“Fucking voice mail.”
Jackie was right. When the announcement came out I had been chosen for the spot, a lot of grumbling could be heard. Being seasoned in ignoring the bitching of men around me, I made it clear I would continue to run things as Jackie requested. When we broke for lunch, I tried to call Austin to share my good news.
He had mentioned he was going to be hanging out with Dylan today, but I didn’t think that included turning off his phone. I found my sister sitting surrounded by textbooks, and her new laptop, engrossed in her studies. Refusing to disrupt her, I headed to my bedroom, and quietly closed the door.
“Hey, stranger.”
I took a chance I was catching Claire at a good time, not certain when she would have a break at work. I had to tell somebody the good news, with Austin still not answering, I was out of options.
“Hey, Bestie.” I tried to curb my excitement, which was an incredible feat at this point. I had this overwhelming desire to jump up on the tallest building, and shout to anyone who can hear how I did it. I’d jumped into the big boys club, and kicked some serious ass.
“I’m not disturbing anything am I?” Last thing I wanted to do was to disturb her during sexy time with Dylan.
“Not at all. I just got home from work, and Dylan is on a parts run. So I have a free night.” Hold the phone, if Dylan was on a parts run, then where’s Austin? “Parts run, what’s that?” A large part of me slipped into the place where so many have gone before. Where rational thoughts are forbidden, when fear and doubt are greeting you at the door. Rooms full of smoke and mirrors, allowing our deepest fears to become real.
“Oh…um…“ Her hesitation shattered the last remaining barrier, making my heart pound in my chest, and my throat feel as if it were swollen shut. “See, Dylan is really picky about who he has make parts for him to use on his bikes. With this new contract, he’s been going up, and supervising the build of the newest part.” While I was a terrible poker player, Claire was an even worse liar. But why? What could have possibly happened in a week, which would give her the need to lie to me?
“How far away is this shop? I mean, to be away overnight seems a little extreme.” Maybe it’s a character flaw, but I have this incessant need to dig and dig, until I unearth the truth. Especially if I know the person is lying.
“Not really, the part is complex, and time consuming. Why risk having an accident, if you can crash in a hotel room and be safe?”
“Makes sense I guess, but why drag Austin with him? Seems like he would be capable of supervising by himself.” Unless that isn’t where they really went…
“You forget, Austin owns thirty three percent of the business. He’s in the shop almost daily working alongside Dylan. Why wouldn’t he tag along for some guy time?”
“I guess you’re right. I’ve never really been around the caliber of man the Morgan’s are.”
“Lainie, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Austin. The man is completely nuts for you.”
Easy for her to say, she was in on the deception.
Pain makes you stronger. Fear makes you braver. Heartbreak makes you wiser. So thank your past for your brighter future.
“It’s still lying.”
“No, it’s not. I will be in the same fucking room with you.”
“It’s semantics. Which is still a fucking lie!”
“If it is bugging you that fucking much, call her up, and tell her the whole truth. Or stay the fuck home, and Carson and I will handle it.”
Some would argue the choice I had made to join with my brothers, dealing with the career criminal, wife beaters, and general scum of the earth, automatically placed me in a position where having a relationship was too selfish. Being a martyr came with the uniform of loner, absence of a companion, while roaming the planet in search of justice. It sounded more like the script from one of those comics they’ve made into a movie lately.
Having the desire to do the right thing isn’t a curse, but neither is finding the person who makes you happy. They’re the reminders of why you continue to take the ones who care so little for human life outside of their own, and make the world a safer place.
Dylan was correct. I didn’t actually tell Lainie a lie. I told her I would be hanging out with Dylan, while he finished a project. Which was completely true. This was Dylan’s project, and although my role was quite small, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain I could trust Lainie with the truth. I couldn’t take the chance she was one of those people who would look at what we were about to do as a crime, rather than a form of justice it was meant to be.
“How did you tell Claire?”
