by Tyler Wolfe
A single dim yellow light bulb illuminated the dilapidated back patio, showing me that the screen door was closed but the door beyond it was wide open. Inside, I could see a faintly bluish-lit space with a light flickered now and again: the television. It seemed like he just didn’t turn on any other lights if he could help it, aside from the one on his porch.
The screens on the back door were all torn and falling out, and looked to have been patched inexpertly at one time. But now even the patches were wearing out.
The unsecured porch stood there like an open invitation. My eyes narrowed as I drew closer.
The items I saw lying around told the story of the beastly man who lived there. Bottles and cans, all empties of cheap beer, piled up on the back porch in overflowing bags. No-Neck was clearly an alcoholic who rarely got up the energy to make recycling runs. The old rusted car parts; perhaps he was a mechanic, or had once thought of himself as one. Why else would anyone keep so much rusted junk around? And then his dilapidated house and porch; this shmuck had to have lived alone. No right-minded lover or roommate would ever put up with all of this. And judging by the broken leash I had just seen, even his dog didn’t want to stick around.
The old rusted burgundy sedan also sat in back, at the end of the half-cracked oil-stained driveway where a patch of discolored concrete marked where a garage had once stood. It was amazing he could even find a spot to park with all the trash lying around. The place was like a minefield, with a narrow partially cleared path running from the car to the run-down porch.
What the hell was it that turned you into this? I wondered as I picked my way up to the porch. Did you peak in high school like those thugs that made my life miserable? Did you start hitting the bottle when you realized your hair was falling out and your gut was expanding with every passing year? Or did you just go Frat boy alkie a-hole and just never snapped out of it, even twenty-odd years later.
Now, you were facing eviction. You needed money. I get it. Everybody has a reason for what they do. Your mistake was targeting me.
Well, it doesn’t look like you’ve got much of a life to lose. Shrugging off a stab of pity for the man who was poised to ruin my life, I steeled myself and crept slowly towards the unlit part of the back porch.
Once I reached it, I noticed a window on the near end of the porch that emitted the faint blue glow of the television...and little wisps of cigarette smoke. I slipped up onto the porch, edged past the bags of recycling, and peered through the window.
The inside of the man’s home was just what I had expected—a complete dump. I could see the back of an old 70s recliner, and in front of it a brown cabinet-style television. It was playing a car chase from some eighties-era actioner.
I could see the top of No-Neck’s bald head silhouetted against the glow from the television. To the right of his chair was a wood tray table where my black gym bag was sitting. I stared in amazement as I noticed the bag wasn’t even open. Just then, his meaty hand reached over for the bottle of beer next to it. I could hear his labored breathing even over the movie. It was if he had so exhausted himself from the walk that he needed a break before doing anything else. I tried not to feel too smug, but I was obviously in far better shape than he was, which instantly gave me confidence to think I had the advantage even though he out-weighed me in every sense. He was bulky, but I had strength and more importantly, endurance. Maybe that’s all I really needed.
After a few puffs on his smoke and several swallows of beer, he tossed aside his empty bottle, then leaned to the right and slid the bag off the tray table and into his lap with an audible grunt of effort. I froze, hearing the rasp of the zipper.
He’s not even turning on the light to check it? Maybe his lack of energy had made him lazy. Hopefully the low light will trick his eyes and maybe he won’t see the damn fakes until morning. I crossed my fingers mentally; my real ones were hovering near my pistol.
Then I heard a snort, and for a moment I thought he had figured it out. But the snort grew into a chuckle which then bloomed into a raspy, drunken laughter. He sucked on his smoke in the middle of it and started coughing, continuing to laugh through it until he quieted and sat wheezing.
“I can’t believe that skinny little girly-man fell for it!” He tittered again and muffled a cough. I felt my blood pressure start to rise. “Shit, I should have demanded more. Maybe a few pumps on that sweet piece of ass wife! Ha ha. Oh well.” More coughing, as I slowly drew the gun out of my pocket.
