Hawk's Revenge

by N. M. Catalano

  It was stupid! I finally gave in and decided to deal an ounce, just one, to keep my family from getting dispossessed. My mother refused to tell me what was wrong, but I saw the letter sticking out of the junk drawer in the trailer. It’s just her, me, and my fourteen-year-old sister, my father had been killed in the war. Life had been tough, but it was good, my mom had made sure of it. She worked her ass off, nights most of the time down at the diner, but she was always there for us, made sure we sat down together as a family to eat every Sunday dinner. Then she got fired. She wouldn’t say why, but I’ve seen the way the slimeball who owns the diner looks at her, I’d helped out washing dishes there a few times when their dishwasher laid out on a hangover or some shit. He’d always told her how good she looks in her short uniform; the other ladies’ dresses weren’t as short. I knew mom hated it, she was always tugging it down and trying to make it grow. I couldn’t understand why she wore it when I was a kid. I finally figured it out when I saw his eyes on her. He made her. Fucking perv. I think it’s because of him she can’t find work anywhere else. So, being as I’m the man of the house, I accepted Cesar’s invite to help out the Latin Bloods, a local gang, in their clubhouse. I didn’t want to become one of them, we just needed the money. It was nothing big, just cutting up the drugs, weighing them out, and getting them ready to sell. That’s it. I made enough cash to put food on the table and keep the lights on. That was until the letter arrived telling us we had thirty days to vacate the premises. I knew I needed to double what I was making, and fast. Cesar fronted me an ounce, told me because he knew I wouldn’t touch the shit, (fuck that, I don’t do drugs), he could trust me. I’d earned it. I’d just left the Latin Bloods clubhouse with the blow burning a hole in my pocket when I got jumped.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared when I left with it, because I was, practically shitting my pants. That’s probably why I didn’t notice them before they were on me. They beat the hell out of me, but I got one of them good before they took the package from me. Grabbed the guy’s head who’d reached into my pocket and smashed his face into the sidewalk. The bat immediately landed on my ribs so hard, I passed out. When I came to, a crowd had gathered around me. It couldn’t have been just a couple of minutes. I was in bad shape, but not too bad that I didn’t realize I was in deep shit. I’d lost the drugs and I had no way to pay the Latin Bloods for it.

  I was fucked. Bad.

  I ran and hid out in this abandoned building on the outskirts of town. At night I went out to steal food and water, but I stank like holy hell. That was three days ago. I’ve healed enough that my head is clearer. It’s time to go face the mess I’d left out there. Dragging myself up, I headed home. I had to get right with my mom and sister first, I knew they’re worried sick about me.

  It took me an hour to get to our trailer park because of what I’m sure is the broken ribs they left me with, I could barely breathe. As I got closer, I picked up the remnants of smoke and burnt plastic and wood in the air. This city smelled of all kinds of bad, I didn’t pay it any mind. The closer I got to home, the stronger the smell became. My heart began to pound harder and the pain in my side became weaker from the adrenaline now shooting through my body. I tried to run, but couldn’t, my broken bones made sure of it. When I turned the corner onto the dirt road that led straight down two rows of dilapidated mobile homes barely held together with duct tape, my legs gave out beneath me.

  My family’s home was burned almost entirely to the ground. Encircled in Do-Not-Cross yellow police tape stood what remained. The roof was gone, the walls had been sucked in like cheeks, and all the windows were broken, shattered glass laid around the entire perimeter. Smoke was still rising from the structure.

  “NOOOOOO,” the blood curdling scream registered from somewhere in the distance before I realized it had come from me.

  I forced my legs to move, and it seemed like forever, like I was pulling my feet from quicksand, before I burst through the front door that no longer closed. I scanned the interior, it was like I was looking at everything from under water. Although the entire interior had been burned, I could tell there’d been a struggle. They fought the motherfuckers! That small realization lit a small glimmer of hope within me. Until I saw the inconsistency in the rug color. There were splotches of dark stains surrounding two large patches. Blood. Their blood.

