NOTE: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE

Juvenile Court

a short story

Robert A. Woodley

Marty Garcia laughed maniacally as he ran out the side door of the residence and turned toward the back yard. Ahead of him he could see the retreating backs of his companions; Henry "Hypo" Johnson, Bennie Washington, and Joe "JJ" Jeffries. Their jackets rustled and running feet pounded on the driveway, then more softly as the four youths ran through the grassy back yard; hopped the fence, and ran through the backyard of the house on the next street.

They came out on the street, a residential boulevard, and slowed to a fast walk as they reached the corner. Turning the corner, they hustled into a nondescript, dark blue 1990 Chevy van which was parked in the darkness.

JJ was already starting the engine when Garcia hopped in the back, and the van pulled away onto the dark street with measured slowness, accelerating gradually, and keeping well within the speed limit.

The three passengers looked out the side and back as JJ pulled away. The van's lights were on, but the lights above the license plates remained dark until the van was two blocks away.

"See anything?" JJ asked as he peered through the windshield.

"Naw. Ain't nobody saw us." Washington replied.

JJ reached under the dash, and small lights flashed on, legally illuminating the vehicle's plates. He looked down at the speedometer, which indicated he was just under the limit.

The vehicle reached an intersection with a light.

JJ looked at the sign. Maple Street. He smiled, his white teeth bared in a smirk. Two fucking miles down Maple to the expressway, then out the fuck of this place.

He drew off his gloves. They had all worn gloves from the time they had left the van, an hour ago, until the time they had returned a short time ago. That was the smart thing. No prints. His brother was in prison because he'd left prints in somebody's house. Not JJ. He wasn't going to leave any fucking prints for some fucking cop to find. Neither was one of his boys. They were all smart. Not as smart as JJ, but they didn't have to be. He was smart enough for the whole fucking gang.

He laughed, and looked in the rear mirror. "Hypo! Did you get that goddamn ring off that old bitch?"

Hypo, his eyes glassy, grinned back with stained teeth. Lanky and tall, his longish mouse-colored hair was plastered against his face. Sweat shone on his face from the passing headlights. "Fucking right, man." he giggled. "I had to cut her fucking finger off to get the thing!"

Bennie Washington laughed, his own brown eyes sparkling with glee. "Shit. Might as well have taken it then. She don't have no fucking use for it now!"

They all laughed, their bodies flushed with adrenalin, fear, violence, and power.

JJ kept his eyes on the road and the speedometer, though. They had gone all the way this time. Those people were dead back there. Man, what a trip. What started out as a simple bust of two old hags had turned into a fucking bloodbath.

They knew those ladies lived together in that big house. They had watched it a few times. Old ladies usually had jewelry. Sometimes they had cash. Always they were easy. They were like fucking mice. JJ's gang, the town boys, liked to steal from old people. Especially in this huge, sprawling, run-down neighborhood. It was full of old people who had bought houses many years ago, never imagining that suburb flight would result in a whole new class of neighbors, most fine people, but too many who weren't.

The prices of houses in suburbia rose astronomically. The prices of theirs fell. They approached retirement and a fixed income, and were trapped.

They were easy prey for people like JJ and the Town Boys. The cops were all assigned to the drug task force. That was the political crime these days. The city couldn't throw enough money at drugs, no matter that all this manpower resulted in virtually no immediate police protection for vast portions of the community.

When he got older, JJ was going to get into drugs. At 17, he was too young to run with the big boys. He'd get hurt. Maybe killed. He knew some folks. JJ was a careful boy, though. For now, he was watching and waiting.

He liked robbery, too. It was a real rush. The power. Man, the fucking power!. What you could make people do when they were shitting in their pants from fear. Wow.

Even if you got caught, it was juvie court, a few months in detention, and back on the streets. Record clean at 18. What a joke.

He looked in the mirror again. Bennie had been in detention for attempted rape; Hypo for assault with a deadly weapon; Garcia twice imprisoned in Juvenile detention facilities, for sexual assault and felonious assault.

It didn't matter. Whether it was spitting on the sidewalk or felonious assault, the finding was simply "delinquent", and the poor child was sent into rehabilitative detention for a period of time, then usually given unmonitored probation. What a system. It was made for the Town Boys.

He still couldn't believe that old lady had hit Bennie with that lamp, and had pulled his ski mask off as he had staggered from the blow.

Didn't she know she could testify against them? Man, they had no choice but to waste her after that. And the other old bitch. It was their own fucking fault. That and the screaming, when he had told them to shut the fuck up.

He didn't blame Bennie for taking that lamp and bashing her head with it till her skull actually changed shape. That had looked really funny.

Hypo had looked at him then, rolling his eyes toward the other lady, who had collapsed, and was sobbing. She'd been the one with the ring.

JJ had nodded, and Hypo had taken her out, knocking her back with his fist; then choking her as she lay dazed and semi-conscious. He had noticed her diamond ring as she had put her hands up to try to protect her throat. Son of a bitch just had to have that ring. Just like crazy Hypo to cut her goddamn finger off to get it. What a dude.

They had never wasted anyone before. JJ wasn't worried, though. No witnesses. No prints. And no Town Boys to stop and question. It was time for a vacation.

The rest of the Town Boys gang were all in places with unimpeachable alibis. The gang always worked that way. When one crew worked, all the others were places the could prove they had been. Deacon was a genius.

The state line was only fifty miles down the expressway. Shit, they'd be out of this jurisdiction within an hour. Those old ladies had lots of jewelry, and a few hundred dollars in their purses. It was always good to hit them just after the first of the month. With the jobs they'd done in the last month, they had thousands with them in the van. It was time to take off for awhile. Maybe head for the coast, or something.

He noted the interstate sign a few hundred yards ahead, and hit his turn signal. JJ was a perfect driver. He never broke a law. He couldn't believe the dumb fucks who did. Man, what fools. JJ was the perfect, law-abiding citizen. He laughed.

An hour and a half later they were well into the next state, and JJ decided to stop for gas. He looked at the exit sign, which read, "Clayton", and pulled onto the exit ramp. He turned on the radio, but didn't think those ladies would be found for another day, at least. It didn't hurt to be careful, though.

He stopped and bought gas, while his friends remained in the van. He didn't want anyone remembering four young guys and a van at this point at this time, should the matter come up some day. He paid in advance, so nobody would note his license number.

Afterwards, he parked the van in a parking lot between two restaurants, and the boys split up, entering the restaurants separately to use the restroom and eat. JJ ate by himself; as did Garcia. Hypo and Washington ate together in the other restaurant. They arrived back at the van at separate times.