My head was pounding. The steady buzz of insects around the porch light suddenly maddened me and his arrogant laughter drove hot needles of rage through my heart. What did you just say about my wife, motherfucker?
I stepped back and leveled the gun at the fat, shiny dome of his head through the window. He wasn’t even twenty feet away. Totally unsuspecting. The noise from the movie would probably cover the sound—
But what if it doesn’t? There are at least two squad cars full of cops just blocks from here.
It was like a slap of reality suddenly waking me, as was what the sloppy bastard inside chuckled next.
“Oh well. Time to call the cops!”
Panicked, I leveled the gun again, and tightened my finger on the trigger. I could not let him make that call!
He grabbed his phone off the table—and immediately fumbled it. “Fuck!” It fell knocking off the table; rolling off into a dark spot on the floor. The man just sat there and tittered. “Oh hell, I’m too damn drunk anyway. I’ll call them in the morning once I sleep this off. Give that dumb fucker a nice wake-up call.”
You’re not waking up tomorrow, you son of a bitch. I thought as I tucked the pistol back away.
Taking my attention off him for the moment, I began scanning the scattered junk around the back side of the porch. With only the single cloudy light bulb illuminating the back of the house, it was almost impossible to see. Broken bottle? Too messy. All those piled-up boards look rotten. Dammit. I need a weapon, now!
Suddenly, I remembered the cable leash I had passed earlier and my gears started turning.
He’s already having problems breathing. And it’s surprisingly simple to strangle someone to death. Hmm…this might be easier than I thought.
I stayed crouched as I moved over to the post holding the end of the leash. Steeling myself, I grabbed the clip connecting the leash to the metal post and pulled on it, only to discover that it was rusted shut. Oh hell. Come on! I pried at the clip as hard as I could, feeling the rusted metal clip begin to cut into my thumb through my leather glove.
Finally, with some extra grit, it gave—a sliver of rusted metal cracking off; allowing me to finally unhook the damn thing. I scooped up the broken length of leash, which was maybe five feet long, and coiled it around one hand slowly as I stared back inside.
There was a high, ringing tone in my head and I couldn’t fully figure out its source. It was undercutting the night sounds and the sounds of the television and sounded like radio feedback, but quiet and distant. I kept coiling the cable, tighter and tighter, until it squeezed around my arm almost painfully. My back teeth were hurting again.
He threatened me. He threatened Zoe. Suddenly, any ambivalence that I had was completely gone.
Deep down, I still felt a sort of horror and grief—but it didn’t plead with me to stop. That part of me sat instead, a silent watcher, finally understanding that this was necessary. It was like the kid I had been: innocent, kind, trying so hard to be good and peaceful had become tired of being beaten, bruised, scarred, and terrified. No one ever protected that kid. Not even his parents; their answer was always, turn the other cheek. They never even let him fight back. They let him be emasculated. Dad, where the hell were you? Praying?
I uncoiled the rope again and wrapped it more lightly, leaving two feet of slack in my fist. Inside was the neighborhood bully—the man who spread his misery wherever he went, taking advantage of the desperate, and ruining lives out of malice. Dad never had to live through lying there with
a circle of faces over him, cursing and spitting. He never had to spend the better part of every week trying to protect his face and nuts from fists and feet.
I prayed, Dad. I prayed. And I turned the other cheek just like you wanted. But you know what that gets you in this world?
I wrapped another six inches of the line around my other palm and yanked the slack taut between my hands as I glared at the house. It gets your ass bullied by guys like this one.
No more. I stalked toward the house again, and made my way up the steps, placing my feet in the same spots as before on the aging wood.
Besides, in your book, I was bound for HELL the first time I hit back. So, what’s one murder after that? What’s two?
If it was a sin to defend myself, then I would never repent.
I checked No-Neck’s position again through the back window. The only thing he had done was change the channel to porn. Amazing. His place is falling down, he can’t pay his rent and his car’s a heap, but he’s got an endless supply of beer, cigarettes and skin movies. How pathetic.