  A sound so foreign rose up from deep inside me, I didn’t recognize it with my ears, but felt it with my soul. It was some darkness I’d never known before. It felt so angry, so vile, so unholy, it must have come straight from hell and possessed me. It settled over me and left me feeling calm and in control. I stood in my home, the last place my mother and sister were alive, and let the horror they must have lived through seep into me. I closed my eyes and let the darkness become me. I stood there and made a vow, a vow that was consecrated with the blood spilled from my family, that I would do unto others as they have done unto me and mine.

  When I emerged from their crypt, a crowd had gathered outside. I didn’t think about what I must have looked liked after having spent three days in that abandoned building. Honestly I didn’t look at anyone’s faces. Were they horrified? Were they angry? Upset? Did anyone actually give a fuck what had happened here? Did anyone hear them screaming or their cries for help? Did any of these people try to help them?

  Guilt, soul crushing, crippling guilt crashed through the darkness as the words reverberated in my head. That doesn’t matter, you weren’t here.

  I wasn’t here. And it’s because of me this happened.

  As I left my childhood home for the last time, I didn’t look back. There were three people who were killed in that fire. Something entirely different was born there.

  Two Years Later

  Funny how some things never seem to change. Shitty ass neighborhoods are one of them.

  I’d been back home for six months, long enough to monitor and devise a plan. I’m ready.

  It’s been two years since the actions of these three pieces of shit that had destroyed three lives.

  It’s time to pay up.

  Sitting in a car I stole outside the building where the three guys who jumped me that night emerge from, I watch them, looking like strung out junkies. Because that’s what they are. I came to find out they share a dump apartment in the worst part of town. I also found out they never made it into that gang. Seems a war started after they jumped me and snorted the blow. That act was considered stealing from both gangs, Cesar’s because the drugs belonged to him and hadn’t been paid for. The rival gang’s because the boys didn’t give them the loot they confiscated. These boys were the plague and no one wanted them. Except me.

  I’ve come to claim what they stole from me. Three lives.

  Getting out of the stolen vehicle, pulling on a pair of leather gloves, I don’t bother locking the doors behind me. What’s someone going to do, steal it? The irony makes me want to laugh.

  Honestly, these guys are just the appetizers to the evenings menu. It’s almost a waste to kill them, but it’s the principle. They started the chain of events from the night two years ago, so here is where I’m beginning. An eye for an eye.

  However, I can never get complete vengeance for what happened to my mother and sister. I will not do that to another innocent woman.

  Someone I know is a cop. In exchange for information he needed, he gave me some of my own. He looked into the files and got me the coroner’s report. It seems my mother and sister had suffered severe violence before they were burned alive. They’d been tortured and raped before they’d been tied up and the trailer set on fire, left there to die horribly.

  I embrace the molten rage that unfurls inside me.

  The memory of those words on the nondescript paper blur my vision as I step in behind the three guys, the three knives I bought for each of them pressing into my body, giving me a small sense of pleasure. I up my pace, this needs to be quick, I’ve got another date tonight for the main course.

  It’s earl
y, too early for them to be so stoned, they won’t realize I’m behind them. One turns to look over his shoulder at me. That’s intentional. I want them to be fully aware of what’s happening.

  “What the fuck?”

  The other two follow their buddy’s lead. “You stupid or something?” one laughs.

  “Just want to score. What you boys got?” I step in closer.

  The bums in front of the liquor store we pass watch us as we walk by, eyes trailing from the three drug addicts to me. I nod at them and give them a smile, looking directly into their faces. I wonder if they can see the devil staring at them through my eyes. He sent me to claim his victims tonight. The bums don’t comment.

  The three degenerates look at each other, and I can see when they flip like a switch from defensive, to look-at-this-asshole-let’s-fuck-with-him. That’s right boys, let’s. I’ve got shit to do.

  “Yeah, man. Come on,” they turn into the next alley as I follow behind.

  I know this alley, it’s still the same, smells like piss and puke and decaying lives. Perfect place for them to die. They walk to the end as I pull two knives from inside my jacket, one in each hand. Knowing I don’t want an audience, I don’t want to attract attention, this needs to be silent. My steps don’t slow as I get right in front of them as I watch their faces.

