by Reed, N. C.
“He is more my size, brother,” Brick told him.
“Perhaps,” Xavier nodded. “But apparently, I'm more his size. We can let him try against someone who can fight back, eh?”
“Settle it among yourselves on the way up there,” Clay shrugged. “Don't kill him, and don't leave him needing constant care. No one will want to look after the bastard.”
“What's the point, then?” Xavier asked as Brick took his brother's shoulder and pulled him toward the hill.
“We'll deal with it,” the larger brother promised.
“Zach!” Xavier called. “Care to go on an adventure?”
“Last time someone asked me that I got in trouble,” Zach snorted. “Ah, what the hell. Sure!” The teen started up the hill behind the two brothers, catching up before they were out of sight of the others.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jose asked softly.
“Not even a little,” Clay shook his head. “If we're lucky, one of 'em will kill the son-of-a-bitch and save me the trouble.”
“I thought you said-,”
“When was the last time X obeyed an order like that?” Clay looked at his friend.
“Oh, yeah,” Jose nodded. “Point.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Darrell Goodrum flung the door to his house open without a thought to the damage it might cause, stomping into the house, expecting to see his wife waiting on his arrival.
She wasn't.
“I guess somebody needs a lesson in respect,” he muttered to himself as he checked the house. Neither his wife nor his children were at home like they should have been. He had warned them about that before, but apparently, they hadn't listened.
“I'm gonna have to lay the law down on them, but good,” he said out loud as he stormed back outside.
Running straight into Brick, Xavier and Zach.
“Hell do you want?” Goodrum demanded, though not nearly as harshly as he might have if not for the presence of Brick. “I ain't got time for no foolishness right now. I'm looking for my stupid wife.”
“Well, we can help you with that,” Zach surprised the bigger man by speaking first. “Just so happens we know exactly where she is.”
“And just where would that be?”
“She is currently in the clinic, under the care of the physician,” Brick replied this time. “She apparently has a number of badly healed broken bones as well as a great many contusions and currently fractured bones. She will be in the hospital for at least two days.”
“I told her not to go down there without my permission!” Goodrum burst out. “She didn't have my permission to-,”
“Oh, shut up,” Xavier's patience was at an end. “No human being needs permission from another to seek medical care, you galloping horse's ass.”
“What did you just say to me?” Goodrum's eyes narrowed.
“He basically just told you to come get some,” Zach supplied cheerfully. “If you think you can take him, then have at it. That might be another way to put it. Or how 'bout, 'he's about to open up a family size can o' whoop ass on you, you stupid, ugly, over-sized, bullying prick.' Yeah, I kinda like that one.”
“Well said, Zachary,” Xavier nodded in agreement. “So then,” he smiled at Goodrum. “I intend to let you know how your wife feels, Mister Goodrum. Are you prepared?”
“You mean to fight me?” Goodrum's amazement was tinged with humor, his face contorted with a cruel sneer.
“Not at all,” Xavier smiled. “I intend to hurt you. Rather badly, in fact. I doubt it will qualify as an actual fight, though my young friend here was quite correct in that it could, in your parlance, be called an ass whipping. And I intend it to be a memorable one. Something that will stay with you for years to come.” Xavier was moving before he finished speaking, closing the distance between them faster than Goodrum had expected.
“You can't hope to-,” was as far as the big blacksmith got before Xavier's foot rose to kick Goodrum squarely in the jaw. Goodrum stumbled back, managing just barely to stay on his feet.
Xavier corrected that seconds later as the web of his hand planted itself in Goodrum's throat, robbing him of the ability to breathe properly. The next blow swept the larger man's feet from beneath him, leaving him on his back, looking up at his attacker and gasping for air.
“Now then,” Xavier smiled. “Let’s see what we can do, shall we?”
The first thing to go were the fingers in Goodrum's left hand, broken rather than fractured, the sound of the bones breaking clearly audible even above Goodrum's gasped attempt at a scream. Next were three ribs on his left side, though Xavier was careful to avoid the ribs that might break and penetrate the lungs or heart. A low heel kick to Goodrum's left ankle would leave a fracture, though not break the bones there.