The back screen door didn’t even have a hook. I pulled it open and stepped through, looking around at the incredibly cluttered back hallway. In the corner nearest the kitchen door was a whole stack of small propane tanks, either to supplement the big one outside or for that dead grill in the backyard.
Across from it was a large gas can set atop an old cardboard box full of random gardening gear. It had to be at least partly full because its weight pressed down the edges of the box and made it lean precariously. I edged past it, and into the dark, putrid smelling kitchen.
This room was even more full of clutter and filth than the backyard. The sink was piled with dishes that smelled of rot and the floor had not been swept in ages. Just about every surface including the stove was covered with food wrappers, plastic grocery bags, more dirty dishes and other crap I couldn’t easily identify in the near darkness. I crouched and duck-walked across the floor, keeping low, careful to avoid stepping on anything noisy as I made my way through.
I paused in the living room doorway, maybe ten feet behind that gleaming bald head, and looked down at the leash in my hands—a steel cable encased in smooth plastic. It would leave a mark but there would be no fingerprints left thanks to my gloves, however I would have to ditch the cable somewhere, unless I found some way to destroy it.
One thing at a time, a hard, cold voice inside me said. You got to kill the fucker first.
The thick brown shag carpet beneath me stank like it hadn’t been vacuumed in the last twenty years. I could only imagine the layer of filth I was crawling over as I crept towards the back of the recliner.
He turned the volume up, filling the room with the slaps of flesh on flesh and ridiculously exaggerated moans. The weird juxtaposition of filth, hatefulness, despair and lust in this room curdled my stomach even more. This place is a den of sin.
My legs were starting to cramp from all the slow steady movements I was making while crouched close to the floor. I might have gotten a lot fitter in the last several weeks, but I had my limits. The whole night was beginning to catch up with me—my leg muscles now burned as I crept forward, breathing in slow, labored breaths. Luckily the television was loud enough to cover the tiny sounds I made as I drew near.
It’s time. No wussing out, or this fucker will kill our future in the morning.
As I began to slowly stand up behind the recliner, I tightened the cable between my fists. The man in front of me, chuckling as he puffed on his cigarette, had no idea what his fate was about to be. I took a deep breath of the fetid, smoky air, feeling like I was being poisoned by it, and braced myself to throw the cable over his head.
Just as I leaned forward to get into position, the television blinked before starting a new clip. The screen went black for no more than a second, but felt like twenty as a dim reflection shown of the bastard sitting in his chair with me, a hooded, black-clad shadow, looming right behind him.
We both froze as we saw each other on the screen. An instant before I realized that he had seen me as well, I looked at the dark figure standing behind the man, and I couldn’t recognize him. Then, I heard No-Neck suck air and knew I had no more time.
I flung forward, throwing my arms over his head before he could cry out or raise his own. The length of leash sailed down in an arc between my fists landing on his meaty chest, only for a moment as I quickly pulled it up around his neck.
As I felt it catch, I yanked back on the leash with every ounce of strength that I had. His body was incredibly massive and dense compared to the boy’s. His throat well protected by the fat that hid it. Shit…Shit! I wasn’t sure if the cord would be enough.
He clenched his fists frantically, snapping his cigarette in half as burning embers went falling on the carpet. The TV remote in his other hand creaked as he clenched it, shooting the volume up and filling the house with a woman’s fake-ecstatic cries. They graciously covered his choked, horrified gurgles and wheezes as the makeshift garrote sank bit by bit into his flesh.
I then dropped backward, letting my full weight collapse to the floor, yanking his head back hard against the recliner as I leveraged gravity to pull harder. Adrenaline and burning hate surged fresh fuel to my protesting muscles as I felt the cord bite deeper.