Hypo was frowning. "Clayton. Man, I remember somethin' about this place. I don' know what, though."

"Yeah. Me, too," Washington added.

JJ thought for a moment, as he started the van. "Oh, yeah! This is where that bitch lives. You know, the one that testified against me last year!"

The memories came flooding back, and he felt a surge of adrenalin. Man, that had been a fucking close one. It still made him sweat, thinking about it.

The boys had hit a little country house a year and a half ago. JJ had only been fifteen then, and an older member had been driving. Three of them had broken into this place, thinking it had been empty, but a young woman had been home. Single women, the cute ones, were irresistible, at least to JJ. While the boys had ransacked, he had stripped her and had some fun. He still remembered her frightened eyes, and how she tried to breathe through the gag. He hadn't fucked her. He didn't want any DNA test to convict him; but he had sure given her something to remember, and afterwards had hit her so hard it apparently fractured her skull and smashed her inner left ear. He still remembered the sound. He'd used a rolling pin.

Trouble was, as they had been pulling out the driveway, a car was pulling in, with out-of-state plates. The headlights had flashed into their vehicle, and across his exposed face, when the vehicles had both almost stopped. He had known he was seen, and had been wanted to stop and take care of business, but they hadn't known who or how many had been in the car, so had turned and driven around the car and out onto the highway, and hadn't been immediately followed.

A few minutes after they had turned onto the highway the van had started to sputter, and JJ had noticed that they were out of gas. He had almost shit. That incident had taught him never to allow that to happen. They had stopped at a carryout to get a couple quick gallons, and he had gone in to get some cigarettes. He had been so fucking stupid back then.

When they'd got back to town, Deacon, the leader of the entire Town Boys gang, had nearly beaten the shit out of him and the driver.

JJ had learned a lot from that night. Fortunately the carryout had employed only one clerk, a middle-aged woman, that night.

Deacon had learned who she was shortly thereafter.

JJ had been arrested before. The lady in the car, apparently the mother of the girl he'd whacked, had picked him out of a booking photo; the store clerk had identified him from the same photo as someone who had been near the place, and in a vehicle similar to the one the old bitch had described.

He had spent a month in detention that time, waiting for the trial. Man, it had been a good thing that clerk lived near the neighborhood. Before the trial, some ski-masked visitors had called on her, just for some friendly conversation.

After that night, she had told the police she wouldn't testify against JJ. In fact, she was going to say it hadn't been him in that carryout. After seeing him in person, she had changed her mind, and had been misled by the photo. The prosecutor had pleaded with her; threatened her; promised her protection. She wouldn't budge. Good think she hadn't been shown a lineup. A photo was easier to lie about.

JJ grinned. That was a smart babe. Everyone who worked for a living knew that the police couldn't protect shit; and if they could, they would forget about it soon after the trial. It was a joke, and that clerk knew it. Good fucking thing for her, too.

The lady had testified, but all she had was a fleeting glance. The store clerk was prepared for her story by JJ's attorney, a private one the Town Boys used, and her testimony had resulted in a quick not guilty verdict. The judge hadn't liked handing down the verdict, but he had no choice. JJ could tell the fucking Judge believed the mother, but her testimony just wasn't enough.

JJ had kept a locket he had ripped from the girl's throat when he had molested her, and he had been tempted to flash it to the mother after the trial. That would have been funny. He still wore it under his shirt, to remind him never to make a mistake again. Deacon still ran the Home Boys, and JJ knew another mistake like that and he was in deep shit.

That had been one bad experience. He had to sit in jail, with no visitors whatsoever, so nobody could ever say he could possibly have been involved in intimidating any witness, if things went wrong. He didn't even see his attorney till right before trial.

It was close, though. If that clerk had been somebody else. That fucking bitch of a mother. JJ raged at the memories. She had put him through Hell.

He was about to turn onto the entrance ramp, then changed his mind and continued down the street after they had left the restaurant.

"What the hell're you doin'?" Hypo asked.

JJ turned his head briefly to acknowledge the question. "I been thinkin'. That bitch had nice clothes when she was in court. Plus, she fucked with JJ Jeffries. Man, I been thinkin' about paying her a visit, just to see where she lives. Shit, we're leaving this part of the country anyways. What the fuck, huh?"

Garcia thought for a moment. "Yeah. She did have some nice stuff. Looked rich. And no husband with her in court that I saw. Man, she was a bitch, too."

"Hypo?" JJ asked.

"Okay by me. Maybe she's got some rings." He giggled, and they all laughed.

"Wash?"

"Yeah. What the fuck." Washington said. "Nobody fucks with the Home Boys. We got to be careful, though. If she see's us, she's got to go down. She's seen you before."

"I fucking hope she sees me." JJ responded. "I'm counting on it, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Let's do it, then," Garcia said. "Then let's hit the road for good."

JJ stopped at another restaurant, and went in to look at the phone book. If she wasn't in it, they would forget about it. His excitement grew, and his fingers shook slightly as he turned the pages. He remembered her name. He would always remember it. Jane Parker. He remembered how she had looked directly at him, her blue eyes cold and unafraid, as she had testified in his trial.

He found the right page, and looked down the names.

"Parker, J. 2135 Country Drive, and a number. He put a quarter in the pay phone and dialed.

After a few rings, a female voice said "Hello."

He recognized that voice. Adrenalin flowed through his body, his hate and rage building. He hung up, and went to the counter. After a moment he spied a local map, and purchased it, along with a pack of cigarettes, and went back to the van.

He held up the map. "We got her, boys." He threw the map back to the others. "2135 Country Drive. Write it down, and let me know how to get there." He looked at the signs at the next intersection. "We're at Billings and Old Pike Road, maybe a half mile from the expressway entrance."

A moment later Hypo raised his head. "She lives out in the country."

They all smiled, then laughed, their senses heightened with the impending thrill of violence.

"Turn right on Winston", Hypo continued. Stay on that one for about five miles, then I'll tell you."

JJ nodded, and looked automatically down at the speedometer. He was sweating profusely now. He always sweated before he hurt someone, and he was really looking forward to hurting this fucking lady. Hurting her to death. He smiled.

Forty minutes later the blue van passed by a roadside mailbox which said "2135". They continued on for five minutes, passing less than ten houses. This was country.

JJ turned around. He remembered a side street, or road, which had intersected Country about a half mile from their target. He had learned that it was always best to leave the vehicle away from the house to be robbed; so that you could run to it, but couldn't be followed in a vehicle if you were pursued. Another unbreakable rule.