Dylan stopped folding the rope we would use to suspend Frank from the beams of the barn. “Claire was the driving force behind my decision to do this. Watching her kicking that fuck in the face, releasing the fear she had inside, made me want to keep it away.” His normally blue eyes were alive with a passion and fire, I had never seen in him. Even when he’d solved his first case as a detective, he didn’t show this much emotion.
“What I didn’t count on was Claire being so fucking smart.” He pointed his finger in my direction, as he picked up the rope with his free hand, winding up the tangled mess. “Which sucks for you because Lainie is not only smart as fuck, she knows how to get around the internet, just like you.”
I wasn’t worried about the internet. While Lainie is smart, I’ve seen her work. She’s good at designing and making clients happy with dancing webpages, but she has never created a firewall or attempted to navigate a wormhole. I’d covered my tracks well, so even the most advanced hacker couldn’t figure out how to follow me.
“You don’t have to worry about her discovering me like that. I know she did a search on me, she found what I wanted her and everyone else to find.” Dylan shook his head, but didn’t meet my eyes. I knew my brother, and the silence he used to ponder what I’d said, before choosing his words carefully. After the last piece of the rope was secured, he placed it in the back of my truck, his hands on the tailgate.
“Right now things are new with Lainie. She’s still dealing with her demons, courtesy of that dirt bag criminal who you helped send to hell. You may not have known her at the time, but you saved her, and you will continue to go out when the occasion arises to save someone else’s Lainie. Not because you want to, but because that girl’s name is already tattooed around the skin of your heart.” Dylan has never been a profound speaker, with his normal use of the word fuck limiting his vocabulary. Clearly Claire had awoken more than just his callused heart, but also his sense of loyalty and valor.
“Sometimes we have to break a few rules, and leave out a few truths, to keep the ones who live in here sleeping soundly at night.” He tapped his chest over his heart, as he ended his sentence. My brother has always been the protector. From the first day we entered each other lives, he had taken on the role.
“Don’t wait too long to trust her. Girls like Claire and Lainie,” he shook his head as a smile of longing appeared on his face, “Well they don’t come by very often.”
Men are simple creatures really. Give us something to drink, something naked to look at, and we’re happy. Do both at the same time, and we will do anything you ask of us. Using this principle, getting Frank Benson in the back of the town car, and keeping him there was easy.
Slipping his regular driver a few hundred dollars to get in the back of a van with a naked girl happened in a matter of seconds. Too bad the girl was a member of Vice, and he was now on his way to county jail for solicitation.
Frank came out of his South of Battery home, with his briefcase in one hand, and his cell phone in the other. Like the fuck stick he is, he didn’t even glance at his driver, as he slid into the car. They were well around the first corner, before he realized a masked man was sitting in the car with him.
Carson may be over fifty, but the fucker can move. He had Frank tied up like a hog off to the slaughterhouse, before they made it to the next block. With a ba
ll gag in his mouth, and hands and feet tied behind him, Carson smacked his ass, as the fucker pissed his pants.
“What’s this? We heard you liked it rough.” Frank closed his eyes tight, as the tears began to roll.
When Granddaddy died, he divided up the land he owned in northern Georgia between us. Nearly one hundred acres of hunting land we used almost every year when we were little. Daddy even had a little cabin and barn built on it, and since Dylan still went hunting in the fall, he got the section with the buildings. Once we switched cars, placing Frank in the back of Dylan’s truck, we headed for the Georgia border.
“You gonna be all right with this one?” Carson asked, looking at my face for any sign of hesitancy.
I was wondering when he would ask me this. Reading Franny Benson’s diary had indeed stirred up some old memories. Although my memories were just still shots of moments from my past. I had contacted a private detective, who was able to dig up information on my biological mother. Veronica Porter, the middle child of six girls, not a single one of them having the same father. Ronnie, as she was known on the streets, started turning tricks when she was fourteen. Becoming pregnant with me a year later, and refusing to give me up or get an abortion, she kept on doing the only thing she knew.
