THUGLIT Issue Twenty

by Justin Bendell

  Mary Beth didn't respond. "The point of our demonstration," Sawyer said, "is that it's just property damage. Same kind of stuff the hippies were pulling back in the 60s. But watch how many people your government's willing to kill in retaliation."

  There was another round of machine gun fire followed by a man's voice over a loudspeaker, announcing the presence of the ATF and FBI, commanding those inside to surrender.

  "We better get moving," Sawyer said.

  Mary Beth started to ask where, but Sawyer was out of the room so quickly there wasn't time. She followed him to a hidden staircase that led down into a hollowed-out hole into a basement of cinderblocks and mud. Sawyer lit a lantern that revealed the entrance to an abandoned mine shaft. "This baby will take us all the way to Kentucky," he said.

  "I should have known you were too big of a coward to ever be a martyr," Mary Beth said. "So what? You're gonna run to safety while your followers up there get squashed like bugs."

  Sawyer flashed a devilish grin. "Oh no. As soon as the feds get ready to breach the walls, I'll give my people the order to fall back. Once we're all safe in the tunnel, I'll use this." Sawyer reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a device Mary Beth assumed was a makeshift trigger. "We've got enough Emulex to blow this place to Kingdom come. When the feds come crawling through, we're gonna give them a big surprise."

  "I don't think so," Mary Beth said. She pulled her backup gun, a subcompact Beretta she called her hummingbird. It was smaller than her hand but could drop a man Sawyer's size with no problem. "Put down that trigger, get on your radio and tell your people to surrender," she commanded.

  Sawyer didn't flinch. "I don't think," he started to say but was interrupted by the bullet that tore through his foot. Sawyer dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth like a hobbyhorse, shrieking in pain. "Jiminy God! Damn! Motherfucker!" he yelled. "Oh, you bitch. You fuckin bitch."

  "Next one goes in your shin," Mary Beth said, a faint plume of smoke wafting up from the barrel of her hummingbird. "I work my way up from there."

  An hour after Sawyer had turned over the detonator and ordered the safe surrender of his people, Mary Beth was kicking him in his ass as he hobbled and hopped down the mine. When her flashlight flickered upon an abandoned coal car, she took pity on her brother and let him climb inside, having to help him on account of the handcuffs.

  As she was pushing him toward the state line, he asked her why she'd snuck him out this way instead of leaving him for the feds. She insisted she simply didn't want them snaking her collar, but Sawyer wasn't buying that. "You weren't the least bit concerned that some sharpshooter wouldn't take a pop at me as I walked out with my hands on my head."

  Mary Beth didn't answer.

  "I mean, you're taking an awful risk sneaking me out like this. Some might say you're harboring a fugitive."

  "The only place I'll be harboring you is in the county jail," Mary Beth said. "That was my courthouse you blew up. The feds will have to wait their turn."

  "Come on," Sawyer said. "You telling me that us trekking through this dank old tunnel doesn't have anything to do with you being concerned for my safety?"

  "Shut up before I make you get out and walk."

  They exited the tunnel into a little clearing near a stream where the water ran fast over smooth round rocks big enough to stand on. Mary Beth could hear the traffic on Highway 52 a mile or two to the west. Then she heard someone racking a load and turned to see her Cousin Tommy pointing a shotgun at her.

  "Piss off, Tommy," she said. "You aren't going to shoot me."

  Tommy lowered his weapon and scratched the top of his head. "No," he said, "but he will." Tommy nodded toward a thicket of mulberry bushes where the former wrestler with the busted testicles was crouching low. He stood up, bow-legged, holding his own shotgun that he steadied with two hands.

  "Come on now, Mary Beth," Tommy said. "Let's make this easy. We just need to get Sawyer out of here."

  What had this all been about? Mary Beth wondered as Tommy handcuffed her arms around the trunk of a maple tree. Was this Mamie Kane just saving her baby from jail, or had she and Sawyer been working together the whole time? But if so, what was all the Ruby Ridge bullshit about. If they'd been working together, Mamie Kane was definitely the shot caller, and she couldn't care less about all the wingnut conspiracies Sawyer preached about. Unless, maybe the DEA had been moving in on her and she needed something big to distract the feds while she relocated some product. That could be.

  "Now don't you worry, Sis," Sawyer said before they turned to leave. He grinned at her, flashing the tooth he'd chipped as a child when the chain broke on their grandma's tire swing. "Once we get an hour or so down the road, we'll call your deputies and let them know where they can find you."

  Sawyer stood between the other two men, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders so they could carry most of his weight. He looked back as they walked him toward the highway. "Oh, and Sis…I'm really looking forward to seeing you at Thanksgiving."

  Letters to the Purple Satin Killer

  by Joshua Chaplinsky

  Dear Jonas Williker,

  My name is Ginny Goodwinch, and I'm a single mother of two from Chappaqua New York. (Bobby is five and Little Derrik is three. Mommy loves you!) I've been following your case and I must confess, I find it hard to believe a man with such a kind face could do those horrible things. It's like my momma always says, kind face, gentle heart. Of course, Momma thinks you're guilty as heck, but you can't be right all the time.

