Page 5 of Cast Stones
The difference between them and me is that I don’t try to hide the blood on my hands. I prefer to revel in it. Even now, as I lie here on a shitty cot at my current residence.
The Broward County Jail.
I always knew I’d end up trading one cage for another. Actually, I gave it a fifty-fifty shot of either getting locked up or buried in a shallow grave. Looks like the warden won this round.
The devil will have to wait.
Folding my hands behind my head, I stare up at the metal slab above my head. It’s bent in a few places—no doubt left behind by the last unfortunate asshole forced to bunk under this dickhead.
“Hey,” I growl, shoving my heel into what I hope is his back. “Can you shut the fuck up for five goddamn minutes?”
“You got a problem, newbie?”
“The name’s Vincent, and yeah. I’ve listened to your fat ass snore all night. I need to fucking sleep, so if you interrupt me one more time, I’ll rip your throat out.”
“Ay, fuck you, man.”
I shake my head, the lack of sleep blurring my vision. This is exactly why there’s so much violence in the world. If people would just heed warnings, a lot less blood would have to be spilled.
“You got a name?” I ask, blinking the cell back into focus.
He doesn’t answer right away. That’s okay, he will. They all do. “They call me Sledge,” he finally mumbles.
“Any particular reason?”
“I bashed a man’s head in with a sledgehammer.” There’s pride in his voice.Good for him.“So, I’d stop pissing me off if I were you.”
At least he somewhat has a set of balls. There’s nothing worse than a man who cries and snivels at your feet just before you split his skull in half.
I hate that.
However, acquiring a set of balls won’t give me back the six hours I wasted listening to this asshole rattle every bar in this cell block with his damn snores.
You sin, you pay.
You sin, you pay.
You sin, you pay.
This time, I don’t guess. I know exactly where I’m aiming when I punch the underside of this asshole’s bed.Hard.
“Fuck!” Sledge shoots up like a cannon and grabs the side of his head as he rolls toward the edge of the bed.
Just where I want him.
I’m already on my feet with my hand around his throat before he knows what’s happening. “Want to know how I got my jail card punched, Sledge?” He tries to shake his head, but he can’t. I’m crushing his trachea. “I killed a priest and took his eyeballs home as souvenirs.” A sadistic grin pulls across my face as I tug him closer. “And I just confessed to helping kill nine more. So, maybe instead of Enzo, they should call me Hatchet. Because here’s a secret theydon’tknow, Sledge. Those nine others? They’re not in nine places.”
Releasing his throat, I shove him so hard, his spine cracks against the wall of his bunk. He grabs his throat, wheezing and coughing. “Y-y-you’re crazy, man. F-fucking crazy.”
Shrugging, I lay back down on the bottom bunk. Stretching out, I fold my hands behind my head once again, the cheap fabric of my orange jumpsuit making a scratching sound as it rubs together.
“I was brutish and ignorant. I was a beast toward you.” Smirking, I add, “That’d be Psalm 73:22 for the salvation impaired.”
“So? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Whatdoesn’tit mean? It means the circle is closing. It means promises are coming to fruition, and debts are being repaid. It means penance and justice and revenge.
But most of all, it means although the beast watched and waited while locked away in a cage of his own doing, his patience will finally be rewarded. My father always told me that a man reaps what he sows. Those words have never rung truer.