He passed the house again, and came upon the road a few hundred yards further on. Turning right down the dark road, he drove for about a mile. It was a dirt road, with no houses. After a mile he came to another intersection with a paved highway, heading back towards the freeway. Perfect.

He turned around, and drove back down the dirt road to a place a few hundred yards from it's intersection with Country, turned the van around again, and looked for a place to park. Then he saw it. A cleared space within the trees to the right. He stopped.

"Get out there, Hypo, and see if we could hide the van back in there, without getting stuck."

Hypo jumped out the side door, and was back in a few minutes.

"No problem", he said.

JJ nodded, and pulled forward, then backed carefully into the sheltered space. He got out, and went to the road. The van was invisible. He grinned. "Let's go."

He lead the other three through the woods towards the lady's house, which he figured was maybe a half mile away. The woods were not that thick, with actual walking trails, and the moon was full, so they reached a point where they could see the lights of the house within five minutes. JJ signaled for a halt, and they gathered around him, hidden from sight from anyone outside the woods.

"We go in slow," he said. "We'll check the doors first. If one is unlocked, we all go in that one." JJ knew that some people actually lived with unlocked doors in some communities. He chuckled. Not in his, if they had any sense.

"Remember, if anything goes bad, leave any way but toward the van. We got too much shit in that van that could connect us with some bad stufft. You have to run, go the other way. Later make it to the van, if you can. If you can't, anyone gets away, take the van, and we'll all meet in the restaurant I ate in back there by the freeway, tomorrow at six."

Only one car was present in the driveway as the four silently crept towards the bright light visible through curtained windows. The upstairs was dark.

They approached the driveway, circling the sedan as they moved onto the front porch. JJ smiled. No porch light. This was easy.

His fingers closed on the screen door handle and turned. It opened silently. Garcia, behind him, held it as JJ reached for the knob on the main door. He tried gently to rotate the doorknob.

It turned! He stopped, and grinned back at Garcia, Johnson, and Washington. Only their eyes and mouths were visible beneath the dark blue ski masks. Grins and glassy, hungry eyes stared back into his own.

He turned farther, and the door came open slightly. He stopped, listening. He could hear a TV going in a room; from the sound it was not the one he was about to enter.

He slowly opened the door far enough to admit his body, and cautiously peered around. The door opened into a living room, which was empty. He could see a hallway leading back from the living room to another room at the back of the house. That was where the TV sounds were coming from.

He entered the home, his steps totally silent on the thick carpet. He was getting excited; sweat beginning to dampen his clothes. His breathing became quick, and he had to force himself to try to relax.

He crossed the room and moved slowly down the hall. The living room was much more dimly lit than the one at the back, so no shadow would betray him. He came to the corner; stopped, and tensing himself for instant action, he crouched and peered around the edge of the corner.

He could see her, sitting on a couch under an afghan, watching TV. She would have to turn her head completely to the left to see him. The phone was several feet away. It was perfect.

Another door was open, leading to a darkened room to his left. He stopped to listen for a full two minutes. Nothing. He looked back at the others, nodded, took a deep breath, and leaped around the corner, running across the room at the woman, who turned her head and gaped at him as he approached.

Suddenly the afghan was flying through the air, and JJ was looking down the barrel of a shotgun from the wrong end.

"What the Fuck?" he blurted, his fear and self-preservation bringing him to a sudden halt, less than six feet from the woman, who was watching him calmly, her eyes boring into him; her finger firm on the trigger of the shotgun. JJ could see it was a twelve gauge, and an automatic. One shot, and he was fucking history. This gun could spit out buckshot as fast as she could pull the trigger. And she looked ready to pull the fucking trigger.

Garcia slammed into him as he stopped; knocking him forward a few inches.

"One more inch," the woman said. "And you're dead."

"Whoa, lady!" JJ said. "Put the gun down, and we'll leave. I think we've made a mistake here. Don't get yourself hurt by doing something dumb!"

"I won't," she replied. "But one more goddamn inch and you're a dead son of a bitch." Her tone was steady and unafraid.

The same goddamn tone she had used in court. This bitch was ice. JJ had to get out of there. Christ, what if she recognized him?

He raised his voice to its most threatening. "Lady, I am going to turn my back and get the hell out of here. You shoot a juvenile in the back, you'll be in prison, no matter this is your home. You know we ain't done nothin' worth killin' for.Stay calm, and we're out of here. You get stupid, you gonna die, too. I promise you that."

Her voice didn't change. "You move this way, you move that way, you move any way, and the last thing you'll ever feel is double-ought buck."

JJ looked at the barrel of the shotgun. It was pointed right at his chest, from six feet away. She couldn't miss. He was really sweating now.

Suddenly he heard a strange voice, a man's, from the living room area they had exited into the short hallway.

"Any of you boys move just a muscle and you won't move any more." The voice was deep; quiet, authoritative.

JJ looked around. They all did. Washington was still part way in the hall, and was looking back at someone. He looked over at JJ and shook his head wildly, his eyes frightened.

What the Hell was this? He looked back at the woman. Her eyes never left his body. She was looking at him like a hunter looks at a deer. Looking where she would put her first round. Looking for a slightest movement. He shivered.

"Lie down on the floor," the male voice said. "On your bellies, hands and feet spread and straight out. You'll have four seconds after I stop speaking. Then I shoot, and we'll see what any Court thinks about it later. Time's starting now."

JJ stood in the silence. He started to crouch, turning to watch the hallway. A moment's hesitation, and he was on the ground. He looked back. Washington was on the floor, flat, and Garcia was almost there, but Hypo was trembling with suppressed violence, his eyes hard and challenging. A few seconds passed. Nothing. Hypo was right. JJ prepared to get up, and make a run for it.

A sharp crack rang out, and Hypo crumbled to the floor, screaming and holding his knee. JJ could see Hypo had been hit squarely in the kneecap. What the fuck was going on?

"Flat on your belly, smart ass, or I'll shatter the other one." That voice again. Quiet, firm, unafraid, completely calm.

Hypo lay instantly, three limbs spread, the fourth twitching in agony.

Four pairs of handcuffs were thrown into the room from the hallway, and the man appeared, an AR-15 settled firmly in his hands. "Put these on, hands behind your back. I'll count to fifteen. Anyone who isn't cuffed by then gets shot. Anyone who tries to rise gets shot. One, two, three.."

JJ reached quickly for a pair of cuffs. The others were doing the same. He fumbled with them.

