. “Bulldog, would you care to answer Bobby’s question?”
Bulldog gave Blaze a menacing stare, then said, “When I have you beaten, I’ll leave you alive just enough so you can feel the pain of me hacking out your eyeballs and gagging you with them, right before I cut off your fingers and toes, one knuckle at a time. Then when I’m done with that, I’ll slice your stomach open and wrap your intestines around your neck, using them to strangle you slowly, as I want you in agony for as long as possible before you die. That should be retribution enough for killing my friend, Nugget.”
Blaze noticed how naturally Bulldog rattled off the sequence of his proposed demise. “You sure sound like you know what you’re doing, Bulldog. I’ll take a stab in the dark and assume you’ve done that before?”
Bulldog smirked. “Seventeen times to be exact. But I’m yet to have the chance to do it in here. You will be number eighteen; my greatest conquest.”
“You’re really fucked in the head, Bulldog, you know that, right? But I’ll tell you what; I’ll play fair and extend the same courtesy to you. It should make for a great home movie. What do you say, asshole?”
Archer was so absorbed in their conversation that he almost didn’t hear Blaze addressing him in his usual manner. “It sounds like an excellent script to me; I can hardly wait!” he said excitedly.
Blaze and Bulldog stood silently, gazing deeply into each other’s souls, searching for the upper hand on a mental level.
Blaze was ready; he removed his gaze from Bulldog and fixed it on Archer. “Release the hound, Governor. Oh, and by the way, when I’m finished with your puppy dog bitch, I want a date with Poochie.”
Archer stepped forward and unlocked his cell for the second time, and in a smug voice said. “Your wish is my command, Bobby Blaise.”
Chapter 16
O’Brian rushed inside the station and felt a wave of panic wash over him. He couldn’t see Turner anywhere. “Luke!” he shouted as he checked the small kitchenette. He shouted his name again and listened for an answer, and to his relief, heard the faint sound of a toilet flushing.
Turner walked out, wiping his semi-wet hands on his trousers. “I’m coming, I’m coming, no need to shout. What’s so urgent that you had to interrupt me while I was taking a seriously good shit?”
O’Brian removed his cap as he exhaled deeply. “Sit down, Luke.”
He went through all the details he had received from Jones: the death threat, the photos, the Bible Verse, the Protectors of the Past, and the tragic story of George Walker.
Turner felt sick to the stomach and instantly feared for their safety. And after a moment of digesting all the information, he said, “There’s one thing that doesn’t make sense in all of this...”
“What’s that?”
“Why did the Watcher molest George Walker? I mean, if he wanted George’s blood as a sacrifice, surely he could have just butchered him like any other psychopath, which would have covered his father’s ‘sins’?”
O’Brian considered this for a moment. “That’s a bloody good question,” he replied. “Perhaps the Watcher has some demons of his own that he needs to confess to his God.”
Turner sat deep in thought, running his fingers through his thick, mousy-blond hair, then he said, “That Bible verse: first John, one, nine; do you think that’s his get out of jail free card for all the crimes he’s committed?”
O’Brian quickly Google-searched the verse on his phone, and read it aloud. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
“It sounds to me that the Watcher has got it stuck in his head that if anyone confesses their sins to God, no matter how heinous they are, they get a free pass,” said Turner.
O’Brian nodded in agreement. “That definitely sounds like the mind of a psychopath. But it does make me wonder whether he plays by his own rules. As in did he confess to God that he had the urge to rape an eight-year-old boy to death? It sounds so hypocritical to me.”
Turner was deeply distressed by the fact that they had been targeted by a homicidal religious whack job.
“What are we going to do? I ain’t religious in any way, and I ain’t confessing jack shit to no one. I can’t even remember the last time I set foot in a church, let alone confess to a priest that I’m secretly gay and enjoying a sexual relationship with my commanding officer!”
O’Brian stood up. “I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do, Lukey; we’re going to finish our shift, go home, lock the doors, and lure him to us. If he is serious and makes good on his twenty-four-hour deadline, I’ll be ready and waiting with my baseball bat so I can belt a home run with his head.”
Turner’s heart melted beneath his rock-hard exterior at the defiance in his lover’s voice. “Now that sounds like a plan!” He grinned. “If it helps, I’ll pull out my set of golf clubs from the garage and back you up with my trusty three iron.”
O’Brian laughed with him. “Just be sure to make it a hole in one, Tiger.”
Chapter 17
The door slammed shut behind Bulldog as he entered Blaze’s cell. Blaze had gone to the effort of dragging Nugget’s corpse to one side to clear a space for the duel, leaving behind shards of bone mixed with splotches of coagulating blood in the middle of the floor.