Xavier then straddled Goodrum's torso and punched him in the nose, breaking the cartilage and leaving his nose practically smeared across his face.
“I think that's enough for a warm up,” Xavier smiled at him again.
For the next five minutes, moving with a deliberateness that would have frightened anyone on the farm that didn't know him well, Xavier surgically beat the larger man from head to foot, his hardened fists causing multiple deep tissue injuries that would leave bruises for weeks to come. By the time he stopped, there was scarcely a single square inch of Darrell Goodrum's body that wasn't broken, swollen, bruised or bleeding.
Xavier wasn't even breathing hard. He once more straddled the larger man and leaned down close to his face.
“Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?” he taunted. “As you heal, and I estimate it should take six to eight weeks for that provided you can get medical care, which may not be a given in your circumstance, I want you to remember how bad you feel at this moment. I would also suggest you remember that I could just as easily have killed you, and did very much want to. It's rather hot, however, and no one wants to dig a hole to bury your stupid ass in.”
“If your wife suffers one more bruise, one more broken bone, if she suffers a broken nail doing her chores, I'm probably going to assume it was your doing. When that happens, I'm going to hunt you down, and kill you. I'm going to take my time doing it, as well. Probably three to four days, depending on how tough you prove to be. Though at the moment I must say I'm not at all impressed with that.”
“If you think you're in pain now, then you had better change your ways, Goodrum,” Xavier's voice dropped to a whisper. “I know ways to hurt you that would make an Inquisitor from the Dark Ages go pale. Worse for you, I truly enjoy using them, and you would hardly be mourned if something terrible were to befall you. If your wife so much as looks scared in the future, you will never see me coming. I will kill you, and I will enjoy it immensely. I do hope for your sake you take this warning of mine to heart, because there won't be another. I will simply slaughter you like the animal you are.”
“Once you're able to get around again, you may want to start treating your wife with more respect,” Xavier suggested. “Learn to make her happy, so that all of us can see how deliriously happy she is. Because if she doesn't look happy, then I won't look happy, either. And I assure you, Mister Goodrum, you want me to look very happy. Your continued existence depends upon me looking happy.” He stood, but then stopped and looked back down at the softly groaning Goodrum.
“If anything happens to me, someone else will call on you, just so you know,” he smirked. “I'm far from alone, and you cannot escape us all. I'd advise you to get an actual punching bag to exorcise your demons upon from now on. A great deal safer than your current practice. Good day, sir.”
With that Xavier walked away. Brick looked at the results of his brother's work and nodded in approval. Zach walked over to the prone blacksmith and looked down at him dispassionately.
“Whooo boy!” he chuckled. “This definitely qualifies as an ass whipping. If the net was still working, I'd put this on Youtube! I hope you can get to the clinic, cause... damn, that shit looks bad. That nose especially. Proba
bly won't be able to stop and smell the roses any time soon.” He suddenly stomped Goodrum in the groin, an area Xavier had avoided. Goodrum could only groan at this point.
“Just checking to see if you was still alive,” Zach told him. “Didn't wanna stand here talking to myself. Make me look stupid. Anyway, just so you know, I'll be watching your ass, too. I'm not the threat X is, but I get by. You hit her again, one of us will get you for sure. Got that?” With that the teen turned and followed his new mentor, a chuckling Brick following him, shaking his head.
Behind them, Darrell Goodrum fought to stay conscious, scarcely able to comprehend what had happened to him.
-
“And?” Clay asked as the trio made it back to Building Two. Everyone else had moved along save for Clay, Jose Juarez and Greg Holloway.
“Is this one of those word association games?” Xavier asked. “You say a word, and then I say the first word that comes to mind?”
“Goodrum?” Greg played along.
“Asshole,” Zach supplied, straight faced.
“I can see why you two get along,” Clay sighed. “Is the bastard alive?”
