Revenge School (A Pay Back Novel Book 1)

by Myles Knapp

  Then he pulled an eight-inch hunting knife from a sheath. “This is an electroshock training knife.” Pay pushed a button on the hilt and the blade crackled with electricity. It looked like a lightning storm had erupted in his hand. “Can’t cut you with it. The blade’s aluminum. Delivers a shock powered by a nine-volt electrical battery. At max, it’s like getting hit with a cattle prod. I’ve set it on low, but still delivers a jolt.”

  Richard stared at the pulsing blade. “I was already tasered once. Shouldn’t it be somebody else’s turn?”

  Pay looked at the other class members. “Any volunteers?” No one raised their hand.

  “Here’s the deal. I’m going to stand about twelve to fifteen-feet away from Richard. Give him a little more chance than a guy might in the real world. And, also unlike the real world, he knows I’m coming, and that I’m going to knife him. Amy’s going to blow a whistle and the fight is on.”

  Pay pulled chest armor over his head and picked up a helmet with a full face shield. “These high power rubber bands hurt like a mother, and if you take one in the eye it’s going to be a while before you can see out of that eye again.”

  “Ready?”

  Richard shook his head.

  “Doesn’t matter. Bad guy would never ask anyway.” Pay flipped the face shield down and nodded at Amy. The whistle blew. Richard stepped back, reaching for the pistol. Pay charged in low, slashing at Richard’s legs.

  They crashed together and slammed to the floor. The pistol flew from Richard’s hand, skipping across the mats. He grabbed his crotch and shrieked, “What the hell happened?” His inner thigh felt like it was on fire. Plus, he was sure he had a least a dozen cracked ribs.

  Pay pulled Richard to his feet. “Takes most professionals about a second to draw a weapon, aim, and fire. Plus another half a second or so to decide to shoot. Average person can cover ten-feet in less than a second. ‘Course, I’m a little faster than average.

  “While you were drawing, I was busy crashing into you, cutting your femoral artery. And, if I’d hit you full strength, breaking a whole bunch of your ribs. If this was real, you’d have bled out in seconds.” Pay held up the knife. “This is a slashing tool not a sticking tool. There are five lethal spots. Two carotids.” He touched locations on the left and right side of his neck. “Two femorals.” He drew the training knife along the inside of his thighs.

  “Fifth is a chest cut. That one’s not for beginners.” Pay pointed the knife at his chest, just below the breastbone. “Push in. Slash left or right.” He wiggled the blade. “Knife disconnects a whole lot of vital stuff, including things you need to breathe. And, if you are good, or really lucky, maybe the bottom of the heart.”

  Chase moved from his spot at the edge of the mat to the front of the class. “Fucking knives scare the shit out of me. One good slash, even a lucky one, will buy you enough time to run like hell.”

  Richard pushed himself up off the floor and crawled over to a bench. “So what good is a gun, then?”

  “Not much if you let the bad guy get too close.”

  “So what are you supposed to do? I can’t imagine a guy with a knife is going to line up thirty or forty-feet away and let you know he’s coming.”

  “Only the stupid ones. Them you shoot to kill.”

  “What about the other ones?” asked Richard. “I mean, not every guy with a knife is an idiot.”

  “That’s what today’s class is about.” Pay motioned to Chase who bent over and grabbed Richard’s still fully loaded training gun. In the real world, Richard would have died without having gotten off a shot.

  Chase smiled at the class. “Now you’re going to learn why this is my favorite class.”

  Pay took his place about ten-feet away. Richard noticed Pay was closer to Chase than he’d been when Richard was the student.

  Amy blew the whistle. Pay charged. Chase took two quick steps to the right followed by one step back, and started shooting.

  Pay yelped when rubber bands hit his left shoulder and bicep. The armor only covered his chest.

  He crashed to the mat, scrambling into a wild leg kick. Chase jumped over Pay’s sweeping legs and shot him twice more in the back, hitting body armor. But when he landed, Pay’s reverse leg kick upended him, and Pay’s knife strafed Chase’s carotid. The class heard the sizzle as the knife made contact. Chase swore and both men collapsed in a heaving pile. “Thought you set that thing on low, you bastard.”