  “Hey, step the fuck…,” his words are cut short from the knife in his throat.

  “WHAT THE…,” his too.

  I’m already unsheathing the third blade and turning to the remaining scumbag. “Remember me?” I smile and lodge his specially chosen gift into his throat.

  I didn’t want to kill them immediately. I wanted to give them a message first.

  “That night you mugged me, you signed your death warrant. You killed my mother and my sister. Just wanted to make sure you knew exactly who I was.”

  Their bodies have already slid to the floor, their legs flailing in front of them, as they weakly clutch the hilts of the blades protruding from them. They’re trying to say something; I can hear it through the gurgling sounds they’re making. It doesn’t make a fucking difference. Standing over them, I watch as the life drains from them before I reach down and take whatever valuables they have. Between the three of them, they’ve got fifty-six bucks. Enough for the bums in front of the liquor store to get drunk on for a few days.

  Leaving the alley, I take off my leather gloves, shove them in my pocket, and turn back the way I came. Tossing the cash to one of the drunks, I say, “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbles as he catches it. He’s not that drunk. Yet.

  Getting back in the car, I head toward the Latin Bloods compound. This one is going to be tricky.

  Slowing the car at the familiar location, I scan the area. There are no cops around for miles. There never are. Most every one of them is on the payroll, at least around here. Cesar’s got a business to run and it takes a lot of employees. Trailing my eyes up what appears to be an abandoned building, I see lights squeezing out of the boards covering the windows. Open for business as usual. Turning my attention to the cars lining the block, I see a brand new Mercedes parked front and center, got to be Cesar’s, he’s always been an ostentatious fuck. I go around the side and pull the car up to a space in front of a hydrant, the fact no one is parked here is hilarious. A lot of my planning is based on instinct held together with spit and a prayer. I’m gambling that Cesar is going to exit the building where I think he’s most likely to, while everyone else goes out the obvious exit. Two locations I’m intentionally leaving accessible. Cesar will have a guy with him, I’ve got to get rid of him fast before he gets me. Then Cesar is mine.

  Pulling the weapon I chose for Cesar from the floorboard, I get out of the car. I go to the trunk and grab the bombs, guns, and the flame thrower I bought. That one took some convincing, I befriended a guy who deals in illegal gun trafficking and offered him too much money for him to say no. It took a hell of a long time to get the hang of working with that weapon.

  Cesar’s got an entire operation, I knew I couldn’t come back here if I wasn’t well prepared. I am, and I’ve got the element of surprise on my side.

  There are two main entrances to this building, one in the front and one in the back, along with a basement that has its own access. Pulling my hood over my head, I round the corner to the front and place two bombs at the front door. They’re in paper bags and appear inconspicuous. Next, I attach sticky bombs to the windows along both sides of the buildings, leaving the rear door and basement entrance alone. Cesar will exit through the basement as all the workers will be directed toward the back door. That’s what I’m anticipating. The explosives at the front door are activated by a remote, the sticky bombs by fuses. I’ve got them all brought together into one fuse that I touch a match to at the back of the building, then I take my place, slide the ear plugs in, and wait.

  BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, the train of detonations begin, as bursts of light explode all around. I activate the bombs at the front of the building, blowing that entrance apart. The grand finale is when I aim the flame thrower at the Mercedes and blow it to smithereens, along with the other vehicles.

  Pulling the ear plugs out, I hear screams, men and women. The workers. I can only hope that all the employees are still in the same locations I remembered, the ones I kept any of the explosions from. Minutes later, people start to run from the rear exit.

  Any time now…I slide the gun fitted with the silencer from the holster strapped to my body.

  Everything else is blurred except what’s in my line of sight at the back door. Crash! It flings open, immediately followed by Cesar’s guy, Raul. I’ve got my finger on the trigger ready to pull, waiting for the exact moment Cesar is far enough out to take him down. I don’t want to have to follow him back inside and get stuck in there when the police arrive. I want him alone.

  A second later, Cesar emerges looking totally pissed off.