Bulldog held Blaze’s knife in his right hand and flicked it open as he inched towards him. I’m going to slice you apart motherfucker, he thought.
Blaze had been in many fights when the odds were heavily stacked against him. He’d rarely walked away without adding a fresh gash to his fine collection of scar tissue, but he had never been carried away in a wooden box either
.
Blaze was patient; he almost always waited for his opposition to strike first. He had great reaction speed for countering most advances made on him, which was just as well against a knife-wielding maniac.
Bulldog slowly sidestepped to his left; Blaze followed suit. They circled the cell, feeling each other out, keeping each other in their line of sight, at arm’s length.
Blaze decided to wind him up. “You dance well for a bitch.” He snickered. “But you better try a new move before you get dizzy and roll over, Bulldog.”
“Shut the fuck up and fight!”
“Honestly, it’s okay, while you’re on the ground you can lick my nuts, and I’ll rub your tummy as a reward for being such a good little doggie. Shit, who knows? I might even like it and throw you a biscuit.”
“I said shut the fuck up! Or I’ll add your tongue to the list of body parts that I’m going to remove before I slowly kill you.”
Blaze continued his mind games. “If it helps, Bulldog, I’ll smear my sac with peanut butter, as I’m yet to meet a cute little doggie who doesn’t go crazy for salty nuts. I’ll even let you pick which leg of mine you want to hump and blow your load on afterwards.”
The knife in Bulldog’s hand tremored as the tension rose between them. Blaze sensed that Bulldog was on the verge of losing control of his emotions and went for the killer blow. “I thought dogs were supposed to be fearless and charge at whatever enters their territory? But it’s okay, Bulldog, I understand why you just stand there with that dopey look on your face. I just remembered that bulldogs are useful for absolutely fuck-all. They just drool, and eat, and shit, and die. It seems to me that your pet name is rather fitting.”
Bulldog’s brain exploded. He couldn’t handle any more blows to his ego without reacting. He took three rapid strides towards Blaze, and in a swift motion, slashed across his chest. His arm swiped left and right with the blade narrowly missing the surface of Blaze’s shirt.
Blaze dodged the wild swings by leaning back and using his hips and shoulders to swivel his upper body away from the lethal blade. He had no option but to hastily retreat to the back of his cell to avoid the early onslaught. Bulldog came charging forward, and slammed him against the concrete wall.
Archer smiled and the inmates cheered as they heard Bulldog knock the wind out of Blaze, leaving him hunched over, gasping for breath. Bulldog capitalised on his advantage, and while still gripping the knife tightly in his hand, delivered a superb uppercut to Blaze’s face, following it up with a right hook, sending him crashing down onto his bunk, and landing on his back.
Bulldog turned the knife upside down and drove it towards Blaze’s chest with the combined force of two hands. Blaze instinctively grabbed the pillow from his bunk, using it as a barrier, resisting the downward force of Bulldog and halting the blade an inch from his heart. Bulldog strained against Blaze’s unquestionable strength, desperately trying to sink the knife deep into his flesh.
Blaze raised his head and chomped down on one of Bulldog’s fingers, forcing him to pull his hands back as he flinched unexpectedly. Blaze immediately went for his number one rule when fighting: pulverise the nut sack. He lined up an elbow to Bulldog’s genitals and was instantly disappointed, as he was alert to the fact and retreated to the middle of the cell, allowing Blaze to get to his feet.
“I don’t think so,” said Bulldog with a smirk, “I ain’t as stupid as Nugget to get my balls caved in.”
“Such a pity,” said Blaze, then unexpectedly ran straight at Bulldog with the pillow held out in front of him, protecting himself against the blade he still held firmly in his grasp.
Blaze poleaxed him into the ground, using his body mass as an effective battering ram.
Bulldog quickly stood up and bounced lightly on his feet, shaking off the solid impact against the concrete floor. Blaze figured the fall should have dazed him a little, so he ran at him again. This time he underestimated Bulldog, who braced himself for impact. When they collided, Bulldog tackled Blaze around the waist, driving him into the floor. Blaze’s head slammed against the concrete. He instantly saw stars as he lay there, dazed and confused.
Bulldog cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a triumphant howl. The room of excited inmates howled back.
“Which eye would you like me to cut out first?” he sneered at Blaze, who still lay groggily on the floor.
Blaze groaned as his blurry vision barely made out the butcher hovering over him. Bulldog knelt with a knee either side of Blaze’s abdomen, and brought the knife up close to his eyes, holding it there while enjoying the thrill of tormenting his victim. He leaned in close to Blaze. “Look upon my face one last time, bitch.” He pressed the blade of the knife against his cheek. “Because it’ll be the last fucking thing you’re ever gonna see.”