  Pay shoved Chase off him and rolled to his knees.

  Chase collapsed in the corner.

  The class looked back in stunned silence.

  “What’d you learn?” Pay rubbed at a welt on his left deltoid.

  Chase struggled to a chair. “You learned: don’t shoot first, move first. And your first move has to be sideways. That’s vital.” He rubbed the scorch mark on the side of his neck. “I also learned I have to go even farther sideways than I did. Bastard got me with that reverse leg sweep.”

  Richard pulled the training gun from Chase’s hand. “But Chase, he couldn’t have cut you or swept your leg. Everything happened awfully fast, but I’m pretty sure you shot him at least three times before he got you with the knife.”

  Pay’d removed his armor and was counting welts from the high-powered rubber ammo. Two were oozing blood, a third was a mottled red already turning black-and-blue. “Got me five times. And I know you’re thinking—if they’d been bullets I’d be dead. Maybe. Maybe not. But which shot was the kill shot? You can’t count on the first shot, or the second shot, or the third shot killing a guy. Lots of good men have died because they shot a guy once or twice and assumed he was dead. But the bad guy was some drugged up dude and a couple of bullets didn’t stop him. Plenty of guys survive seven, eight, nine—even ten bullets.”

  Chase scanned the group. “I can see some of you guys don’t believe it. So here’s the real deal. I’ve got a good friend, a Special Forces macho man. Real tough guy. He’s on night maneuvers in some Central American country, under fire, scared as shit, running like hell from one trench to another; he stumbles in the dark and figures he’s tripped on a rock. He runs another fifty-yards, shoots two bad guys, and broad jumps over a wall into a trench full of friendlies. Once he’s reloaded and got his breath back, he realizes his ankle is soaking wet. He figures he must have stepped in a puddle. Thirty minutes later, when he pulls out his flashlight to help fix a broken radio, he discovers he’s been shot in the calf.”

  Pay nodded. “Under stress, it’s easy for even a pro to shoot once and figure everything’s over. This is real life, not the movies. One bullet won’t stop a guy in his tracks. If you hit him—and that is a huge if—you might kill him. Probably won’t. Adrenaline, testosterone, fear, anger and drugs, can keep a guy going a lot longer than you think. So, if you shoot, shoot to kill. Then shoot and shoot and shoot again. And move, sideways and back, sideways and back, until you run out of ammo. Then reload and keep shooting. And the minute you have a chance, run like hell.”

  Amy divided the group in two, handing training knives to half the class and rubber band automatics to the rest. “Listen up, here’s how this drill works. Everyone alternates turns with the gun or the knife. After every match we rotate. Lose five times and you’re out. If you win five matches, you get dinner with the instructors tonight at Morton’s. Our treat. Just like real life, the losers get nothing. Winners are the first to score a major slash, slice one of the vital spots, or shoot the knife wielder four times. Fight starts when the whistle blows.” With that, she blew the whistle.

  Richard sliced a sizzling track across vegan boy’s carotid before he’d had a chance to blink. Turning to Chase, he smiled. “I think I understand why this is your favorite class.”

  The winners’ dinner might have been the shortest, quietest celebration in Morton’s history. Predictably, Barbara Jane had come in third behind Pay and Chase, who’d done t
he drill hundreds of times.

  The other students were too exhausted and beat up to really celebrate.

  Pay was glad Brooke had reserved a private room as most of the conversations, if you could call them that, involved comparing the severity of their wounds. The students numbed their aches with liquid painkillers dispensed by Morton’s excellent bar staff. And while everyone had a good time, it was readily apparent they needed an early evening.

  CHAPTER 55

  The next morning, Pay found Richard at the team’s HQ.

  Richard winced as he stretched out his ailing body. “I don’t know how you guys do surveillance half the night and then come to work in the morning.”

  “Now you know why I’m addicted to espresso. Anything happen after I left?”

