Nightcrawler Read online

  I stopped at an area where one could sit around a fire and open a cold beer. Logs surrounded a firepit with a stack of wood I’d placed earlier this morning. Although this area was deserted at night, I didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. I decided against lighting the fire and opened a bottle of beer, set it on the ground beside me and opened a second one.

  When Nails finally caught up, he sat on the log beside mine with an exhausted sigh.

  “There’s your treat.” I jerked my chin at the beer near his log.

  “I don’t want your fucking beer.” He kicked over the bottle, spilling the contents.

  Shrugging, I had a long sip from mine. “Hmm, that was good. Refreshing.” I smacked my lips together for added effect then stared at him for a heartbeat. His eyes were swelling shut, but I could feel the hate vibrating off him. “You know, Nails, I suppose I should tell you why I tortured you for two hours—”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” He raised his crippled hands, so I could see the destruction I’d left him with.

  “You don’t learn, do you?” I lifted my hunting knife and swiped at him.

  The blade caught his shoulder, and blood blossomed through his ripped shirt. He froze, staring at me dumbstruck.

  “Interrupt me again and your neck is next.”

  He didn’t say or do anything except watch me.

  “Good, now let’s start over. Mikey is a very good friend of mine, and you’ve been messing with him.” I glanced at him.

  The lines disappeared from his face, and he sat straighter.

  I pulled his cellphone out of my pocket and showed it to him. “I want you to speak to your president and tell him nobody is to hurt Mikey or mess with him or his family ever again. Nod if you understand.”

  Nails nodded quickly, his head bobbing up and down.

  I was sure he was hurting with the sudden movements. Holding the phone toward him, I pressed Poison’s number. “If you say anything about me, remember your sister.” I winked darkly.

  “Yeah, sure,” he hissed, but it sounded like ‘ye ur.’

  I handed him the phone.

  He pressed it against his ear with the back of his hand. “Hey, Pres. You know that kid I was fucking with earlier today?” He nodded like the person on the other side could see him. “Yeah, that one. Listen, he’s a good kid. Let’s leave him and go for Chris. Yeah, yeah, that one, I think he’d do better in making you more money. Yeah, yeah.” He nodded again. “Okay. No, no, I’m fine. Just a small stomach bug or something. I should be okay by tomorrow. Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then.” The conversation ended, and he dropped the phone when he couldn’t catch it fast enough. Since I’d broken every single finger and all ten digits were twisted, it was painful to grasp anything.

  “Good, very good. Thank you.” I grabbed the phone and dusted it off. “Just so you know, if anyone goes for Mikey again, I will still hurt your sister, then I’ll hurt them.” I arched an eyebrow. “You feel me?”

  “I feel you, man. Enough already. Now get me to a hospital.” He lifted his crooked fingers, and his eyes were almost closed now.

  I stood, downed the rest of my beer and tucked the bottle in my bag. I emptied the one I had given Nails and placed it in my bag—I couldn’t risk leaving any evidence behind.

  “You’re welcome to get your ass to the hospital, Nails, if you can walk there.”

  “What? Hey, man, you promised you’d help me.” He cried, sounding like a wounded animal.

  As I stepped over the log and walked past him, he stood with his good leg but stumbled to the ground. An ear-piercing shriek filled the quiet night, halting me.

  He crawled on his knees and elbows, swearing every time his broken ankle or finger knocked against a twig or stone. “Hey, man, help me. I did as you asked. Come on. Please …” he bellowed.

  I ignored his pleas and continued walking to my car. When I was halfway, I stopped, turned around and aimed my gun at him. I watched him heave and pull his body forward with each excruciating step. He was a tough fucker; I’d give him that. I gently squeezed the trigger until I heard that familiar click.

  Nails flinched and lifted his head; he knew that sound all too well and shook his head, mouthing, No.

  There would be no absolution tonight. He had to pay for his sins against the people I called family. I pulled the trigger.