"Eight, nine, ten.."

He clasped one wrist, and was trying to get the other one on.

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen"

JJ felt the lock click, and was actually relieved. This quiet man frightened him somehow. He looked up, and saw all four were similarly cuffed.

He looked up at the man with the rifle. Hard gray eyes looked back, set in a creased, lean face.

The man was about medium size, with graying black hair, cut short. He looked to be about fifty. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, tennis shoes with white socks. He stood casually, holding the assault rifle with practiced familiarity, his strong hands relaxed on the weapon.

He moved to Washington, and standing to one side, he pointed the barrel of the AR-15 at the back of Washington's head. He glanced briefly at the woman with the shotgun.

"Jane, if any of these boys move, you shoot the one nearest you. Kill him. Then shoot the next one. I'll shoot this one first, then the one next to him."

He paused. "Any movement by any of you. You all die. Just like that. I'm going to turn your clever ski-masks around so you can't see. That's all I'm going to do. You lie there and let it happen, you won't get hurt. You don't, you're going to die."

He grasped Washington's ski-mask, and roughly rotated it around the juvenile's head, so the eyes and mouth were in the back. Then he did the same to Hypo, Garcia, and JJ.

JJ breathed a sigh of relief. Man, if that lady saw his face, with that shotgun in her hand! Jesus Fucking Christ. His mind swirled. They were busted. No way around it. They were fucked. Still, it wasn't that bad. They had no weapons. He never allowed them. Weapons made for some hard time if you were busted. All they had was a B&E. No violence. No fucking chance for any, with that goddamned shotgun. They were all under 18. Should be no real big deal.

As long as nobody saw the van. The boys wouldn't say anything about it. Shit, they wouldn't talk about anything. They would get a court-appointed lawyer for arraignment, plead not guilty, and within another day they'd be talking privately to the attorney for the gang, and this matter would get resolved. They'd do some time, but it wouldn't be that bad.

They'd come up with a story. He'd learned so much from the Deacon. That's all you had to do. Keep your goddamn mouth shut. No matter what the cops said or threatened. They could never even comment on your failure to say anything. It was fucking great. Through their attorney, they'd all come up with some consistent bullshit story to make this look less than it was. Or if that wouldn't fly, they would just take it. The lawyer would know what to do.

He just hoped these people called the cops before they decided to take off their masks. He didn't want that lady seeing him, not with any fucking twelve gauge in her hands.

"Do you want me to call the police, John?" the lady asked.

John. So that was the Parker, J., in the phone book. Or both of them. JJ cursed himself. Man, he should have been more careful.

"Yeah,", the man responded. I'll watch them. I'm kind of enjoying it. Kind of wishing I'd see some more smart-ass gang behavior." He chuckled.

The woman rose, and went to the phone and dialed.

After a moment, she said, "This is Jane Parker, at 2135 Country. We just had four men break into our home. We're okay, but we could use someone out here as soon as possible."

Her voice was the same, calm, one she had used in the courtroom, and again when she had promised JJ she would kill him if he moved. For the first time in his life, he was hoping the cops would get there pretty soon.

"No," she continued, after a moment. "John and I were ready for them. They tripped the motion detectors. John had to shoot one of them in the knee. I don't think he'll ever walk again without a limp, but he'll survive till somebody can get him to a hospital." She paused, listening again. "Thanks," she said finally. "I'd appreciate it if you could get here as soon as possible."

She hung up, and sat down again on the couch, her shotgun resting across her lap, it's barrel pointing at JJ. "They'll be here within fifteen minutes," she said to her husband.

"Okay," Parker said. "Jane, I don't want these boys talking, so I'm going to put gags in their mouths. Same as before. I'll do them one at a time. Any problem, I'll shoot the one who acts up. You shoot that one near you."

"Man, are you crazy?" JJ said. "We're juveniles. You can't shoot kids for having some fun. We got no weapons. We cuffed, man! Don't talk no shit like that. You be careful, I would I was you. You shot a juvenile, man. You goin' wind up in prison, you keep fuckin' round like that."

JJ waited, but heard no response. He started to smile in the darkness of his ski mask, when he felt like his head was slammed against a brick wall. He saw a brief flash of light, and nothing more.

The others heard the 'thunk' as the stock of Parker's rifle slammed into JJ's head.

"That's just the kind of smart-ass behavior I like to correct in a young man," Parker said, to no one in particular. "Don't worry about this one, Jane. He's not going to protest. Cover the next one. Any of the rest of you boys feel talkative, you just go ahead, but I have to tell you I don't like your conversation."

The others lay absolutely silent while Parker gagged them. Then he tied them together with a rope, which he tied around the neck of each gang member, with a few feet of slack between each one.

"That should keep them safe till the police get here," he noted. "You boys just lay there."

The Town Boys lay without moving. Hypo was groaning in pain from his shattered knee, and screamed as Parker raised his leg and tied a garbage bag around it.

"Quit your whining, boy," Parker said. "I don't want your blood all over my carpet." He chuckled. "Hell, I thought you gang members were supposed to be rough as nails. You boys members of a girls' gang, or what?"

Parker went to the kitchen and returned with two beers. He handed one to his wife, then sat down and started watching the TV.

Ten minutes later a buzzer sounded; and he looked at the sensor board which hung above the TV. Lights flashed, indicating that something had passed the motion detectors which guarded the driveway entrance. A moment later, he could hear a vehicle outside. He went to the front door, and opened it just as the two men reached the front door.

"Hi, Brad," Parker said, opening the door.

"Hi, John. Sounds like you had some trouble out here." Brad Fallon was smiling.

"No real trouble. Just some boys who came where they don't belong."

He led the others back through the house to the den. "Here they are. This one's got a knee wound, and that one's unconscious," he said, gesturing to Hypo and JJ. "Need any help with them?"

"Naw. Just keep an eye on them till we've got them all secured in the van." He turned his attention to the prone gang members. "Boys, I'm Deputy Brad Fallon, and I'm taking you in to town. I'm here with Deputy Jack Henderson. We're going to take this injured man out first; then the unconscious man. Any problems, and I'm going to ask John Parker to teach you some manners. John here was a Ranger with the U.S. Army, two tours in Vietnam. He doesn't like gangs. One gang assaulted his daughter, some time back. I can't be held responsible for what he might do, you boys get out of hand and I have to ask for his help."

With Henderson's assistance, Fallon helped support Hypo, after unfastening him from the rope, and they got him out the door and into the back of the van. They ran a chain through his cuffs, and locked it in place. Then the returned and carried JJ out, securing him to the same chain. Afterwards, they walked Washington and Garcia out, and in a few minutes more all four gang members were secured in the back of the van.

