Page 3 of Javier

The man croaked, the word laced with pain, and barely recognizable. “Okay.”

“Fuck, you smell.” Ransom tossed the underwear into the understory.

The man’s eyes fluttered and closed. His head dropped and the pale body became limp. Urine and feces covered his thighs.

Javier’s knees began to buckle as the realization hit him: it was done. He protectively cupped his own balls with a broad hand and stood taller, focusing on holding the flashlight steady. It was an effort to not react.

“Shit. Is he?” Sammi called in a low pitch, disguising her voice.

Ransom checked his pulse, slapped at the slack face, then knelt. “Nope. Just passed out.”

“We’re done here. Let’s load him up.” Javier waved his flashlight around in a wrap-it-up movement.

“Not done yet.” Ransom snarled.

“Yes, you are.”

Ransom’s hand dipped into the front pocket of his jeans, then moved like lightning over the man’s torso. He rose and wiped the blade on the man’s face, smearing it with blood. “Now I am.”

Javier passed his beam over the man. Large bloody capital letters were gouged into the flaccid belly above dense pubic hair. RAPIST. “Youfuck! Why?”

It had been discussed since it was bought it up and voted against—decidedly, except for Ransom, who was gifted with a knife. He enjoyed hunting, was an expert at dressing his kills, and working livestock at a farm north of Torch River.

“Just in case he tries to make his nutsack look normal once everything shrivels to nothing. He has money. This is harder to address.” He sneered, angling his chin at the handiwork.

“You violated the agreement.”

Ransom stepped in, almost nose-to-nose with Javier. “Why does it matter?” He argued under his breath. “He’s already mutilated. What’s six letters?”

“We live by a code. And we had an understanding. You fucking broke it and obliterated our trust.”

“Fuck you, Cabrera.”

* * *

The group piloted back to a bank upstream and loaded their prey onto the flatbed of a beat-up truck “borrowed” from a junkyard for the occasion. The license plate was unreadable due to the amount of mud on it.

All of them were quiet. Ransom drove the back roads until they were in the Cliffs section of Torch River, escorted by others on the lookout for trouble, communicating by walkie-talkies if necessary. Sammi and Rose, who wore a black wig, a witch hat, and a full green witch mask complete with warts, remained in the truck’s bed, and kept a vigil over the naked disfigured man lying on old tarps. Riding shotgun with Ransom, Javier was responsible for listening to the scanner and also watching for police.

Luck was with them. There was a multi-vehicle accident on Founders Bridge. Police, fire, and EMTs were responding. Ransom cut the engine and coasted the downhill slope to a silent stop just before the doors.

Javier went around to the back of the truck. “Ease him out.” He held the man up by an armpit and growled in his ear, the warning stark. “Do not move. Keep your fucking eyes closed and stay quiet. Not a peep. Got it?” To Sammi, now in the driver’s position on the bench seat, and Rose, sitting on the passenger side, he said, “Next step.”

Sammi fired the ignition and backed the truck up.

The quaking man compressed his lips into a tight line, trying to contain the whimpering, and nodded. His hands and feet were untied. The blindfold was last. Their quarry shook so much that he could barely stand. Tears coursed down his face and blood ran down his belly, groin, and legs.

Ransom and Javier dragged him in a two-person arm carry, depositing him on the concrete just shy of the ER doors and pressing the call button several times. The skies rumbled overhead as they sprinted off. They disposed of the masks in a nearby restaurant dumpster, raced on to the woods on the edge of town, and followed a short cut to where Ransom’s Hog was parked. The sky opened up, but they adhered to the speed limit toward the Narrows and were soaked to the skin before crossing the river by way of the low bridge. As planned, the others followed similar steps.

The women rode Sammi’s bike back after dropping off the rusty truck at the junkyard seven miles south of the Narrows, its windows rolled down. The stormy weather stalling over the area for the next few days ensured anything missed in the cab and the truck’s bed would be washed away.

The night hadn’t ended well. Once everyone showed up at the Wake, beers were opened.

Often unable to regulate his emotions, Ransom was a wild card. Sometimes his actions escalated a situation or flew in the face of common sense. Tonight was one of those times. He had brokenthecode, carving up their quarry and speaking a brother’s name aloud, possibly painting a target on Javier’s back. It had to be addressed. Now.

Uncomfortably wet, Javier and Stone stood with their backs to the long bar and faced their family and friends. “Hey.” Javier shouted over the voices.

Stone pounded his fist on the counter behind them. The room hushed.

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