  The reporter on the news said you didn't have much family, so I figured you might need someone to talk to. It must get lonely in solitary confinement, even if it is for your own safety. I know what it's like to be lonely. Sometimes you can be surrounded by people and still feel like the only human being on the planet.

  Anyway, feel free to write me back. You can't believe everything you hear on TV, and I'd love to get to know the real you!

  Sincerely,

  Ginny Goodwinch

  Dear Jonas,

  How are you holding up? Are they feeding you enough? I know prison can be tough. Your father and I have been watching that television series, the Oz one? I don't like all the cussing and the violence, but I want to stay informed about your situation. I don't know if you are aware this, but there are men that dress like ladies in there, so be careful. Can you believe such a thing?

  Oh. Your father just reminded me that one of your alleged victims was a he-she. I'm sure you didn't realize it was a man.

  Your father's still pretty upset about the whole situation. I'll try to get him on the phone next time you call, but no promises. You know how stubborn he can be. I'm sure he didn't mean those things he said, about you burning in hell and whatnot. No matter what you've done, you're still our son. Dad's just never been very good at handling his emotions.

  I'll write again soon.

  Love,

  Mom

  Dear Purple,

  You make my cunt ache. I want to turn it inside out so you can carve your name into it. I want to slather you in my pussy juice and watch the jury lick it off. Make me your fuck slave.

  xoxo,

  Staci

  Dear Jonas Williker,

  I was so happy to get your letter! I've never had a pen pal before!

  Of course I'll tell you a little more about myself. I'm twenty-nine years old (I've been twenty-nine for the last thirteen years now!), and I've lived in Chappaqua all my life. I married right out of high school, which I do NOT recommend, and worked part-time as a bookkeeper for the local lumberyard. My husband Ronnie was a drinker, and what Momma used to call a "cooze hound." He took off right before I turned twenty-nine for the second time. We never had any kids, and the single life hasn't been easy, what with my thyroid issues. So a few years ago I adopted Bobby and Derrik, two special needs children. (The approval process is faster for specials, because no one wants them.) They bring so much sunshine into my otherwise dreary life!

 
But listen to me, complaining! How are things with you? Is your arm feeling any better? I can't believe they let that guard get away with such cruelty. Even if you did threaten to violate the stump of his mother's headless corpse (which I know you didn't). What's this world coming to?

  I'm enclosing a picture of myself, as requested. It's a few years old, but I don't really have a lot of photos without the kids. I hope you don't mind that I'm only wearing a nightgown. I think I look really pretty in it. (Now I'm blushing!) Anyway, I never had anyone to share it with, so I hope you like it.

  Your pal,

  Ginny

  Dear Jonas,

  I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your father isn't doing so well. The press has been hounding him non-stop and the stress is really getting to him. He can't even go out to get the paper without someone shoving a camera "in his face." I've toned down his colorful language, just in case anyone else is reading these letters. He's also taken to drinking again, and you know how bad that is for his IBS. Plus, with my arthritis, I can't scrub a toilet the way I used to.

  Personally, I don't mind the press. You just need to talk to them like regular people. One time they even put me on the news! I told them all about what a smart, well-behaved kid you were. I felt like a star! Unfortunately your father wasn't too happy about it, so now I'm not allowed to talk to them. It's a shame, because your father isn't much of a conversationalist these days.

  Have you made any friends on the inside? It's always good to have someone to watch your back!

  Love you,

  Mom

  Dear Purple,

  I want you to tie me up and bathe in my menstrual blood. I want to feel the knife you used to cut them moving inside me. How much longer will you make me wait? I've rubbed my pussy raw reading the autopsy reports.

  xoxo,

  Staci

  Jonas,

  Just a reminder, please exercise discretion when corresponding with members of the public. As you should be well aware, the correctional facility inspects all inmate mail, and anything you commit to writing may be used against you in court. Try to keep this in mind as your trial approaches. As your attorney, I would recommend suspending all non-essential communication with the outside world. It can only make my job more difficult.

  Anita Trellis, Esq.

  Dear Mr. Williker,

  My name is Candace Bennington. I am a PhD student in the Criminal Justice program at John J. University, and I have a proposition for you. Undoubtedly your legal team has counseled you against giving any interviews until after the trial, but I am not interested in the specifics of your legal woes. I am interested in your perspective.

  I am writing my thesis on the phenomenon of Hybristophilia, commonly referred to as "Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome." Basically, it is a term used to describe a person who is sexually attracted to criminals (or those who are perceived as such, as may be your case). Based on what I'm seeing in the news, this is an area in which you have some experience. It has been reported that you receive quite a bit of fan mail, and that attendance at your pre-trial hearings has been predominantly female.

  I would love to set up a time to speak with you, if you would be amenable. Please let me know at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Candace Bennington

  Dear Jonas Williker,

  Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Abigail Tinder, and I am a twelve-year-old preacher's daughter from Argos, Indiana. I am writing to tell you that even though you are a despicable sinner who has committed heinous crimes, it is not too late to save your soul from eternal damnation.