As my weight bent back the recliner as far as it could go, the struggling bastard tried to fight. He finally dropped the remote and grabbed at the cord, now sunk deep into his flesh, clawing to get his thick fingers beneath it but not succeeding. He wheezed and croaked as he thrusted forward with all his strength; a best effort to try to break my grip. The cord bit harder into my palms through the gloves, but I barely felt it as my rage boiled over.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN BLACKMAIL ME?” I roared in his ear over the television noises spilling into the room. “You thought I was just going to fucking take it?” A crazy grin stretched my lips as my strained arms pulled harder to cut off his air. “You think you can threaten to rape my wife and I would let that stand?”
He let out a desperate croak and flailed at the armrest and the table beside him which crashed to the floor with its contents. There was a drum-like pounding in my head. That high, ringing sound was back, starting to undercut everything, and the edges of my vision turned red. “You fucked with the wrong guy, you piece of shit,” I hissed in his ear as his feet beat a tattoo on the worn carpet.
The man in the chair wasn’t just the man in the chair anymore, as my adrenaline started to make me lightheaded and speedy. He was every boy in that ring of faces. He was Bob. He was every single guy I had ever met who had picked on me because I wasn’t like them. He was every guy who abused his strength and power, and my attempts, time and again, to be the better man.
For a moment, the chair tilted back so far I wondered if he and it were about to fall backward on me and pin me under it. But he made another desperate lunge forward, pulling it upright again. I could feel the same rabid rage that welled up in me weeks ago rise up again. I pulled back, with even greater strength.
“That’s right motherfucker!” I chanted in a wild voice as the television speakers moaned and squealed and he gurgled horribly. “You see what happens? Do you see what happens? Huh? Do you? I’ve had enough of your kind! Now…you… FUCKING DIE!”
The monster in the chair fought stubbornly to live. I knew it wasn’t over yet and put one foot against the back of the recliner, shoving its footrest forward and swinging the backrest back as its steel frame unlocked. I clambered onto it, tilting it back further, and braced my feet on either side of him, pushing backward with all my leg strength.
He flailed at the air in front of us, droplets of greasy sweat spattering me as he crowed and gurgled and then went into convulsions. I heaved backward with all my strength—and his crowing, gagging breath went suddenly silent.
With one final plea to live, he went wild, heaving and thrashing so hard it was like I was running electricity through him. The smell of blood joined the stench of the room—and
then the fresh reek of his bowels relaxing. For almost a minute, I rode it out...until finally, he relaxed, his movements dying down to some last reflexive twitches.
I continued to hold the cable tightly, straining my body, as if the job still wasn’t finished. I half expected him to start fighting again and watched him warily. But, eventually my body just couldn’t hold its position.
I put my feet down and tried to pull the leash free, but it was stuck, embedded in his flesh. “Huh.” I clumsily unwound the ends of the leash from my throbbing hands, and straightened my gloves, which pulled loose where they had been pushed hard into my skin. Unable to pry the wire out of his puffy, bleeding throat, I dropped the ends and let go of him. I moved out of the way as he slumped backward into the partly upset recliner.
“Took you long enough you bastard,” I panted in disgust as I walked partway around the recliner to retrieve the bag. My arms ached, my back ached, my legs felt like they had weights attached and I knew I had pulled a few muscles. “Why the hell did you have to be so hard to kill?”
Not so much as a rattle answered me over the moans and slaps coming from the television.
Feeling a little paranoid, I moved to the front of the recliner to look at what I had done. My wound-be blackmailer lay dead in his recliner as if he had been electrocuted by it. His head laid back on the top cushion, eyes open but rolled to the back of his head. His tongue lolled grotesquely out of his mouth, starting to swell—as was his throat, around the deep, bloody groove that the cord had dug in it.
I stood rubbing my sore hands and let out one heavy breath after another while I stared at the lifeless body sprawled in the recliner. No movement. Dead as his plans, a look of shock on his face around that slug-like tongue. It’s done. He can’t hurt us any more, Zoe baby. I took care of it.
Except...
I stood there staring at him, fist jammed against my mouth as I struggled to breathe the thick air. If he’s found here like this, everyone will know that it was murder.