Parker was on the porch watching as Fallon and Henderson got in the front. "You sure you don't need any help?" he asked.

Fallon laughed. "No, I think we can handle them from here. You want me to send someone out, to check around? Make sure there aren't others around?"

Parker shook his head. "No thanks. If any more show up, I'll round them up for you, and give you a call."

Fallon laughed again. "Okay. See you later, John."

Parker smiled, and waved as the van pulled out.

The Town Boys had regained some of their brashness, now out of range of the quiet, confident man with the assault rifle.

Hypo shouted, his muffled voice carrying to the men in the front.

Garcia also tried to shout through the gag in his mouth.

"Where'd you boys come from?" Fallon asked, swiveling his head so he could hear better. "How'd you get way out on Country Road? If you want to talk, I'll come right on back there and we'll have a nice talk. Speak up if this sounds good. Just yell and nod your head, and I'll remove the gag."

All the gang members shut up then. Fallon listened, smiling, then turned his attention to the front again.

After a half hour the Town Boys felt a lurch as the van left paved road and the sounds of gravel came to them. This road was winding, and the vehicle slowed considerably as it weaved its way along slowly, bouncing slightly from dips and holes in the rough road. Then it seemed they had left roads entirely, the ride was so rough.

Eighty minutes after they had left the Carters' home, the vehicle slowed and stopped.

JJ had regained consciousness during the ride, and he sat, blindfolded and gagged, nauseous from the waves of pain which shot through his head. He listened, but silence reigned in the black stillness. He heard the deputies turn off the engine, and get out of the van, but afterwards he heard nothing further.

Cold seeped into the van as time went by, and JJ began to shiver, his sweat-dampened clothing providing little in the way of warmth or insulation in the cold night. He tried to shout, and the others joined him. Louder he shouted, and kicked out with his feet at the side of the van, but neither the shouting nor the kicking elicited any response, and finally he stopped, and lay back, cold and shivering; wondering what had happened to the deputies. Finally, his tiredness overcoming his discomfort, he dozed.

When he awoke it was light. He could see a lesser darkness through the ski mask. He was really cold now. He could never remember being so cold. Man, what the fuck was wrong with these cops. This was brutality. He started thinking how he would be able to use this in his defense. Putting juveniles through this shit. He'd make them pay for this, one way or the other. He started shouting again, and kicking. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

The others came awake, also cold, and soon their muffled shouts and kicks were creating a bedlam of noise within the van. Still there was no response. JJ was starting to feel the first sensations of fear. Man, if anything happened to those cops, he might freeze to death. What the hell was goin' on?

After fifteen minutes, his tiredness assailed him, as it did the others, and he fell silent. The activity had warmed him somewhat, but he felt weak, and very hungry. He didn't understand why they hadn't been booked. He felt a moment of panic; then relaxed. There was nothing he could do, and he wasn't going to be a fucking wimp in front of the Boys.

All day the Town Boys lay in the back of the van, periodically shouting and kicking, but never provoking any response. They were all scared now. The cold was seeping into their bones; they couldn't see; they couldn't talk; they couldn't move much. They were thirsty. Desperately thirsty. And hungry. It began to grow dark. The shivered in the increasing blackness.

Finally they heard the muffles sounds of voices. They moved their bodies painfully, getting into an upright position. Relief flooded though their cold limbs.

JJ swore to himself. Man, it was about fucking time! He might sue these fucking cops. He smiled as he thought of it. He'd get them back for this somehow, that was for sure. The fucking Town Boys wouldn't put up with this shit.

Then a brighter light assailed his ski mask, and he turned cold as he heard the voice.

"Well, boys," John Parker, said, "How you feeling?"

Muffled cries were heard from the others. JJ sat silently. He didn't like this one bit. What the fuck was going on?

Another voice. "Let's talk to the one you shot first." It was the deputy's voice. Fallon.

JJ heard movement, and the muffled screams of Hypo as he was taken from the van. A few minutes later another gang member was taken, and then another. Finally JJ felt strong hands on him, and he was roughly hauled out of the van. At least two men had him, and he didn't fight them. He was cuffed, blindfolded, gagged, and cold. And these men frightened him.

He staggered between the men as they half dragged him, his legs stiff and numb. He heard the sound of a tent flap being drawn aside, and then the light against his mask diminished, and he knew he was inside. The cold still persisted. He was casually thrown to the hard ground, and he cried out as his side landed on the half-frozen dirt. Instinctively he tried to break his fall, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

Suddenly something hard smashed against his jaw. His head rocked back, and blood spurted from his nose. He screamed again, but his scream was cut off by the next words he heard.

"You boys keep quiet." It was Parker's voice, and his tone was like death itself. "We're going to ask you boys some questions, before we take you in. We don't want any crybaby's whining bothering us. We know you boys are tough gang members, so we don't expect any problems. If you make a sound, you're going to get popped in the head, like this boy here just did."

He paused for a moment. "I know you boys are tough and smart, so I'm going to lay it out for you one time. We're going to take each of you out and ask that one some questions, and we're going to take notes. This is no fucking courtroom, and you don't have a lawyer. What you do have is me. I'm the one whose wife you were going to assault. Four of you. I don't know what you were going to do to her, and I don't care. That's for the police to deal with. I just have some questions, but if you don't answer them, you're going to get hurt. If any of you give me different answers than your buddies, I'll figure out who isn't telling the truth, and whoever's answers are different is going to get hurt. I don't give a shit about your rights or the Constitution or anything else. While I talk to each of you, a friend of mine is going to be in here watching the rest of you. He was a ranger in Vietnam.

JJ heard a whimper and muffled scream as Hypo was dragged to his feet and taken away. Then he heard nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing through his mouth. Blood filled his nostrils.

Hypo was dazed from pain and numb from cold as he was dragged from the tent and into another tent several yards away. He cried out as he was thrown to the ground.

The smell of hot coffee assailed his senses, and his mouth began to water, but it was too dry. He felt hands on his ski mask, and suddenly the gag and mask were jerked away, and he looked up wildly. He was in a tent, floorless, approximately ten feet square.

Seated in front of him was the quiet man, John Parker. He was holding a cup of coffee as he watched the gang member with cold gray eyes. A small gas stove was in one corner, its blue flame pulsing beneath a large coffeepot. A kerosene lantern burned, throwing light across the interior of the tent.