  Of course, fear of hell is not, in and of itself, a valid justification for redemption. I had to learn that lesson the hard way. As it says in the book of Romans, you must renounce your sin, and believe with all your heart that Jesus Christ is Lord. Only then can you truly be saved.

  It is that easy.

  If you are interested, I have enclosed a tract with a simple sinner's prayer for you to recite. I am also available to further instruct you in the ways of righteousness. I believe your conversion would be a valuable testimony to the saving grace of our Lord Jesus Christ—not that he needs it, mind you. You could be the next David Berkowitz. Think about it.

  Yours in Christ,

  Abigail Tinder

  Dear Jonas,

  I saw you on the television today. You looked so handsome in your suit! Was it my imagination or were there an awful lot of women in the courtroom? You better not be cheating on me! (Just kidding.)

  Speaking of kids, Bobby and Derrik have been driving me up the wall. (You hear me, guys? Mommy's still very upset about her Kristi Yamaguchi commemorative plates!) Sometimes I feel like they're the only thing holding me back from driving across the country to visit you. Would you like that? I'd leave the kids with Momma, but she's been confined to that dang wheelchair ever since she broke her hip. (She doesn't think I know, but EMS told me she was fornicating with the gardener in the shower when it happened!)

  Sometimes I get so angry over the things they say about you on the news. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? They don't know you raped and murdered all those women. That's for the jury to decide. I wish I knew where that mean old news anchor lived, I would drive to her house and give her a piece of my mind!

  Love you,

  Ginny

  Dear Jonas,

  I know you have a lot going on with your trial, and I hate to be a bother, but I have to ask. Do you remember your cousin Tina? You were only five or six at the time, but she went missing during the family picnic that year. We searched the woods for days and never found any trace of her—which is why your Aunt Lottie had to go live at the hospital for a while. Then a few weeks later, I found her jacket in the back of your closet. The purple one, with the white trim? It was all torn up and stained, and when I asked you how it got there you just shrugged and gave me that blank stare, the one you made in all your school pictures. I'm not accusing you of anything, but the purple satin used to gag your alleged victims reminded me of that jacket. All I know is that even after all these years, it would be a real relief for Aunt Lottie to know what happened to poor Tina.

  On a lighter note, I saw that news piece about all your lady-admirers. Your father nearly fell out of his chair, but I'm not surprised. You can be quite the charmer when you put your mind to it. Remember the time Mrs. Edmunds was going to give you a B+ on that paper, and you convinced her to give you an A? She told me you made a very compelling case and she just couldn't say no. I was so proud!

  Love you,

  Mom

  Dear Mr. Williker

  Thank you for your timely response. I will get right to the point by saying I appreciate the concerns you have. So, as requested, here is a little more about me and my project.

  You are correct in assuming my interest in this subject matter stems from personal experience. You see, I never knew my father. He was a career criminal who spent the entirety of my childhood behind bars. My mother, in her infinite wisdom, never allowed me to visit him. By the time I was old enough to do so on my own, he was dead. Stabbed in the throat by a jagged piece of lunch tray. It was over a fruit cup.

  Despite depriving me of a personal relationship with my own father, my mother corresponded with him often. It drove a wedge between us. This project is partly an attempt to understand her motivation. How could she be so obsessed with a man she professed to hate? Was she just trying to protect me from him? Or was she trying to keep him all to herself?

  I hope this has satisfied your curiosity. Please let me know if we could meet.

  Sincerely,

  Candace Bennington

  Dear Jonas,

  I wish I could have seen what you did to their bodies. Tell me, did you fuck them before or after you cut their eyes out? Which one was your favorite? Was it Glenda Myers? Or was it Stefanie Kellerman? I'll bet it was Stefanie. The autopsy report said you dug up her body days later to go back for seconds. Remember how her husba
nd broke down when he found out? It was deliciously pathetic. She must have been one sweet peach.

  Would you like to do those things to me?

  xoxo

  Staci

  Mr. Williker,

  I represent a contingent of concerned bereaved looking only for closure. It is a well-known fact that there are many missing and presumed dead associated with your case that have yet to be recovered. You hinted at as much yourself during your police interrogation, which is part of the public record. Maybe you were only toying with them, but I do not believe that to be the case. If you have any humanity left, I implore you, please release the details and locations of all your victims so their families can say goodbye properly. It would be an act of kindness on your part.

  Sincerely,

  Aurelius Percy, Esq.

  Percy, Paramount & Bint

  Dear Jonas,

  It's been a while since I've heard from you. Is everything okay? Why haven't you written me back? If this is about the woman who flashed her breasts in the courtroom, don't worry—I'm not mad at you. I know it's not your fault women are attracted to you. They see you as a hunter, an alpha male. It's only natural. Just please, write back soon. I know I get to see your face on TV every day, but your words bring me so much comfort. Whenever I get a letter from you I turn on Court TV and turn the volume down, so I can read it out loud and pretend you're talking to me. Of course, it breaks my concentration when they cut to that ugly old judge, and the children don't understand that sometimes mommy needs "private time," but it's all I have. Please. Just thinking about it makes me burn inside!