Sooner or later it always happens. At least twice a month.
Some nutcase who used to take out his frustration for a limp dick on his little girl, wakes up to find her gone. The wife got tired of his crap years ago and flew, but didn’t have the guts to take the kids with her. The guy panics since “It” has always been a family secret, but now the whole world might find out and then what would the neighbors think? So he dumps the blame on the TV, the gangs, anywhere but where it belongs. He cries to the Monarchs and to the Shivers, but nobody listens. A lot of the sick bastards give up and go back to molest the remaining kids if there are any left but if he is really desperate or has run out of kids, he tries to find her himself. Or he finds a replacement.
Chaz nosed the truck through the thick crowd on Market Street, trying not to run anyone over. The rain was beaded on the glass and obscured the faces of the ghosts in the crowd. Mostly no one took notice of the truck or what it meant. Except for him and he must have followed us.
He waited until we were working one of the chop points and I noticed him as he pushed upstream through the arcade crowd. Chaz also saw him and moved to cut him off. For a moment the man was gone in the crowd, then suddenly reappeared so close that I could smell peppermint on his breath. His face was pasty and his eyes were swollen and red. He sucked in air until he looked like a bloated corpse. He blew it out and screamed at the top of his lungs at me. Spit hit my face and eyes.
“You sons-of-bitches are gonna pay for tak’in my kid!”
His hand was wrapped in a wet brown paper bag and he jerked it up towards my face. I lunged to the side and the CAF he had in it went off with a loud crack. The round hit the side of the truck and ricocheted into the neon of the theater where it stopped with a burst of sparks and glass. I hooked his arm above the elbow and chopped him in the windpipe with my free hand. He sputtered but didn ’t fall, so I kneed him in the groin and he doubled over. After two more hits, he groaned and slumped to the pavement. The gun rattled from his grasp and Chaz put it into his jacket. It was one of those camo colored P.O.S. CAF’s they sell to the street soldier wannabees and civilian tough guys. If people had not started staring when he yelled, they definitely were watching now.
He had pulled into a fetal position and was covering the sides of his face with his forearms, muttering something about life not being fair.
“You’re right. Life isn’t fair and no one, not even your Mr. Slayer said it would be. What do we have here?”
I put my kneeled on the side of his head and ruffled through his pockets. I found a citizen ID and housing card and took them out but left the fifteen or so Uni’s in his pocket. He was shaking uncontrollably and his bowels and bladder turned on him.
“Mcmanus, Jonathon. Normal citizen, not a SLOP. Just your average discount vigilante. Well Mr. Mcmanus, I see you live in apartment 5864-C block on West Liberty. That’s about two blocks from here.”
I stood up, releasing him but he stayed cowed in the fetal position. I could hear him whimpering some sort of prayer. I was aching to put fear into him. This guy had ruined the chop point for me.
“Mr. Mcmanus. If one of my associates or myself see you again, it will be the last time. I know where you live and can come to see you if you give me a reason. I hope we understand each other.”
I dropped the cards on his shoulder and headed for the truck. Maab was already in the cab, half-sitting on the dash so she could watch what happened. She seemed amused by the whole thing. A thought occurred to me and I stopped.
“One more thing. I don’t think your God is listening to you anyway, so you might as well save your breath for someone who can use it - you.” I kicked him in the stomach to leave him wheezing and climbed into the truck. Chaz stayed behind for a moment.
“Want me to do him?” Chaz asked.
I just shook my head. “It’s not worth it. This chop is cold, let’s roll.”For several minutes Maab looked at me, then Chaz, then back at me without saying anything. She started to ask a question, half opened her mouth, then decided to stay quiet. I was pissed that the creep had ruined the “recruitment” and wasn’t in the mood to talk. The sound of the rain hitting the cab was the only sound I wanted. It strikes me as funny that I’d judge him as a child abuser when we’re the ones who supply the victims.
His God may not have been listening, but at least he has one.
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