Ronnie fell in love with a man by the name of Teddy. A big old guy, who her pimp hired to watch over his property. Trouble was, Teddy was also a meth head. While he was busy getting high, a guy Ronnie was giving a blowjob to, didn’t feel like paying her. Instead of just leaving the room, he pulled out a knife, and stabbed her fifteen times. He never noticed me curled up with my blanket in the bathtub.
“More fuel for the fire man, more fuel for the fire.”
Dylan had pulled his four wheelers out of the barn, allowing more than enough room to pull his truck in, where no one could see what was going on. While we were in the middle of nowhere, we were also still in the south. People around here looked out for strange things going on, and since deer season wasn’t for another few months, there was no real reason for us to be around.
Carson jumped in the back, as I shut the barn doors. The smell of human shit and piss hit me, as I too jumped in the back of the truck. When we loaded him in the bed, we covered him with an old tarp. Dylan stayed within the speed limit, and we had no reason to stop.
Dylan turned on the propane gas for the hog pot. A large brick enclosed cast iron pot, in the corner of the room. Granddaddy loved to hunt wild boar, so he had one custom built. With a cherry picker winch to hold the massive boars we had seen, while hunting for deer.
Carson tossed Frank out of the truck. He landed with a thump on the dusty floor. Dylan took the knife Chase had given him a few years back. Some SEAL issued thing a buddy in Afghanistan got for him, and cut the soiled clothing from his body, leaving him bound and gagged. “Treat him as he treated me,” was Franny’s only request. With the fire roaring, bringing the water to a scalding hot rolling boil, Dylan came over with the pulley he had attached to the highest beam in the barn. Securing the rope, which wrapped around Franks ankles, Dylan hoisted the fat fuck upside down into the air.
Carson and Dylan each took a machete from the wall of the barn. Sitting on a small milking stool, Dylan pulled out Franny’s diary, and opened the first page.
“Frank Benson, you stand accused of mental and physical abuse of your family. How do you plead?”
Frank started jerking, and mumbling around the ball gag. Wanting to give the man a voice in all of this, I walked over, and removed the device.
“I have money!” He began shouting. “Lots of money. Tell me how much you want, and it’s yours, just don’t kill me.” He begged, like the bully on the playground who pushed the wrong kid. Now he was sorry, a moment too late.
“We ain’t gonna kill ya.” Dylan taunted. Slapping his open palm with the side of the blade. “But you’re gonna wish we would have.” Making his point obvious, he runs the blade from just below his pelvis to the middle of his stomach, bright, red blood streams down his body, as his cries fill the air.
“Frank, do you know what this is?” Dylan waved the diary back and forth in under his face.
“No.” Frank shakes his head back and forth, sweat and spot glistening on his face.
“This is the diary of a woman, who for the past twenty plus years, has suffered at the hands of the man who swore to love her.” He made another slice parallel to the first. Frank’s body shaking with a combination of fear and pain, bouncing from the movement of the blade.
“I’ve read this diary from cover to cover, several times over the past few weeks. And let me tell you,” another slash, another scream. “The more I read, the angrier I get.” This time he grabbed a sock, with what I suspected had a rock or a bar of soap inside, using it like a whip to lash across his legs. He will bruise internally. A trick Dylan learned from tryouts for quarterback in high school.
“Seventy two times she went to the hospital for stitches. One hundred and six times she suffered a bloody nose at your hands. Seven times she has been treated for gonorrhea. I lost count of how many times she was chained to the bed at night, or the broken bones she’s suffered because of you.”
Carson had waited patiently, as Dylan read off his crimes. The water had started to boil over in the corner, so he motioned for Carson to get some of it. “With all the abuse you gave her, all the times you laid a hand on her, which didn’t make her feel like a lady, nothing struck me more than the time you turned up the hot water in the shower, and held her head under. Sending her to the hospital with second degree burns.”