The combined stench of Bulldog’s breath and body odour helped Blaze regain his senses. He kept calm in the knowledge that no matter how many times his life had been threatened, he’d always found a way to defy the Grim Reaper.
Blaze’s vision started to clear, and before Bulldog had retracted his face, Blaze went for his second favourite rule when fighting: obliterate the fucker’s nose.
Bulldog cried out as Blaze headbutted him, dropping the knife and sitting up on his knees to grab his face, breaking the hold he had on Blaze’s upper body. Blaze thrust himself up at the waist, surprising Bulldog, who fell backwards and received a second brutal shot to his already beaten nose as he fell.
Bulldog squirmed as the pain rippled through his nerves and into his brain while he held his bleeding face.
Blaze unpinned his legs, and coldly said, “It’s time to die, Bulldog.”
He savagely kicked him in the stomach, automatically making him transfer his hands to comfort the most recent injury to his anatomy. In turn, Blaze kicked his already shattered nose.
Hurt what already hurts: his third favourite rule.
Jagged fragments of bone shredded through the tissue in Bulldog’s nasal passage, leaving him screaming on the ground. Blaze, who was still irked about Bulldog being smart enough to protect his manhood from his elbow only moments earlier, ferally kicked him between the legs, instantly feeling gratified.
Show no mercy: his fourth favourite rule.
Archer walked over to Poochie’s cell, and said to him, “It appears that you have a date with Bobby tomorrow.”
Poochie was worried about going up against such a brutal opponent, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Archer, or anyone else for that matter. He said, “You’d better find me a weapon, Governor. He has all the skill in the world, and a bloody knife. Fair’s fair, ain’t it?”
Archer thought for a moment, before he replied, “He has already had two fights, one after another. I’m sure he will be exhausted, which makes him vulnerable. That should even things considerably.”
“I don’t care!” protested Poochie. “I’m not taking any chances! I’m the lucky one he picked to fight, which means he wants to put me six feet under!”
Archer gave in. “All right, Poochie, I’ll make this interesting for everyone. You may have any weapon of your choosing.”
His eyes flashed with excitement as he made his request. Archer raised an eyebrow at the specific dimensions Poochie had given him, and said, “You don’t ask for much, do you, Pooch?”
Poochie laughed crudely. “Do you want me to kill that little punk, or what?”
“Very well, I’ll have one of the guys in the metal shop make one up for you tonight. And if you should succeed in defeating Bobby, don’t ever forget this favour I’m doing you, as it wasn’t me who picked you for the battle. And be sure to put up a decent fight, as tomorrow is your chance to do whatever pleases that pathetic brain of yours.”
“Thank you, Governor,” he said respectfully.
I just hope I survive tomorrow so I have the chance to remember, he thought.
Blaze picked up his knife from the floor. He was finally reunited with his baby. He peered through the bars at
Danny, who looked on with a grin. “Should I skip the eyes and start on his fingers? Or should I just slice the fucker in half from head to toe?” Blaze asked.
Before Danny could answer, Bulldog moaned as he said, “Please, Blaze, please, I’ll do anything: I’ll be your bitch, I’ll watch your back, I’ll give you all my privileges; just don’t kill me.”
His words left Blaze fuming. He was sick and tired of people threatening his life, only for him to overpower them and listen to their desperate, insincere apologies. Blaze turned away from Danny, and shouted at Bulldog. “I was going to be kind and kill you quickly! But now I’m gonna get my hands dirty, you fucking parasite!”
Bulldog was in severe pain as he lay in the foetal position, with his face buried in his hands. He reached out to touch Blaze’s leg in the hope that he might show some compassion. Blaze looked down on him with disgust.
Crush any remaining hope, he thought: his fifth favourite rule.
Blaze stomped on Bulldog’s fingers as he shouted, “You fucking coward! You were going to hack my eyes out only two fucking minutes ago! Seventeen people died by your hands while begging for their lives! And yet here you are alive and well! You deserve to die an agonising death, you piece of shit! I’ll give your victims the justice they fucking deserve!”
With the spray of anger out of his system, Blaze kicked Bulldog’s mouth so hard, he was sure his cowardly words would be his last. “Fucking asshole,” he cursed, and spat on his face.
Bulldog cried out in fear as Blaze roughly picked him up by the scruff off his neck, dragging him over to the door of his cell for all to see. He slammed his head against the bars and again for good measure.
Danny was sure he’d heard the back of Bulldog’s skull crack under the force of the blows, yet somehow Bulldog remained conscious.