  The bullet entered his forehead and rocked his head backward. His body crashed to the ground with a loud thump.

  Needing to ensure he was dead, I walked to his body and found his arms sprawled out on either side of him with brains and gore oozing out the back of his head. I felt in his pockets and removed his wallet and house keys.

  Surveying the area bathed in enough moonlight, I noticed tall reeds near a clearing. I grabbed his good foot and dragged him toward it. When I was content he wouldn’t easily be found, I covered parts of his body that wasn’t in the reeds with thick brushes.

  Walking back to my car with Nails’s cellphone still in my hand, I sent a text message to his sister, letting her know about a vacation he was having—a quick trip to Vegas with a busty blonde bombshell he’d met at a sleazy hole. Judging from the texts they usually sent one another, she wouldn’t think anything had happened to him for days. Then I sent a similar one to Poison, begging for forgiveness and that he would see the club in a couple of days' time. They would only start missing him in a week.

  Chapter Four

  I loved driving the streets at night when it was just me and the open road. The silence. The darkness. The eerie atmosphere of belonging to something bigger than myself. The vulnerability of those left out in the cold, easy pickings—and ready for someone like me.

  But I always needed a reason to choose individuals; nothing was random. Everything must be planned and with a motive. When it was only me and the quiet evening, apart from the usual night sounds—cars on the roads, people talking, gunshots sounding in the distance—my inquisitive mind wanted to know more about each individual I saw and what made them leave the safety of their homes and roam the sidewalks. Some were looking for fast love, others were quenching their thirst at various bars, a few were trying to score or steal, while some were walking hand in hand with their dates.

  Were they happy and content, or were they masking their pain? Sometimes I could taste desperation in the air—that hot, sticky smell.

  The silence inside my car rejuvenated my soul. The sounds of hard drums thrumming in the background beat in time with my heart. The wind whispered words of praise, beseeching me to pursue what I was meant to do, encouraging me. Muted tones represented a lullaby of memories long forgotten. The beat of my heart filled my ears as the drumming vibrations surrounded me, the continuous sounds I created. No music was playing, only that which I produced and heard—the rhythm of the night swirling around and the rhythm inside me.

  Cruising along the freeway with the windows down, I take it all in. Headlight beams splashed on the road while the moon cascaded its silver mercury tendrils in front of me. Others lagged behind me. Trees blew past.

  Even though I was late for my weekly meeting, I wouldn’t rush this; this was my solace. This was what gave me life. This was what made my lungs suck in air and kept me going. I exhaled and closed my eyes for a breath.

  It was 9 p.m., yet the streets were empty—well, almost. Other vehicles were on the road but not as many as usual.

  I slowly pressed the accelerator until it touched the floor. The streetlights formed one long blur of light. Faster and faster. I maneuvered passed one then two cars; if any of them had to move into my lane, our cars would meld into each other, leaving nothing left of us. Humans were soft and easily broken.

  A blue light flashed in my rearview mirror. I eased my foot off the accelerator and gently applied the brakes.

  The cruiser neared.

  An exit approached. I drove in front of another car and took the off-ramp while the cop was behind me. I turned, forcing the cruiser to go straight. If he turned when I did,
he would’ve collided with the other car. A smile crept on my lips.

  I haven’t lost my touch yet.

  Chapter Five

  Once I’d parked and approached the entrance to the health and wellness center, a shadow caught my eye. I walked around the corner that led to the back entrance and found a man sitting on a box hunched over his legs.

  “Hey, man. You all right?” I nudged his shoulder.

  “Get ’way from me,” he slurred, swaying slightly and gripping the box he sat on.

  “You need any help?”

  “I said, get away. I’m sick of you rich pricks telling me what I can and can’t do.” He reached for my legs, gripped the end of the material and twisted it in his wrinkled hand.

  “Let go, disgusting excuse for a human. You’re what’s wrong with the world. You’re just garbage anyway. It’s a good thing you’re sitting here with the rest of it.” I gripped the hand holding my pants and squeezed.

