This is a new feature here at The Real Gun Guys. Periodically I will be posting, all things willing, a fresh installment of the story as inspiration permits. Please feel free to comment. Standard commenting rules apply.
Please be warned in advance that the story may contain violence, strong language, mature situations, sex and whatever else happens in real life. This isn’t a children’s story folks. Having said that, if you’re still willing, I hope you enjoy the story! This installment kicks off the serial with a bang, so to speak.
First the standard legal boilerplate:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental
All material contained within, even though presented for free, remains the property of it’s author. If you want permission to repost it, please ask first.
I’d like to thank dixie, Gay Cynic and Árni Inaba Kjartansson for their kind assistance in the production of this story. Your help is much appreciated!
Pain and heartache erupted from his wife’s throat at deafening volume. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. How could they? How could they let his son’s murderer walk free?
At the center of the courtroom their son’s murderer and his lawyer were backslapping each other with smiles on their faces. The prosecuting attorney stood by in abject defeat. Their eyes met and his look said it all.
You’re sorry? This couldn’t be happening! Because of one misfiled document, this clot of human filth was walking out of the courtroom a free man.
The killer smirked as he walked past and his skin crawled. It was all he could do to keep from tackling him right there. Instead, he held his wife tighter and tried his best to comfort her.
Someday soon the murdering scum was going to get what he had coming to him. He knew this with every fiber of his being.
Karma was a bitch!
The car lurched as it left the pavement and pulled into the turnout. Startled, his eyes shot open and the nightmare vanished into the ether. He wiped drool from his face with the back of his hand and grimaced. His mouth tasted like ass.
Gravel popped beneath the tires and the car slowed to a stop. “We’re here.” Mike said from the drivers seat, as he shifted into Park and killed the engine. They shared a knowing look, bathed in the dashboard lights.
The headlamps lit the turnout in twin spots of white before vanishing into space. Jim sneezed on the fine dust churned up by the tires. Phoenix, Arizona glittered in the night from the valley floor.
His guts twisted into knots and his legs weakened. He’d dreamt of this day for over a year, but now that it was time he just felt sick.
No time like the present!
He opened the door and stepped out into the scorching desert air. He took a deep breath. The coppery scent of the desert mixed with spicy sage and mesquite tickled his nostrils. Crickets sang all around him. He walked to the rear of the car, gravel grinding underfoot. Muffled thumps came from the trunk. After a moment Mike joined him there.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Mike asked.
Was it what he wanted? It was an argument he’d been having with himself for months now. He firmly believed in an eye for an eye, just like the Bible said, but good people didn’t take the law into their own hands. Did they?
But what if the law had failed you? What then? What if the shit who’d killed your son was found not guilty because of a legal technicality, do you just accept it and move on? Justice had to be served, Goddammit! And if the law wouldn’t help him, he’d have to help himself.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Let’s get it over with.” he said. His friend unlocked the trunk and raised the lid. A hog tied man lay inside. He was gagged and blindfolded. He struggled against his bonds in desperation.
The smell of urine assaulted their noses. Sure enough, the gaunt mans sweatpants and wifebeater were soaked. Mike gave Jim a disgusted look. “Goddammit Jim, I’m never going to get that smell out!” he exclaimed. The two of them slipped their gloves on, lifted him out of the trunk by the arms and dragged him to the front of the car.
Jim pulled out his knife and cut the rope around the mans legs. After his legs were freed, he assisted the man into a kneeling position facing the cliff. Off to his left he could hear Mike snick off the safety on his pistol.
Muffled screams came from around the cloth gag. Blood oozed from a large gash on the left side of his head, matting his black hair. Jim got down on one knee behind him. It was all he could do to keep from gagging.
“Glad you could join us Mr. Evans.” he said, “We’ve been looking forward to this meeting for a long time. If you’re thinking of running, don’t. My friend over there has his .45 trained on you at this very moment. He’s very good with it too so you wouldn’t get more than a couple of steps.” Mr. Evans cried harder and tears rolled down his cheeks. Snot bubbles blew from his nose, caking his stubble laden upper lip.
“Good God man, have some dignity!” Jim said. Revulsion washed over him. That this shit still drew breath was intolerable. He was a rabid animal to be put down before he killed or infected anyone else. There was no other way around it. “You took something very precious from me Mr. Evans, something which was not rightfully yours to take. So, I’m going to take something from you in exchange. It’s only fair. It won’t make up for what you’ve done, but at least it’ll help me feel better. You killed my son, and now I’m going to kill you.” The screams intensified.
He stood and drew his 1911 pistol and aimed it at the back of Mr. Evans head. The heavy blued steel felt good in his hands. He clicked off the safety.
“Goodbye Mr. Evans. I wish I could say you’ll be missed, but I can’t imagine anybody will miss a piece of shit like you.” He gripped the weapon tightly and squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked violently in his hands.
There was a loud boom and flames erupted from the muzzle. Mr. Evans dropped instantly forward and fell to the ground. Dark blood leaked from his nose and mouth, pooling in the gravel. The last echoes of the gunshot soon faded away into the silence.
Jim knelt down and watched as the life drained from Mr. Evans body. A wave of nausea swept over him, but at the same time there was a feeling of peace. It was done. He safetied his sidearm before sliding it back into it’s holster on his hip. The crickets began singing once more.
Mike re-safetied and holstered his sidearm before approaching his friend. “Are you okay?” he asked. Jim considered for a moment or two and then nodded. He glanced down at the deceased. “Should we bury him or something?” Jim shook his head.
“Buzzards gotta eat, same as the worms. Fuck him!” he said. Mike helped him up. His legs threatened to buckle under his weight. He leaned back against the front of the car and sparked a cig from his shirt pocket with shaking hands. They stood there for several minutes looking at the city lights in silence. When he had finished his cigarette, he ground it out under his boot heel, and they heaved the body over the cliff.
Mike got back into the car first. Jim took one last look at the city lights before following suit. It was finally over. So why did he still feel so shitty inside?
Mike started the car and slid a CD into the stereo system. After a moment “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd began playing from the speakers. It had been his son’s favorite song. Tears came to his eyes and he turned to the window. Mike reached over and squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s okay Jim, let it out.” he said. The sobs came one after the other. Several minutes passed before the storm of emotion lifted. “Are you okay?” his friend asked for the second time that evening. Jim nodded. He would be anyway. It was hard to breathe and his sinuses were pounding, but he’d be alright.
“For the moment.” he said. Mike smiled and squeezed his shoulder again. And with that he backed the car onto the pavement and they drove off into the night.
© 2009 by Paul Grant
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