Carson returned with a pole in his hand, a steaming towel wrapped around the end. “Let’s see how you like it?” Frank passed out from the pain he felt, as Carson laid the boiling hot towel across his dick and balls.
By the time the sun came up, Frank had signed the divorce papers, agreeing to all of Franny’s terms, and was returned to an apartment she had rented for him to live in. None of his cuts required stitches, his burns were no worse than too long in the sun, but the memory of the pain would last a lifetime.
After Dylan dropped me off at my office, I wasn’t ready to tackle the next file on my desk quite yet. I climbed the steps to the roof top, a cup of coffee in my hand. Standing on the gravel cover, my view of the bridge unobscured. It seemed like a life time ago I’d thought of this view, and how much I missed it. Now I could stand here in the South Carolina sun, fresh air across my face, surrounded by family and a girl who deserved to be treated like a piece of fine china.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I knew she would just be getting up. But I had to talk with her, apologize for not being honest with her. I could feel the dread fill me, as my phone vibrated to life. The screen read Dylan, and I knew instantly this was going to be bad.
“Hey, got a call from the Silver Dollar Pawn Shop. Guess who tried to sell a diamond ring?”
If there comes a time in your life when you’ve taken one step forward and two steps back, take one huge lunge forward, so you’re four steps ahead, and don’t let anything let you take that step back.
~ Unknown
“You’ve been in town for a minute, and you already have a friend?” I teased my sister. The once shy girl who’d questioned if going back to school was the right thing to do. It took some words one of my professors gave to me to bring the smile and hidden confidence back. “Education is the one thing no one can take away from you.”
“I have several friends, but Ginger is the one who I get along with the most. She has this really great boyfriend who is always buying her stuff, paying her bills, and driving her around.” Heidi wore the spark in her eyes. The one responsible for the demise of many a great woman, too trusting for their own good.
Maybe I worried too much, imagining her jumping from one bad situation to another, each one worse than the previous. I feared the worst, as it was all she really knew, the only way she had ever learned. While I can’t be a mother to an adult woman, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to protec
t her from the harshness in life. Like a toddler, curious about the hot stove, I wanted to keep her from experiencing any unnecessary pain.
“I know that look, Lainie, and I’m not stupid.”
She’s right, she isn’t stupid. But, she is naïve, and far too trusting. George had kept her hidden from the real world, showing her only the parts he wanted her to see.
“I know you’re not.” I walked closer to her. Taking her hair between my fingers, and recalling the glee she had when Priscilla wrapped an arm around her, as we exited the elevator to the salon. The wonderment in her eyes, as she took in the massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and floral arrangements welcoming her with their exotic scents.
As children and young teens, we never had the resources to enjoy any time at the salon. Clipping bangs and creating curls happened on the front porch, as the neighbors watched, using dull scissors and dime store setting gel. Living on my own had afforded me the opportunity to patron that particular salon many times. Heidi had lit up the room with her wide expressive eyes and contagious smile. As she was primped and powdered, hair shampooed with professional grade products, and hair colored to look as if the sun had kissed selected strands, erasing the dullness living under George’s thumb had created. Gone was the girl who’d stepped off the plane, wearing dull gray, with school marm hair. In her place stood a twenty-three year old college student, with cut hair and stylish clothing. A clean slate to take over the world.
“But as your older, and much wiser sister, it’s my job to keep you grounded. Dull the shiny toys men use to try and sway you away from your dreams.”
“Lainie, not all men are like that, like some villain out to kidnap me.” I would love to place all the ignorance of life on George’s shoulders, to chastise him for not allowing her to live. But she is just as much to blame for closing her eyes to the news on the television, or the homeless people she fed in the soup kitchen. While her knowledge of the world is limited, it’s not empty.
Absolute Corruption: Southern Justice Trilogy Page 10