  “After dinner at Morton’s last night I figured out where the dude who stole my things lives.”

  “Got a plan to get even?”

  “Chase and I talked about it a little last night. Can you tell me what you think?”

  “Sure.”

  “I saw him getting coffee in North Beach and followed him home. Found out his names’ Ray MacDonald. He shares a flat on the second floor of a three-story walk-up. It’s not a very nice place. And before you ask, I took my pepper spray and had Brooke meet me there.”

  “Good. What’d you find?”

  “I peeked through a couple of windows. The place was a sty—pizza boxes and beer cans were lying around everywhere. One of the windows was open and I could hear snoring.”

  “What else?”

  “About midnight we followed him to work. He’s managing the velvet rope at one of those hot after hour clubs south of Market. Brooke says people give him tips to jump the line.”

  “Look like he takes in much cash?” asked Pay.

  “Brooke couldn’t tell. She says he’s taking advantage of guys leaving the club.”

  “What’d she see?”

  “Nothing specific, but she says something is not right. About 3 AM one of the guys from her club showed up. Brooke’s sure my mugger was sending signals to someone that the dude was a ripe one.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I want to go to his house and beat the crap out of him. Then I’m going to zip tie him to a chair and take everything he’s got.”

  “That’s a good start, but once the adrenaline gets going I bet you’ll come up with something better.”

  Pay and Richard were sitting in the front window at North Beach Restaurant. Richard drinking a decaf Chai Tea latte; Pay having a light beer. They were going to break into MacDonald’s flat as soon as they were sure it was empty.

  “How’d you get into this business?”

  “Long story.”

  “Doesn’t look like we’re pressed for time.”

  “For years I worked a regular job. Used to play mostly by the book. Did things to help my friends out when I could.”

  Richard nodded.

  “The people who knew me then would say, ‘Never make the big man mad.’”

  “There’s a lot of territory from working a regular job to leading the Revenge Team”

  Pay decided to give him the PG version. The one where he didn’t admit to killing three mobsters. That was a story only Chase and Brooke were allowed to know.

  “I didn’t start out to be some modern-day Robin Hood. Just got tired of rude jerks. One night at the grocery, an asshole gets in the express lane with an overflowing cart. This clown’s holding up a whole bunch of tired people who are just trying to get stuff they need. There’s a sick looking guy in sweats and slippers buying Pepto, and a cute young mom in a Britney Spears T-shirt with a quart of milk. I really felt bad for the husband getting tampons, diapers and Kaopectate.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Everyone was too timid to call this guy out. I’d had a bad day and was already grumpy. Just wanted to get home with my beer and pizza. So, I said—and very pleasantly, I thought—‘The check stand for the math deficient is number eleven. Move your stuff there. Now.’ Then I gave him a little help. Folks insisted I go right to the front of the line.”

  “So from check stand expediter to vigilante?” Richard paused.

  “Took a while.”

  “What did it take besides time?”

  “Figuring out it felt better to stand up and do something instead of just stand by and watch.”

  “I’m really looking forward to that.”

  “You’re getting there.”

  “My progress seems really slow. Is there anything I can do to speed it up?”

  “Only thing that speeds it up is motivation.”

  “Like Mary Ellen.”

  “Yes. Now, random acts of violent personal enforcement make me feel good.”

  Pay took a sip from his espresso. “Then this freak raped my friend.”

  The bartender set down a fresh espresso. Pay nodded his thanks. “Richard, meet Brooke’s fiancé Denny.”

  Denny nodded and turned back toward the bar.

  “What happened?”

  “Peggy’s sleazy little maggot ex-boyfriend started creeping around. Little SOB looked like a muscular ET. Started with petty stuff. Stealing the mail. Filthy graffiti. The kind of mischief a skunk in the middle of the night does to a nearly blind, little person.

  “She ignored the bastard. Because the damage he did was as insignificant as he was. But, as anyone who’s ever been robbed can tell you, it’s not the stolen fifty bucks or the property damage, it’s the violation. Once someone’s broken into your car’s trunk or lobbed rocks through your bedroom window, it takes way too long for you to feel safe again. If they’ve raped you, you will never be the same.”