“More or less,” Xavier shrugged. “He is non-ambulatory at the moment, but I suspect if he lives through the night he will crawl down here at some point in search of assistance. I doubt he will be able to reach the door knob so perhaps someone should watch for him.”
“Broke his balls,” Zach smirked a little.
“That bad, huh?” Greg chuckled.
“I'm afraid he may mean that quite literally,” Brick finally spoke. “Zach left our dear Mister Goodrum with some lovely parting gifts.”
“Oh?” Xavier turned to look at Zach. “Did I miss something?”
“Not much,” Zach laughed. “I did crunch his nads pretty good, though. Man, that beats a woman ain't much of a man, so I didn't figure he needed 'em.”
“Good point,” Xavier nodded in approval. “I should have thought of it. As to your question,” X turned to Clay. “Mister Goodrum has a number of broken bones and fractures, and is covered in deep tissue contusions that will be weeks in healing. His nose will also probably never work exactly right again, though I can't be certain of that, lacking as I am in the medical arts. He has a possibly fractured ankle, which will hamper his ability to seek aid I'm afraid, a number of cracked or broken ribs, though none that can threaten his heart or lungs,” he hastened to add, raising his hands as if to ward off retribution from Clayton. “I do sincerely think he will have a renewed sense of respect for his wife and his own mortality once his brain is working properly again. Oh, that reminds me, he likely has two concussions and a bruised trachea. Poor thing could barely scream properly because of it. Really should have done that last,” he muttered to himself.
“Damn,” Greg couldn't help but smile. “I hate I missed that.”
“Better you didn't see it,” Zach surprised them all. “You're our lawman, remember? Better for you not to dirty yourself. And he ain't worth it, no way.”
“Well said yet again,” Xavier clasped Zach's shoulder. “And now, gentlemen, I am hungry. I'm afraid that worked up an appetite. Is there any lunch left? And by lunch, let me specify that I'm not referring to anything with 'Meal, Ready to Eat' stamped on the side.”
“There's plenty waiting at the house,” Greg promised, pointing toward the old Troy farmhouse. “Go dig in.”
“All three of you,” Clay ordered. “We're about done for the day, other than standing watch. Someone should be running down here any minute about 'poor Mister Goodrum', so we'll have to send an ATV up there to bring him down to the clinic. I guess we'll see how strong that Hippocratic Oath is, then,” Clay snorted.
“Well, if they're legitimately busy when he arrives, that's hardly a violation of any oath they may have taken,” Xavier noted, speaking over his shoulder as he walked away. “Just... tossing that in the hat, as it were.”
“Go and eat,” Clay ordered, pointing toward the farmhouse. “I'll make sure someone at least stops the bleeding.”
“Pity,” they heard Xavier say before the three were far enough away they couldn't be overheard.
“Well, that went about like I figured it would,” Jose exhaled sharply. “Satisfied?” he looked at Clay.
“No,” Clay said simply. “But we'll see if the son-of-a-bitch improves. I mean, as he improves,” he had to add with a sharp laugh. “Bastard deserved it. All of it, and more.”
“Well, he damn sure got it, sounds like,” Greg nodded. “I need to remember not to piss any of those boys off in the future.”
“That's an excellent idea,” Jose agreed. “Tres Demonios,” he added in a murmur of Spanish. “Tres Demonios.”
“I'm afraid that's more than accurate,” Clay's face was grim. “Glad they're on our side.”
“Amen,” both Jose and Greg muttered, as if Clay's words had been a prayer.
-
It was an hour before a startled and frightened looking Trudy Leighton went running into the hilltop mess and called the operator to report Goodrum lying unconscious and bleeding, obviously suffering from a severe beating.
Jose took the call personally and told Leighton that all the crews were eating, but that someone would 'be up to get the wife beating bastard' as soon as they were finished. Hearing Goodrum described in such a way convinced her that Mister Goodrum would be just fine where he was, so rather than assist him anymore, she continued on her way home.