The other man was working on Hypo, tying his legs to stakes, with his feet spread apart. Hypo looked at him in terror. What kind of crazy motherfuckers were these? He almost said something, but he looked back into those gray eyes, and kept silent. His knee was numb but still the pain of the shattered kneecap ripped into him, and his eyes watered.

Parker smiled as he watched the prisoner. "That's right, boy. You just keep quiet until I tell you to talk."

He waited until Fallon had secured the gang member's legs, and took off the boy's shoes and socks; then continued. "I'm going to ask you some questions. Lots of them. You are going to answer them. You will answer them at once, and you will answer them truthfully. Who made the call from the restaurant?"

Hypo was shocked. He shook his head. I don't know anything about--"

He screamed as Fallon swung a sledge and it slammed into his bare, half-frozen foot. He could hear the bones crack. He almost fainted. Immediately the scream was cut off as Fallon jammed a gag into his mouth, and held him with powerful hands.

Hypo felt faint and nauseous. He felt like throwing up, and his eyes widened. He might choke on his own vomit. He looked into the flat blue eyes of Fallon, who held him as easily as a child, and saw no mercy there.

Parker was speaking again. "I want you to understand something, boy. Brad and I were rangers together in Vietnam. On occasion we needed to question prisoners as to certain things. Things that were essential to saving lives, including our own. These prisoners were tough. I know you think you are tough, but you ain't shit. You are pussy compared to those men. They could exist for weeks on a sack of rice in a jungle which would swallow you up in a day. They grew up fighting against odds and firepower you just couldn't imagine. Sometimes these men had information which we knew would save the lives of our men, and these men didn't want to give it to us. They believed in their cause, and they were among the best, most experienced fighting men in the world. Many of them were fine people, with wives and kids; and we were only fighting because our countries were at war. Well, those men gave me the information I wanted, or they died painfully. Now, if you think I'd be more lenient on some fucking scum-bag gang member who was going to rape or kill my wife, then you'd better think again. I ain't going to fuck with you boy. If you want to see the inside of a police station, you'd better start answering my questions."

Parker took a sip of coffee, then continued. "I know you've been watching all these movies and TV shows which talk about how tough it is on the streets, and how rough you gang members are, and all that bullshit." He laughed shortly. "Get that crap out of your thoughts. You rough tough gang boys are nothing but wimps who hang around together and terrorize others because you have a gang. You eat as much as you please, you have a warm bed every night. You smoke your dope and you get into your little skirmishes and drive-by shootings, and every now and then somebody might actually get hurt. You have no fucking idea what tough is about; or suffering. Now, you have a shattered knee and a fractured foot. That's nothing, boy. The VC would have spit in my face over that. Some of them did."

"We have caller ID, and we got a call from the restaurant from somebody who hung up a while before you boys showed up. It did make me a bit suspicious. Now, you may be telling the truth, so if you want to stick to that answer, fine; but it's my feeling that one of you boys made that call, and that at least one of you will admit to it. That's all I need to punish the rest of you. We're way back in the woods here. There ain't nobody going to know what happens here. Let me tell you boy, if you want to see a nice warm police cell, you'd better answer my questions. Who made the call?"

Hypo felt his own sweat even in his dehydrated state as he watched the man with eyes which were wide with terror. Fallon released him, tearing away the gag, and picked up the sledge again.

"It was JJ!" he said.

"I didn't hear you boy. Say it so your friends in the next tent can hear it."

"It was JJ!" Hypo shouted.

Fallon lowered the sledgehammer.

Parker smiled. "That's better. Now lower your voice, and we'll have a quiet conversation about you, and JJ and those other boys. I'm going to show you some photographs, and you're going to talk about them, and about where you were last night."

Hypo's eyes widened even more.

Fallon chuckled. "We heard on the radio about some old ladies who were killed over in Claymore, just across the state line. Now maybe you boys know something about that. One thing we do know is that you were all together last night, and you came from Claymore. And you have some ladies' jewelry with you. We found your van. So we know that each of you can tell us exactly what all of you were doing. And we know that you are each going to separately tell us all about it. And we know that if the stories you tell don't coincide, we'll be able to find out who is telling the truth, and who isn't. You aren't going to talk to your friends until we've talked to them all. In fact, you aren't going to see them until we've had a good conversation right now." Fallon looked at Parker.

"He's right, son." We're only going to have one friendly conversation. If we have to bring you back in here, it means we've discovered that you've been less than truthful. That won't be as friendly a conversation as this one." He paused, "Now, what's your name."

Hypo was stunned. What the fuck was this. He noticed Fallon grip the sledge a bit tighter. "Hypo Johnson. Henry Johnson."

"Social security number?"

"302-54-9444"

Parker smiled. "That's good." He reached down and brought Hypo's wallet out and looked at it. "We know a lot about you boys, so you just keep telling the truth, and you'll be okay." He turned to Fallon. "Get the boy a cup of coffee, Brad."

Hypo leaned forward as Fallon held a metal cup with steaming coffee to his lips. It tasted so good. So wet. He took a big gulp. These fucking guys were crazy. He was sure they could never use what he told them. Coerced testimony. He was sure. He looked back at the two men, so calm and confident; so uncaring of his hurt. He only knew he didn't want to get hurt again. These fucking guys might kill him.

Parker kept questioning him, about his background, his activities, and about the Town Boys. He varied his questions, demanding instant answers, not giving Hypo time to think clearly about any lie, even if he had been brave enough to lie. Parker was showing him photographs of the gang, and asking about that incident which got JJ in so much trouble over in Claymore. He was asking about names, and addresses, and gang headquarters. He was asking about Deacon. Now and then Fallon would give him more coffee. Hypo was dizzy from pain and cold and fear. The coffee was like a lifeline. He kept talking.

The other gang members heard the screams; then the statement, "It was JJ!" shouted into the night. Each began to sweat in the cold dark of the tent as they lay.

JJ stiffened. What the fuck was Hypo doing?

An hour later he heard the sounds of muffled whimpering, and a body was thrown down in their tent.

Parker spoke up. "Who's Bennie Washington?"

Nobody moved.

"Well," Parker continued, "Mr. Johnson has explained all about the rest of you. He's talked about how you were going to rape or kill my wife. He's explained how you robbed and killed those ladies over in Claymore. The only thing he hasn't explained is which one of you useless masked motherfuckers is which. If I have to get him to point you out, Washington, you aren't going to like it."

A hooded figure called out, and he was jerked to his feet and taken away. A few moments later JJ heard screaming. Then silence.