  “Never?” asked Richard.

  “Never.”

  “But you’d already started helping people?”

  “Was right at the beginning of the career. I was working my last real job writing advertising. Having what I used to think was a stressful day. I’d turned off my cell so I could meet a deadline.” Pay closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and sighed. “Just before lunch, the receptionist runs in. She’s shakin’ and talkin’ so fast all her words are running together.

  “‘Pay-I-know-you-are-working-on-deadline-and-said-not-to-be-disturbed-but-you-gotta take-this-call.’ She stops to take a breath and, BAM, she’s right back at it again. ‘It’s somebody named Koa. Says he’s your friend. He’s screamin’ and cryin’ and I can’t understand him. But he keeps saying he’s gotta talk to you and his sister is hurt and bleeding all over.’

  “So I grab the phone and Koa says, ‘Oh Jesus, there’s blood. It’s everywhere. All over the floor. Peggy’s right in the middle of it. Oh God.’

  “He’d all ready called 911.” Pay chuckled. “Good thing I only worked two blocks away. Even back then I hated runnin’. Now that’s Chase’s job.”

  Richard signaled Denny for another chai.

  “Place was a gory mess. Peggy was moaning and writhing. I grabbed the first towel I could find and pressed the gash on her head. When the ambulance left, I realized most of the blood was from her head, but the rest came from between her legs.”

  Richard gulped his chai and held his breath.

  “Peggy’s been my friend since grade school. Anyway...got her in the ambulance. Did what you’d do. Made up my mind to kill the son of a bitch. Called her sister, and had her cover the hospital.

  “Then called the cops. Panic doesn’t begin to describe it. I completely lost it.”

  Pay crunched the ice in his empty water glass. “What a cluster fuck. It took the cops hours to get there. Since Peggy was already at the hospital, and the bad guy was gone, they had to concentrate their resources on more urgent situations. Peggy being blind didn’t help. She couldn’t identify her assailant because she couldn’t see him, and he hadn’t said anythi
ng. Just beat the crap out of her and raped her.

  “When the police finally arrived they did a report. Said they’d give it to the DA who’d decide whether or not to take things any further. Suggested I visit the county sheriff and help her get a restraining order.

  “Peggy deserved justice and I was gonna get it, damn it. I ripped down to the county sheriff’s office, and got the only speeding ticket I’ve ever had. First restraining order was rejected by the judge without us ever seeing him. I figured we’d done it wrong, so I did it again. The judge turned down the second request, too. Never even talked to her. Just sent a note that said there wasn’t enough evidence. Wasted two days filling out forms, re-filling out forms, and standing in a line that never moved.”

  “Wow. That’s hard to believe.”

  “Ever been to the Sheriff’s?”

  “No, never.”

  “Think of the DMV from hell, with metal detectors and armed employees added in for fun.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “I started out pissed off. By the end of the second day, I’d chewed my fingers until they bled. I’d screamed at armed men. Only thing kept me from strangling a cop was I knew I couldn’t help Peggy from jail.

  “People at the Sheriff’s office want the system to work. They help you with the paperwork and stuff. We filled out forms, waited, filled out more forms and waited some more. In the end, nothing got done.”

  Richard shook his head. “It’s hard for me to imagine they didn’t want to help.”

  “They wanted to help. Just couldn’t.”

  “Is it always like that?” asked Richard.

  “The system can, maybe, get you legal justice. If the criminal was an idiot who left behind a zillion clues it’s easier.”

  “It must have been awfully frustrating.”

  “Yeah. No one else was going to take care of that freak. It was gonna have to be me. And I knew I didn’t know how. That night, I decided I wasn’t going to settle for getting even. I wasn’t just going to walk up to him outside a bar and belt him a couple of times. I was gonna make that silly, sick bastard afraid. Afraid to go to bed. Afraid to walk down a dark street.