A Hitman Chronicles Outtake: Justice
The Hitman Chronicles: Justice
Freehold, New Jersey
Monmouth County Courthouse
“But how can we really be sure she didn’t ask for it?”
“Jesus, did you see the photos? He beat the hell out of her!”
“Yeah, but her ex-husband testified that she liked it rough, that sometimes he couldn’t hit her hard enough to satisfy her.”
“That was when she was married. But this guy, she didn’t even know. He jumped her in the parking lot.”
“That’s what she says. But how do we really know?”
The jury foreman smacked his hand on the conference table. The other jurors quit arguing and looked at him. “Look, this trial has gone on for three weeks. I don’t know about you people, but I have a life to get back to. Let’s make a decision and get the hell outta here.”
Calvin James sat between his wife and daughter in the row behind the prosecutor’s bench. He clutched their hands as the jurors filed into the box and took their seats. He leaned to his daughter Michelle and whispered, “It’s going to be all right, baby. I promise you, no matter what happens today, it’s going to be all right.”
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” The judge asked.
“We have, Your Honor,” the foreman announced.
“How do you find?”
“In the case of the people versus Antoine Miles, we find the defendant…not guilty.”
Calvin’s wife shot to her feet and wailed, “Noooo!” Michelle covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Antoine Miles and his attorney passed them on their way out of the courtroom. He leered at Michelle and said, “Hey baby, anytime you want another date, just hang out in that same parking lot.”
Calvin James sat at his kitchen table going over his finances. It was going to take everything they had—their life’s savings, refinancing their house and all the money he could borrow to pay for what needed to be done. But it was worth it to obtain justice for his daughter. If the law wouldn’t give her justice, then it was his duty as a father and as a man to provide it for his baby girl.
Keyport, New Jersey
He liked fresh fallen snow. He liked its perfectness, its purity before people soiled it with their traverses. And he liked the way it created a hush over the environment. The quiet seemed suited to his work.
The snow was almost perfect on this pre-dawn Sunday morning. It glittered under the moonlight as if sprinkled with tiny diamonds. The only thing spoiling its purity were the bright splashes of red and the footprints that trailed away from him.
The killer looked up from the snow, following the bloody trail to where Antoine Miles staggered away from him some twenty yards ahead, gasping and clutching at his sliced throat. The rapist had had a lot to say before losing his ability to speak. A couple of hours of torture could loosen the tongue of even the toughest wanna be thug.
The killer didn’t like using torture. He liked to keep his jobs clean. He preferred to plan ahead, to try to anticipate every possible contingency, and then take out the target as quickly and cleanly as possible. But the man who’d paid for this job had specific instructions on how it was to be done. First, he wanted to be sure. He wanted a confession. And if Miles confessed, he was to be made to suffer before dying. Antoine Miles had suffered. And in the midst of his suffering he’d had some very interesting things to say.
Farmingdale, New Jersey
“Get out of the house today. I’m sick of looking at you.”
“Where am I going to go?” she asked.
Derrick Harvey glared at his wife from the bed. This is why the bitch was fucked up now, because she was always talking back. He wouldn’t kick her ass so much if she’d show some respect.
He waited for her to say another word. If she did he was going to get up and blacken her left eye so it matched the right one.
She must have gotten the hint because she kept her stupid blonde mouth shut and went into the bathroom. Bitch was finally starting to learn. He thought white women were supposed to show a man more respect, but this one sure tried his last fucking nerve. She was damned near as bad as that bitch Michelle used to be.
Thinking about that ho got him even more pissed off. Bitch thought she could just walk away from him, divorce him just like that. Well, he damn sure showed her ass. No bitch leaves him, not until he was ready to kick her ass to the curb.
Janet, his most recent wife, came out of the bathroom and went to her closet. She removed a dress and turned back to him. “Is this one okay?” she asked.
“Bitch, I don’t care what the fuck you wear. Just get your flat ass outta my sight. I told you I’m sick of looking at you today. “
She got dressed in a hurry and left the bedroom. He waited until he heard her on the stairs before yelling, “Hey, make me something to eat before you go! And put some seasoning in it for once. I’m sick of eating like white people.”
Derrick sat at the table smacking down his Western omelet. He thought that it wasn’t half bad, considering who’d cooked it. He decided that maybe he’d show his appreciation by giving her some tonight.
He heard a furtive sound behind him, a low thump as she came into the kitchen. He slammed his fist on the table top. “Damn it bitch, you back already? What, do you need me to kick your ass more than once a day?” Derrick stood up and spun around, expecting to see his wife cowering before him.
The man standing in the entry to his kitchen wasn’t cowering.
For the first time in his life Duncan Gray wished he could have been as cruel as Nikira Horikoshi. She would have taken extreme pleasure in beating this woman-bashing bastard down, in making him whimper and suffer the way he’d made so many poor women suffer. But for Duncan, this wasn’t about getting pleasure. It was about business, and in this instance, about delivering justice.
Derrick Harvey lay sprawled on his back on his kitchen table, his body battered and broken. His face was a swollen, distorted mass of bleeding flesh.
After whipping his ass Duncan looked down at Harvey as he convulsed and moaned out his agony. He thought about his sister Charlotte, and how she’d suffered at the hands of her husband before cancer took her. He’d killed that bastard too. He’d taken his time with that baseball bat, making sure he broke every bone in his brother in-law’s body before he let him die.
Duncan searched through the kitchen drawers until he found what he was looking for. He picked it up in his gloved fist.
He returned to the table and leaned over it. Harvey peered up at him through the slits in his swollen eyes, terrified.
“The man you paid to rape and brutalize your ex-wife is dead,” Duncan said. “You’re getting ready to go hang out with him.”
“Please…” Harvey groaned. “I got money…I can pay you…”
“I’ll pay you more,” said a voice from the doorway.
Duncan looked up at the blonde woman entering the kitchen. She removed her large dark sunglasses. Her right eye was a deep purple bruise, swollen shut.
“Why don’t you give me that knife and leave,” she said. “I’ll take it from here.”
Duncan handed her the butcher knife. On his way out he heard Derrick Harvey scream at his wife for the last time.
One week later:
As Calvin James went out to his mailbox to get his Sunday paper he was thinking about canceling his subscription. Money was going to be tight for a while, but it was worth it to get rid of the man who’d hurt his baby girl.
Back inside he kicked back in his easy chair and opened the newspaper, looking for the sports section. An envelope fell out of the paper onto his lap.
Inside the envelope he found money. A lot of money. He counted it. It came out to the exact amount he’d paid for the contract.
There was a typed note in the envelope too. It read:
THERE IS NO PRICE FOR JUSTICE
© 21 August 2007
Coming in 2015
THE HITMAN CHRONICLES