  He cried out in pain and let go.

  “Don’t ever touch me again.”

  The old man stood, swayed and tried to hit me.

  I stepped backward. As his weak fist neared my face, I slapped it down and hit him in the face.

  Blood spurted from his nose, but that only made him mad. He spun and tried to hit me again.

  Squeezing my fists tighter, I hit him harder. The snapping sound of a jaw moving out of place and teeth hitting teeth echoed in the quiet area.

  The old man doubled over, rubbed his jaw and spat blood. “You hit me!”

  “You started it, asshole.” I kneed him in the face.

  He fell backward onto the cement, where he stayed. He would sleep off his fix and most likely wake up in pain. He deserved it; perhaps now he would be a bit more respectful of others offering assistance.

  I approached the unconscious man; his breathing was short and shallow. I lifted my boot and kicked him once in the face.

  His breathing stopped for a few seconds; his head lulled to the side where he exhaled, and his wheezing continued. If I ever saw him again, I would ensure he slept forever.

  After washing my hands in the men’s bathroom, I traversed the hallways of the health and wellness center. It was quiet until I rounded the corner and stopped in one of the room’s doorjamb.

  Joe was crying into his hands, with Dafne consoling him, rubbing his back and whispering into his ear.

  Aika glanced at me, smiled weakly and waved shyly.

  I entered the room and headed for the only empty chair.

  “Travis, glad you could make it, brother. Is everything all right?” Damian asked. He stood to shake my hand and patted my back at the same time.

  “Everything is great. Thanks, Damian.” I sat and stared at Joe. “Everything okay, Joe?”

  Joe nodded and lifted his head, red-rimmed and misty green eyes greeting me. “It was my turn to speak.” He offered with no further explanation. He wiped his face with the back of his hands.

  I didn’t need to hear his story again—how they had teased and bullied his twin brother for being gay, how those two so-called friends had hurt him with their words like knives down his back. Their behavior was just as bad as doing it themselves. Their teasing had happened constantly, until one day, he took that knife to meet the tender flesh down his wrists.

  I gave a curt nod at Joe in understanding of his pain.

  He responded by averting his gaze to the floor.

  It’s okay, Joe you’ve said enough.

  “Right. It’s coffee time.” Neal stood to pour himself a cup. He always brought his own mug. Tonight, he held it in his meaty hand with a picture of himself surrounded by four kids—his two, plus his sister’s. The caption read, World's Best Dad.

  “Anything you want to share with the group tonight, Travis?” Damian asked, arching a copper eyebrow.

  “Such as …?”

  “You’re never late.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned back against his chair, his expression deadpan.

  “I helped out Mikey.” I leaned against the back of my chair and stared at Damian.

  “Oh?” Joe perked up and wiped his eyes dry. “Do tell.” A smile crossed his face as Dafne sat back in her chair—her job consoling him now complete.

  I had already shared with the group what had been happening with Mikey and those bikers and that I was close to sorting out the problem. “I took care of Nails.”

  Joe harrumphed. “Yeah, right? Like you could just remove that scum from the face of the Earth.”

  I raised an eyebrow and stared at him, as if confessing telepathically to what I had just done.

  Joe’s mouth slacked as he sat straighter. Neal spat coffee through his nose, wetting his red mustache, and Aika gasped. Damian and Dafne stared fixedly at me—the shock evident, or disbelief.

  We had enjoyed each other’s company every week for over two years and had shared quite a bit of tragic stories, so we knew each other well enough. They knew my facial expressions, and I was mostly honest with them.

  “Are you kidding me? Did you just—” Joe abruptly closed his mouth to ensure it was just us. “Did you do what I think you did?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m liking you more and more, Travis.” Dafne fixed her blouse and blazer then folded her arms.

