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.