Another hour passed, and again he heard the sounds of a figure being dragged into the tent. Three times during that hour he had heard the scream of his friend ring out suddenly, piercingly, then stop.

Garcia was taken then. Soon thereafter he heard Garcia's cries cut off. He was freezing. He started to move, but a quiet deep voice spoke.

"Move another inch and I'll put a shovel into your skull."

JJ froze. That fucking dude had been in there the whole time, quiet as could be. He settled back, his body in agony from the cold and his shattered nose.

Finally they came for him, and moments later his gag and mask were ripped off, and he looked across into the hard eyes of John Parker in the flickering light of the lantern. His eyes watered and squinted from the light.

"Hello, Joe Jeffries," Parker stated. "I know all about you, son. I just need you to verify who was with you that night you tried to rape my daughter."

JJ's eyes grew wide. Those fucking mouthy fucks. How could they talk about that shit. His eyes were defiant. "I don't know anything about no fucking daughter of yours!"

Parker nodded to Fallon, and the sledgehammer came whirling down on JJ's ankle. He screamed as the bone shattered; then gagged as Fallon slammed the bloody gag into his mouth. The gag was removed a moment later, and he lay there, groaning. His eyes were filled with tears and fear, but they were vicious. "I'll own you, motherfucker!" The Town Boys going to get your ass! And the courts too! You can't do this shit! I'm a juvie, man!"

Parker smiled, but his eyes glittered. "Yeah, you're a juvie, all right. Six feet and about one-eighty of violent juvie punk. That's why you're here, boy. This is my own version of Juvenile Court. We're having a little trial here, and you're being cross-examined. If you ever want to see any other version of court, you'd better answer my questions." He turned to Fallon. "I ain't going to shit around with this one. Next time he lies, take your knife and cut off his cock and balls. That'll make it easier when he gets fucked in prison."

JJ's eyes grew even wider, and he struggled.

Fallon drew a hunting knife from his sheath, and in a flick of his hand he had sliced through JJ's belt. The man's hands were brutal as they ripped JJ's pants down. Blood flowed where the knife had sliced into his flesh. His struggles were fruitless.

"What's your social security number, Jeffries?" Parker queried.

Fallon reached out with gloved hands and the hunting knife.

JJ couldn't stand it. He started talking.

Deacon led the rest of the Town Boys up the stairway and out onto the tenement porch. It was early evening, and they stopped and looked down the street, left and then right. This was their domain. Old deserted buildings, rat-infested housing, and people who deserted the public streets as dusk approached. Deacon smiled. They'd better get off the streets. The streets belonged to the Town Boys. And to him.

He prepared to step down to the first step, when suddenly the back of his head exploded in a mass of bone fragments and brain tissue. Two other Town Boys died in the same instant, and a second later a fourth was struck by three bullets moving at more than 3000 feet per second, once in the head and twice in the chest, as the sounds from the first three shots registered upon the rest of the gang.

The survivors fell, then scrambled back into the building, leaving the bodies strewn across the porch and steps. Sweat dampened their clothes as they ran back into the building, not looking back in their terror.

A block away, on a deserted rooftop, three men unhurriedly placed three rifles with telescopic sights into watertight plastic bags, then placed the bags into a hole which had been carefully torn open along one retaining wall several days earlier. The hole was quickly patched over with used roofing material and cement, smoothed down, and litter and debris scattered across the spot, rendering it indistinguishable from the surrounding area.

The men walked casually to the roof access of the deserted structure, and quickly descended the four flights of stairs to street level, taking off their black leather gloves ad they walked. They were dressed in sports coats and ties, and carried clipboards with building plans of the structure with them. As they entered the street they joked about the upcoming weekend pro games, and they were smiling as they got into a car and drove slowly away from the scene.

The phone rang on the desk of Detective Frank Collins of the Clayton Police Department. He picked it up. "Collins."

"This is detective Brian Jamison, Claymore, across the line."

Collins nodded. He had seen the papers about the killings in Claymore. It had been all over the television. "What can I do for you?"

"We're looking into this murder, and we're checking on anyone who might have had a grudge against this gang. We've discovered that the gang was allegedly involved in a robbery and sexual molestation involving a girl last year. Her name is Debbie Parker. Turns out her father is a Vietnam Veteran. Apparently he did some sniping when he was over there."

This wasn't new information to Collins. He knew John Parker. "Yeah?"

"We'd like you to question him. Apparently he never did attend the trial, but the kid was acquitted, and you know how crazy some of these vets are."

"I served in Vietnam," Collins replied.

Silence. Then, "Hey, I didn't mean anything. I'm just checking leads. The kid who was acquitted isn't around anymore, either. We found a van which he normally drove, empty and abandoned, but he's missing and so are some other gang members who hung around with him."

"Where did you find the van?"

"We found it here in Claymore, parked in a motel parking lot."

"Then why do you think Clayton or anyone in Clayton is involved?"

"We're just checking any lead we can," replied Jamision. "We mean to have this man questioned, one way or the other." His voice was firm. "If I have to have my Captain call your Captain, that's what I'll do."

Collins shook his head. What a piss-ass. "I'll send someone out to talk to him," he said.

"Send somebody tough," Jamison replied. "I've got a hunch about him."

"Oh, I'll send a tough guy,", Collins promised, and hung up.

He picked up the phone, and a moment later a large young man entered his office. He swaggered a bit, proud that he'd been promoted to detective some months before. His eyes indicated his belief that most people who weren't police officers had something to hide. His name was Greg Morris, and he had developed a reputation on the streets and among officers for his brutality and willingness to bend the truth to secure convictions. Collins didn't like him, but he was perfect for this job. Nobody could ever say he had sent a wimp. He chuckled to himself.

He told Morris what Jamison had said, and he could see the glint in the young man's eyes.

"It sounds right to me," Morris said. "What do you think?"

Collins looked at him impassively. "I think you have a job to do."

Morris nodded silently, and left.

An hour later, he turned into the Parkers' driveway, accompanied by another officer. He always enjoyed the presence of superior numbers when he could. He liked to intimidate people.

The two men walked onto the porch, and rang the bell. A moment later a man answered the door. His eyes appraised them.

"Are you John Parker," Morris said.

"Who are you?"

"I'm detective Greg Morris, Clayton Police. I have some questions for you. We'd like to come inside where it's private. You are John Parker, aren't you?"

Parker looked at him for a few seconds. "Get off my land," he said, then closed the door in his face.

"Parker!" Morris shouted. "You're not helping yourself. If you have nothing to hide, this won't bother you!"

