Page 24 of Letters Book Two
“How do you know my name?” I asked, moving my eyes around the room, looking for something to grab onto, maybe use as defense.
“Everyone knows your gay-ass name, queer. Or do you think you’re gonna go by Tilton now? Huh? You fancy yourself a high and mighty Tilton? Got all that money and think you’re better than me?” He began slowly walking toward me. “I’m here to pay you back for ripping off the Tiltons.”
“And, you’re admitting it to me?” I asked.
“Ain’t gonna matter, pretty boy. When I’m done with you, you won’t be rattin’ anybody out.”
I made a break for the table and stood on the other side of it. He placed his hands on the edge of it and growled. “Save yourself the time. I’m here to take care of a job. You may as well take your lumps, boy. Let’s get it over with. How about that?”
“Fuck off. You aren’t touching me without a fight. Why don’t you just turn around and leave. I’ll keep your ID secret. Heck, I can barely make out your face,” I said, still struggling to find a weapon.
“Maybe I should try some of that boy pussy of yours while I’m here. If it’s good enough for Bowers, it’s good enough for me. What ya think about that, faggot?” he asked, a nasty smile curled on his lips, revealing two missing teeth.Fuck! A meth head too?He had nothing to lose.
“I think I’d prefer a meal, not a snack, asshole,” I quipped.
I ran to the sink and grabbed a small paring knife that was lying in the bottom. He was on me in a flash and had me wrapped up in his arms. I couldn’t maneuver the knife in a way that allowed me to use it. He shook my hand hard, trying to get me to release.
“Drop it, motherfucker.”
I slammed my elbow into his ribs.
“What the... you fucking fag. You’re dead!” He grabbed the back of my head and slammed my face down on the dining room table. “You wanna fuck with me, boy? Big fucking mistake.”
I stomped on his foot as hard as I could, but I was barefoot, and it only pissed him off more. He bent my arm behind my back and led me across the room to the couch and threw me down on it hard. He moved a hand to his jeans and started to unzip them.
“How about you suck on a real dick for a change?” He pulled his erect cock out of his pants.
“You’ve got a hard-on, dude. Maybe I’m not the only gay one here? And like I said over there,” I nodded toward the sink, “I’m not into snacks, needle dick.”
He stepped forward and backhanded my face and knocked me across the couch. I kicked at him as he jumped on top of me, trying to crush his dick and balls that were now ridiculously exposed as he beat on me.
“You’re a fuckin’ smarty-pants too. How’d you like more of this?” He brought his fist down hard on my face, smashing into my left eye.
He wasn’t getting me without a fight. “Fuck you!” I yelled and kneed him directly in his crotch. He coughed and bent over. I jumped up and ran for the door. I had my hand on the knob to open, getting it halfway when I felt his hand on the back of my neck. He squeezed hard and yanked me back.
“Where do you think you’re going, pussy? I ain’t done with you yet. If you can walk or talk, I don’t get paid, fucker. This shit is just startin’!” He kneed me in the back, near my kidneys and yanked me by the hair and pulled my head back. He moved his free hand to the front of my neck and clenched down hard. “How’s that feel, fag? You still wanna try some more shit on me, huh?”
I struggled to breathe, as his hands were busy, trying to choke the life out of me, so I reached for the countertop and the four-dollar toaster I recently acquired at my favorite secondhand store, and brought it up to the side of his skull. He fell back, clutching the side of his head. His eyes were empty of emotions, giving me a dead stare, and he stood back up and bolted toward me. I tried to dodge him, but he was too fast and too strong. He tackled me in the middle of the small room and grabbed my hair, slamming my head on the hardwood floor. He was unhinged now and punched the side of my face every time he slammed my head against the floor.
“You wanna fuck with me? Really? You, little bitch.” He slammed my head back to the floor. I felt lightheaded. The lights were fading. Oddly enough, I felt no pain.
There was a crash as someone kicked the front door open. He leapt off of me, but I couldn’t move. My head was sideways, resting on the floor, watching my surroundings in slow motion. I was losing consciousness.Was I dying?I stared at the scene in front of me. My eyes peered through blood as I tried to blink it away. Too much blood. Too much pain.Clint? Clint, is that really you?
Someone, I thought Clint, was on the intruder in a flash. He had him by the neck and was moving him toward the wall.
“Stay down, Lucas. Just stay right there,” he hollered. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. Nothing was working. I couldn’t feel my arms.
Everything was fuzzy. I could see Clint slamming his fists into the other guy. He had him pinned against the wall. His arm pressed against the attacker’s throat as he punched him over and over in the gut. “Motherfucker! Who sent you? I’m gonna beat the living fuck outta you.” He roared, looking my way to check on me.
The meth head caught Clint with an elbow to the side of the head, knocking him down. “Screw you, Bowers. What’s wrong? Did I hurt your little boyfriend?” He kicked Clint in the side of the head and headed back toward me. “I’m gonna finish the fag off first.” He stopped, turned and pointed a finger at Clint. “I’ll save you for last, Bowers. You stupid fuck!”
I watched, helpless as he walked across the floor toward me. He had his leg back, cocked to deliver a final blow to my head. Just as he was about to release the kick, Clint tackled him and had him pinned next to me. Clint punched him in the face repeatedly. Blood gushed from one of Clint’s cheeks, and his forehead was swollen, encompassing one eye, but he didn’t let up. Clint grabbed the attacker’s shoulders and lifted him up off the floor, before forcing his head down hard against the floor. They were a mere two feet away, but I couldn’t move.Am I alive? Is this real?
While Clint continued beating on him, I saw that the visitor was reaching into his sweatshirt’s large front pocket.Clint! Clint! He has a gun, Clint! I was yelling, wasn’t I?No one listened.
I heard the gun blasts. There were two shots fired. Clint slumped forward, covering the assailant. The attacker slid out from under Clint and stood over me, pointing the gun at me. I felt Clint’s arm come over my back, protecting me with his last effort.
“It didn’t have to get this messy, Jenson.” He pointed the gun at me. I waited for the bullet.
