Consequences
By KT Bartlett
Rain fell in sheets, letting
the cold settle in
deep. Three men—boys, really—early twenties, knelt before me, their bodies
convulsing. But it was more than cold that shook them. They were terrified.
Two men on my right, Regan
and David, stood
tense and ready.
It was my job to show them
how to handle this
situation, but I’d been doing this kind of thing for too long. I dug deep for motivation.
I cleared my throat. “Boys,
which one of you
wants to tell me why you tossed Mr. Chavez’s store, a business you know is off
limits.”
We were standing under a
streetlight in front
of Mr. Chavez’s Mexican Grocery. They’d robbed the store last night, taking
over $1,500 and terrifying Mrs. Chavez, who had been closing when the three
burst in, hooded, and brandishing a stolen gun.
The store was under the
protection of my boss,
Healy Byrne and had been for years. Everybody knew the penalty for going
against Byrne was steep.
David pulled a hatchet from
inside his coat and
laid it on the wide-railed fence that ran along the easement behind us. He was
built thick, and he stood with his chest puffed. A black bag sat at his feet.
A hatchet for this? New
guys always came in too
hot. I looked in his eyes. They were bloodthirsty. I gave him a stern look.
I’d have to talk to
the boss.
Beside him, Reagan shifted
his weight back and
forth. He was lithe compared to David, but the tension in his body was wound
tight. I thought he might snap.
I sighed and turned my attention
back to the boys
kneeling before me. “Well?”
They looked like they’d
been pulled out of a
teen style magazine, or whatever passed for that these days. One was black-haired,
chisel-chinned, while the other two had softer features, scruffy brown hair.
The two scruffs kept their
heads down, as if
not looking could make it all go away.
Chisel-chin looked up at
me. “We didn’t mean
it.” Rain, or maybe tears, dripped down his cheeks. “We were just messing
around.”
I know the saying boys will
be boys and all,
but the problem is we’ve got rules for a reason. Let them go, then everything
goes to shit.
I still couldn’t really
bring myself to care.
I’ve seen the same thing happen for years now. Nothing ever changes.
But that doesn’t alter
the consequences these
three have to face.
I turned to David. “You
don’t use a sledgehammer
when you need to hammer a nail. Get the clippers.”
He nodded and pulled bone
clippers from the
bag.
One scruff tried to get
up and run, but Reagan
grabbed him, forcing him to kneel. The scruff vomited. Regan jumped back,
cursing and checking his shoes.
Chisel-chin pointed to the
other scruff.
“Jayden. It was Jayden’s idea.” His words were punctuated by sobs.
Jayden punched chisel-chin’s
shoulder. “Shut
the fuck up.”
I squatted, taking Jayden’s
face in my hand.
“But it was at your suggestion, wasn’t it?”
Jayden started back, silent.
If looks could
kill.
“There are consequences
for going against the
boss. I can’t just let this go, you see. Mr. Byrne won’t have it.”
I stood and took the clippers
from David. Turning
to Reagan, I held them out. “Take the pinky.”
The fight that Jayden had
bolted. He grabbed hold
of my legs. “Please, Mr. Dougherty! Please don’t do it.”
Reagan grabbed his shoulders,
pulling him back
and grabbing his hand. I gestured to the other two boys to hold Jayden. Weakly
they stood and each one grabbed an arm. Jayden wailed.
The rain picked up, pelting
down.
But Reagan didn’t
move.
I looked at David. He shook
his head and
stepped back. Typical.
I nudged Reagan’s
shoulder. “Take the pinky.”
Jayden tried to jerk his
hand away. “Please
don’t. I’ll be good.”
Reagan turned his head to
look at me. The color
drained from his face. “You really want me to…”
From behind, someone grabbed
at my arm. I
turned to see a woman, an older mirror image of Jayden. She was a sprite, little
but fiery. Her long hair pulled into a ponytail. She tugged on my arm. “Please
Mr. D. My boy did a stupid, stupid thing. I know. But he’s young.” Like Jayden,
she wailed.
Chisel-chin broke away,
running with every
ounce of might he had. I looked at David. He just stood, watching. After a
beat, he took off after the kid.
My head churned. Nothing
ever changed. I dug deep
to find motivation. It wasn’t there.
Jayden wailed, his mother
wailed, Reagan stood
frozen.
The pressure in my head
felt like a vice grip. I
wondered if it would pop.
I jerked my arm away and
shoved Reagan aside. I
grabbed the hatchet off the fence. Reaching down, I grabbed Jayden’s left hand,
yanking it to me. I held up the hatchet and swung hard, bringing it down on his
arm, just above the wrist.
His hand came off in mine.
For a second, there was
no sound.
Just blissful silence.
Then the scene breathed
in, and the wailing
resumed. This time, Reagan vomited.
I dropped the hatchet and
the hand. Then I took
the keys from my pocket and tossed them to Reagan. “Clean yourself up. Then get
him to the hospital.”
The
rain eased, and I walked into the cold, wet
darkness.