The door remained closed. Morris began banging. His pounding became louder, and the door shook.

"Hey, Greg!" his partner said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to talk to that guy, one way or the other!"

"What are you going to do, smash down his door? We've got no search warrant, no arrest warrant, no nothing! This is a nice neighborhood, Greg. You'd better calm down." He looked at at the door. "That guy's no fool. I could see it in his eyes. The only way he's going to talk to anybody but his attorney is at a trial, and you sure as shit don't have anything even close to putting him through a trial."

Morris's radio buzzed, and he answered the call. "Morris"

"This is Lt. Newman. I just received a call from an attorney by the name of Harry Bedford. He claims you are trespassing on the property of his client; a Mr. John Parker."

"I'm trying to question him in connection with a murder over in Claymore."

"You have a warrant?"

"No. Not yet."

"He tell you to leave?"

"Yes, but I know that----"

"Upon what legal authority are you remaining there, then?"

"Legal authority! Lieutenant, I just want to talk to him."

"Wake up, detective!" The Lieutenant's voice was cold. "This man is not a drug dealer you can push around. He is a productive citizen, a veteran, a man with friends in the community, and if he wants you off his property, you'd better get the hell off unless you have some damn good authority to be there. I don't need the newspapers to write an article about how our police force assaults the homes of our citizens. You get some authority, you do as you please. Until then, you back off. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Morris responded. "I'm leaving now."

He looked over at his partner, frustration in his eyes. "Let's go. For now."

John Parker watched their car as it turned into the road and moved away. He smiled. They would try at least once more, but now they would have to deal with John's attorney, and Harry would just tell them to go to hell. They would threaten and plead, but they had nothing. Nothing to get a warrant with; nothing to take to a grand jury; nothing.

People were so stupid. Even innocent people gained nothing by talking to cops, and guilty ones generally convicted themselves in their idiotic attempt to explain their innocence to some officer, who would of course say and promise anything to get information.

He shrugged. Who cared what some cop thought? A cop's thoughts counted for absolutely nothing in Court. Soon they would move on to other things; another unsolved case among so many thousands.

A sense of satisfaction came over him, similar to that satisfaction he'd experienced so many years ago when he'd taken out an enemy with a well-placed shot.

The fates had been kind. Ever since Debbie had been molested he had known he would kill the men responsible. He had stayed away from the trial, putting distance between himself and the gang members even back then. He had talked to Brad and Jack, two friends whom he had seen combat with. The three of them would do anything for each other. Long ago they had planned the killing, but they needed information; and an opportunity. It seemed almost a miracle the way it had worked out.

The only dangerous point had been when Jane had driven the empty van back to Claymore from where they had found it near his home. He had followed her, while Jack and Brad drove the gang members out to the killing ground, a desolate stretch of woodlands and scrub, dangerous because of caves and sinkholes. Few hunters even entered those woods.

Had Jane been stopped, she would have called them on the cell phone, and they would have taken their prisoners immediately to the police, while she explained that she had driven the van back to contact the local police in Claymore. At that point nothing had really been done; and they had doubted that anyone was looking for the van. Once it was abandoned, there was nothing to connect the missing gang members to Clayton.

Then they had heard the news about the killing of the ladies, and had heard how one's finger had been cut off. After that it was just a matter of time and events.

How pleased he had been when he realized one of the gang members was Joe Jeffries; and the gang the same one who had brutalized his daughter. He chuckled. These street gangs were so stupid; to think he would let them live after Brad had tortured them; after they had killed and desecrated those ladies; after what had happened to Debbie. These gangs were children when it come to war; and he had declared war on them long ago. Nobody would ever find the bodies of the gang members, sealed in plastic and buried in the wilderness.

They had planned the execution with precision. The rifles and scopes had been purchased by Jack in a city a hundred miles away, with the gang's own funds. The roof had been prepared, and the hole and patch prepared days before the hit. They would probably never recover the rifles, but they had sealed them in plastic anyway. You never knew what dogs might smell. The rifles themselves were traceless, odorless, wiped down with oil and fluid right after the hit, and now forever sealed in the rooftop.

Masked and blindfolded, the gang had never seen Jack or Brad; never realized that these were not police; or a police vehicle. They had believed what they wanted to believe. What he had intended for them to believe.

Jack had done the recon. He knew the gang's movements; knew that they would appear in the twilight each night. They had the four photographs memorized. Those who had been involved with his daughter, and who had terrorized the witness were now dead. The shots were from less than three hundred yards; easy kills.

He thought briefly of the inequities of society; inequities which were inevitable as those in power struggled with those who sought to be in power. All that mattered was drugs. Every politician cared nothing about most of the rest of his platform, but he must appear to be the most anti-drug candidate. Every police division was ordered to expend vast amounts of manpower on trying to control drugs. He laughed softly, and shook his head. The prisons were full of drug users and people like the Town Boys walked into people's homes and killed or raped them with impunity.

The politicians and police all campained for anti-gun laws. They didn't care about the peoole. They only cared about enforcing the law, or their perception of the law. They talked and talked about the dangers of guns, and meanwhile killers gunned down defenseless people down in restaurants, in subway cars, in schoolyards, like slaughtering sheep. Most people wouldn't buy guns, like those poor old ladies who were like so many others; defenseless against big strong men. People who did buy guns for protection bought handguns. It was easy to miss with a handgun. Sometimes hard to stop a big man if you weren't a good shot. A twelve gauge, now, that was something entirely different. A bore so big that twelve lead balls that diameter weighed a pound. You hit a man, any man, with double-ought buckshot and he's history; and you can't miss with a shotgun. Why in the hell all these people spent half a thousand dollars on a handgun when they could buy a twelve gauge for two hundred bucks was beyond him. People were so stupid. He shook his head.

Justice. Society didn't care about justice. Only about power and control. They had sent him 11,000 miles away to kill men who were fighting what they considered a civil war. In Vietnam attempted murder was a killing offense; and it was presumed that just about everyone was attempting to kill you. Here it was a joke. Those boys were going to kill Jane. Kill her out of revenge and violent lust. There was no other explanation for the phone call, and the attack. The Courts would have gotten them for some much lesser offense; and eventually the Town Boys would have sought a different revenge. They were creatures of the night; hiding behind the wall of their own anonimity; utilizing the public court records to find and terrorize victims and witnesses who couldn't hide. You had to take care of business yourself, sometimes.

He smiled. Debbie had her vengeance, though she would never know; and he had his. Juvenile Court was in recess.

The End.