  When Dafne and I had first met two years ago, we had disliked but tolerated each other. She’s ten years older than me, well-travelled, and generally only mixed with a certain class. As the years passed—or I had worn her down—it seemed I’d grown on her. I knew why she had changed, but I wasn’t about to point it out to her. She had to realize it on her own.

  “Thanks, Dafne. That means a lot, you know.”

  “It sure does. And to think I hated your guts,” she wondered aloud, a smile playing on her thin red lips.

  “Hate is a bit harsh, but I understand what you’re saying. I didn’t like you much either. You came to our support group with a chip on your shoulder.”

  “Don’t make me change my mind, Travis.” Her smile faltered, and her blue eyes iced over.

  “Truce?” I stood and approached her with an outstretched arm.

  When she took my hand, I pulled her with such force she slammed into my chest, and I embraced her. She made a gah sound as I squeezed; one hand was around her tiny waist while my other gripped her shoulders. I loved the smell of her perfume—intoxicating and addictive.

  With my mouth near her ear, I whispered, “I’ll hurt you in ways you’ve never heard of if you’re ever rude to me like that again. Don’t say anything, just nod that you understand.”

  Dafne nodded in quick succession. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a surprised O when I loosened my grip.

  “Good, now that that’s settled, my bar is finally ready and open for us to use.” I released Dafne but maintained eye contact. “Everybody must come, and I’ll tell you all about my evening. I’m afraid the coffee here just won’t do for what we have to celebrate.”

  Chapter Six

  Once everyone had a drink in their hand, I downed my shot and grabbed a beer. I kept getting side glances from them. They were waiting for me to say something, anything to explain what I had done. Were they judging me from afar? Or jealous I had the balls to do something?

  This wasn’t the first time I’d placed the justice system into my own hands, feeling someone’s life in my grip as the light slowly faded from their eyes as they took their last breath, which I silently stole. My arms pebbled at the delightful memories.

  But, as I eyed each of them from across the bar, I realized it was the first time I’d shared with others what I may or may not have done. I decided to discuss the elephant in the room with the people I’d already shared so much with. They all seemed to have questions on the ends of their tongues. “Okay, guys. What’s on your minds? Spit it out.”

  They all spoke at once.

  I lifted my hand and pointed at Neal, only because he was nearest on my left, so we would go in order and one at a time.
/>   “Nails forced Mikey to sell drugs. We knew he was as rotten as they came. What you’re eluding to—” He waved his hands in the air. “How did you, you know …?” He paused, swallowing the words hard enough for me to hear, then whispered, “Get rid of the problem?”

  I chuckled. “It was easy. I had to first incapacitate him, so he was weak by the time I started … on him. I took him to a place where I knew would be quiet, somewhere far from the city, somewhere outside.” I didn’t want them to know where. Not yet anyway—I had to tread carefully until they were completely on my side. “And then I left him there.”

  “You left him there?” Dafne shrieked, covering her mouth with a jeweled hand.

  I glared at her, and she resumed nursing her glass of wine.

  “People,” I said, lifting my hands, “it’s not that hard. You just need to make sure you are smarter than him”—I glanced at Dafne — “or her. Make sure they can’t hurt you first before you hurt them. And I’m telling you …” I shrugged. “It’s the best feeling ever, to watch them—”

  “Watch them what?” Aika interrupted, intrigued. Her slanted eyes matched her broad smile.

  “Whatever you want, Aika, whatever you want them to do.” I smirked. “Who wants a refill?” I stunned everyone into silence.

  Joe raised his hand for a refill.

  I opened another beer and handed it to him. “Any more questions?”

  “What did you use?” Joe inquired then took a swig from his beer, his eyes not leaving mine. “How did you do it?”

  “A bullet.” I didn’t want to tell them how I had tortured him first. I could always claim it was in self-defense if it was only one bullet. They didn’t need to know how I broke all his fingers and crushed his ankle. That was the fun part. “I did other stuff to make it more enjoyable and to ensure he suffered for all the things he had done to others. But you guys don’t need to know the gory details.”