Eventually Titus Terry and Kade Ramsey drove an ATV up the hill with Tandi Maseo, where they neck-braced and back-boarded Goodrum before loading him roughly into the bed and carrying him to the clinic. They ignored his rambling in favor of discussing all the new horses, and whether or not they might be assigned one, assuming they could find a saddle of their own.
Jaylyn Thatcher was waiting in the clinic when they brought Goodrum in and the look on her face was very nearly one of delight as she saw how thoroughly he had been worked over.
“Well,” she actually smiled down at the barely aware Goodrum, “you look as if you ran in to a particularly angry bull. Damn shame about that. Hm, ankle looks swollen. Does this,” she twisted the joint slightly, “hurt?” Goodrum screamed as loudly as his abused trachea would allow.
“I'm gonna assume that's a yes,” she dropped the foot she was holding, prompting another scream of pain from Goodrum. “That nose is a total loss, looks like,” she moved to his head. “This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me,” she assured him before taking his nose between her hands and jerking it back into place. After which Goodrum passed out from the pain.
“Well, damn,” Jaylyn sounded let down. “I had thought he'd stay awake for my exam. Though that was the only way he was gonna get any relief. I'm not wasting any pain medicine on his ass. According to the report, he should have some rib damage about here,” she made a red circle on Goodrum's side after opening is shirt, “and of course that ankle. Let’s X-ray him and see if we're going to have to set the bones in the ankle and if the ribs are a threat to anything internal. That'd be a damn shame, wouldn't it?”
-
“They look healthy,” Gordy mentioned as he found Charley Wilmeth looking over her horses. They were currently being kept separate from the Sanders' herd until Terri had cleared them all. There was little doubt the well cared for horses would be healthy, but now more than ever it was important to take precautions.
“They should be,” she nodded. “Terri's good with horses. She's visited our place before with Doctor Wells. She did well then, too.”
“We've been lucky to have her,” Gordy nodded. “Kurtis knows as much or more about horses as I do,” he indicated Kurtis as the other teen walked up to them. “I asked him to give you a hand, no pun intended,” he laughed, “for the next couple days while you satisfy yourself that your herd is in good order. Kurtis is also a bit of a leather worker, by the way. Right Kurtis?”
“You make it sound like I'm a professional,” Kurtis laughed in reply. “Miss Wilme
th,” he bowed ever so slightly. “I have a minor bit of skill, picked up over the years from assisting tack and saddlers on larger ranches out west. As to handling horses, in that area I can claim to be better than average and still keep my modesty,” he smiled.
“I noticed you doing well when they were being loaded,” Charley nodded. “I think for now all we can do is wait. Terri has to check them all before we can move them into the pasture, and we're not going to unload anything this evening as far as I know. If you like saddle work, you'll probably like my father's tools. He wasn't really a professional either, but he liked his gadgets, so when it came to tools, he...”
Gordy slowly wandered away from the two, leaving them and Terri Hartwell to handle the horses unless there was a problem. The herd was somewhat subdued after a trip in a trailer and ending up on new ground. The stallions were still a bit salty, but they had calmed down with some gentle talking and a helping of corn and oats and a few slices of apple.
He ambled toward home, tired from the day, and didn't realize anyone was near until he almost ran over Samantha Walters, fresh off the tower behind the Sanders' homes as the sun began to fade.
“Saw you talking to Wilmeth just now,” Sam's voice sounded like an accusation. Gordy frowned.
“I was,” he nodded. “We were looking at her horses while Terri checks them for disease. I doubt she'll find anything considering the Wilmeth's raised quality breeding stock, but we have to be careful. Kurtis is going to help her with handling them since she's got a broken... you know, I don't know if it's her arm or her hand,” he sounded puzzled. “Anyway, she's got a wing in a cast, so he's going to lend her his for a day or two. Did you have a good day?”
“I sat on the tower all day,” Sam replied. “Did you have any trouble?”
“A couple Hummers like Uncle Clay's tried to run us down,” Gordy nodded. “Didn't work out for them and we didn't get hurt so... I mark that down as a good day. I'm headed home unless someone calls me back for something. How about you?”