William Bernhardt - Dark Justice

Loving parked himself on a bench at the corner of McKinley and Main and waited.

Times like these, he almost wished he hadn’t quit smoking. At least he would have something to do other than just counting the seconds as they ticked by. Cigarettes were made for stakeouts. On the other hand, since he’d quit, he felt better, could run farther, and had a lot more energy. And, he reminded himself, his smoking habit was one of the things that drove his ex-wife into the arms of that speedboat salesman.

His eyes crinkled a bit around the edges. Upon reflection, maybe smoking wasn’t a horrible thing after all.

He picked this corner because it allowed him to stay in the shadows while giving him the widest possible view of what he had learned was the low-rent district of Magic Valley. If any drug deals were going down in the middle of the night, this was surely where they would happen. At least that’s what he was hoping.

Loving was desperate to catch up to Vincenzo again. He still couldn’t believe he’d let that creep get the drop on him last night. Let him get away and got clubbed over the head in the process. That was just too humiliating. When he’d had to admit to the Skipper that he’d failed … well, that was just about the lowest moment in his life. He owed a lot to the Skipper. He didn’t like to disappoint him.

They’d been together a while, hadn’t they? Ever since Ben represented his ex-wife in their divorce case. He still thought of Donna from time to time. Mostly when he had a migraine or his wallet was empty. He still hoped someday he might find someone special, someone he wanted to spend some serious time with. But the thought of getting married again-man! It just made his blood run cold.

Speaking of which, it was pretty cold out here, for a hot summer night. Maybe if he sat on the west end of the block …

He turned to glance over his shoulder.

Someone was standing directly behind him. Someone big.

A strong pair of ham-sized hands soared over his shoulders and clamped down on his chest. “Don’t move.”

Loving froze. He felt the sweaty prickling of his skin, the sixth sense that told him he was in major trouble.

Slowly he brought his head around to look at the man who had the better of him.

Broad torso, huge muscled shoulders, and an ugly scar over his right eye. Long dirty black hair. And a baseball bat tucked under his arm.

Loving swallowed. There was no question about it. It was him. The man.

“I’m Alberto Vincenzo,” the mountain behind him grunted. “And I’m pissed.”

“Stop! Please stop!”

Tess didn’t know how many times the man with the whip had struck Rick. She knew Rick’s legs had collapsed out from under him; he was held in place by the handcuffs. She knew every crack of the whip was followed by a bloodcurdling scream. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the tattered condition of Rick’s shirt, could see the blood oozing up through the cloth. She knew it had been only a short while since Rick had his last violent encounter with loggers. How much more could he possibly take?

“Please stop! You’re killing him!”

“Yeah,” the leader said, “but we’re not hurting the tree. And that’s all you people care about, right?” His wrist flipped back and a second later, the whip cracked again. Rick cried out. His chin scraped down the bark of the tree that held him fast.

“Don’t do this,” Maureen said. “You won’t gain anything by it.”

“You’re wrong about that, little lady,” the leader answered. “I’ve already gained something by it. One hell of a lot of personal pleasure.” The whip lurched forward again, slashing down on Rick’s ravaged back.

Rick’s cry pierced the darkness of the forest. It was like no sound Tess had ever heard before, like no sound she ever wanted to hear again. It made her flesh crawl, made tears stream out of her eyes.

“Stop it!” Tess shouted out. “You murdering bastard! Stop it !”

The leader’s lips pressed against his ski mask. “I’ve had about as much of you as I’m going to take, little lady.”

He marched over to Tess, still cuffed to the tree. She could feel him approaching; it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. He came up behind her and pressed his body against hers. “We don’t much care for that dirty language around here,” he whispered into her ear.

“Get away from me!” Tess barked.

He pressed all the harder, wiggling suggestively, invading all her private spaces. “Aw, come on now, honey. You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

“Get away!” she screamed. She tried to push him back, but she was chained so tightly to the tree she could barely move.

“Be honest, lady. Don’t you like it? Even a little bit?” She felt his head hovering over her shoulder, his lips pressing against her neck. A moment later he was nibbling her earlobe. “I think maybe you do.”

“I don’t!” Her voice was something between a scream and a growl. “ Get away from me !”

The leader stepped back. Even though she could see very little of his face, it was evident he was not pleased. “I don’t think I care much for your ’tude either, little lady,” he said softly. She heard an amused rumble from the other masked men. “I think maybe your behavior needs some modification, too.”

A cold chill gripped Tess’s spine.

The leader reached for a leather sheath clipped to his belt. An instant later, he was holding a long sharp knife. Its shiny surface glinted in the moonlight.

He pressed the sharp tip of the knife against her side, just below her outstretched arm. He brought the knife slowly downward, tracing a line across her breast, her abdomen.

Tess was terrified. She wanted to scream, to cry out. She wanted to dissolve into tears, like a helpless child. But she knew that wouldn’t help. She had to remain strong, had to try to keep her wits about her.

The leader moved the knife to the base of her neck, then began bringing it upward, fondling her with the cold steel blade. The knife pricked her in places; traces of blood rose to the surface of her skin, outlining the blade’s path.

“What do you think now?” he said as the knife rested against her right cheek. “Do you suppose you could be a bit friendlier to me?”

Tess took a deep breath and tried to muster every ounce of strength left to her. “I want you to let me go,” she said firmly. “I want you to let us all go. You have no right to do this.”

His teeth clenched together with anger. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He picked up the whip he had dropped by the side of the tree.

Oh my God, Tess thought. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“I’ll just get started,” the leader said. His voice had recovered some of the buoyant good humor it had before. “And you let me know when you’re feeling friendlier toward me. ‘Cause that’s when I’ll stop.”

“Please no,” Tess whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Please. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.”

The leader’s arm snapped back. She heard the crack behind her, and an instant later, she felt an intense pain, like nothing she had ever felt in her entire life, lacerating her back.

And then she knew that it was real.

It was Vincenzo. Loving was certain of it. He’d been knocking himself out trying to find the pusher man-and the pusher man had found him. Problem was, now that Loving had what he wanted, he was beginning to wish he didn’t.

Loving braced himself, waiting for the first blow, the first swing of that baseball bat Vincenzo had tucked under his arm. He was pinned down on the bench, with Vincenzo’s hands holding him firmly in place. If Vincenzo went after him now, in this position, there wasn’t much Loving could do about it.