  You ain’t seen pissed off yet. I smirk and pull the trigger. Raul goes down.

  “HIJO DE GRAN PUTA, where are you?!” Cesar bellows.

  I line up the shot and pull again, aiming for Cesar’s knee. He drops to the floor, an agonizing wail ripping from his chest as his gun falls and he clutches his leg. I move from the shadows and walk toward him.

  “It’s been a while,” I tell him when I’m closer.

  His eyes go wide when I’m standing in front of him and pull off my hood. “YOU. You mother fucker, I’m going to kill you.”

  I don’t have much time before either his men show up, or the cops.

  “Was it you? Did you kill them?” I can barely choke the words out, the vivid pictures still fresh in my mind, the way they must have begged for mercy, their agonized screams, the pain from the fire. All of it, the whole horrendous scene. “DID. YOU. KILL THEM,” I scream in his face.

  He laughs at me; the sick bastard has the nerve to laugh in my face!

  “Yeah, I did. It was business, Michael. A war had started because of a punk kid. You,” he laughs again.

  Michael. My name. I don’t know that boy any longer, he’s dead. My mother named me after my father.

  “Hawk. My name is Hawk.”

  “Oh, you gonna fly away, little bird,” Cesar sneers at me. I glance down at his knee where blood is pouring out a river on the pavement and around my feet.

  “Yeah, Cesar, I’m going to fly away and disappear,” I slide the machete from inside my jacket where it was strapped to my back. “But I’m going to do to you what you did to them first. An eye for an eye.”

  I grab the handle with both hands and swung it down with enough force to slice his hand off in one swoop. His screams bounce off the walls of the empty space between buildings where we are, mixing with the far off sounds of sirens. I know I have only minutes left. I lift my arms again and cut off his other one. His body is on the ground writhing like a snake as his appendages gush what blood is left in his body out all around him, erratic with his movements. I walk calmly back to where th
e flamethrower is and aim it at him. Engaging the flames, I hold it on him for as long as I think I can before I turn and go back in the stolen car, leaving Cesar engulfed in fire. As I drive away, I can still smell the burning flesh and clothes. It gives me a small sense of satisfaction.

  An eye for an eye.

  A few miles away I know there’s an abandoned lot where no one will be at this time of night. I pull in there, get out of the car and disrobe, leaving the front door wide open, and open the gas cap. In the back seat is a bag with an extra set of clothes I’d brought. I remove it, then step back with the flamethrower in my hands. I torch the entire interior of the car, ensuring I remove all traces of me, prints, fibers, hairs, anything that could be traced back to me. Then I aim the flamethrower at the gas hole and don’t stop until the car bursts into flames. I get as close as I can and throw the thing into the flames. I dress and start walking. I walk for hours until a trucker picks me up. I drive with him across country, stopping at weigh stations and diners. I don’t know how long we’ve been driving when he finally stops in Texas.

  Yeah, I flew, but I’d left something back there in that trailer.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jo

  My heart is beating a wild rhythm inside my chest. As I climb the steps to my apartment, I wonder if Hawk will be up there. My feet hurt, I’m a mess with splattered alcohol and sweat, but I couldn’t be more aware. Alert to every sound, sensitive to the sensations of my body, the rub of fabric against my already hardened nipples, the friction of the seam of my pants against my mound, and the pulsating in my core. I’m pathetic.

  When I slide the key in the lock and turn it, there’s no light coming from inside, but it was dark last night as well. The racket from inside my head coming from the whooshing of my blood and the thrum of my heartbeat block out any other noises. With the shotgun clutched tightly in my hand, I push the door open and enter. I hesitate for a moment with one foot over the threshold and wait, the couch directly across from me. Instantly everything from my little time there this afternoon floods my body with desire. I smell him, but I’m not sure if it’s my memory playing tricks with me, or if he’s actually here. I step tentatively inside, I don’t turn on the lights when I push the door closed and twist the deadbolt. I’m half expecting Hawk’s hand to feed around me from behind, (honestly, I’m hoping for it), but still nothing happens. My shoulders slump in disappointment.