26

Lee could only watch in horror as Patrick slowly staggered up to the car. He thought about pushing Zala’s body away, climbing out of the car and retreating to his house, but none of those tasks were easy or credible with a broken foot and a man following you with a gun.

Reaching the driver’s side window, Rose allowed himself to fall against the van, using it as a support. The vehicle rocked ominously under his weight. He grunted roughly, muttering a soft and disbelieving laugh through pain-raked gums. He smiled through the glass at Lee, waving to him cheekily with his gun. He motioned for him to roll the window down and then pointed the pistol through the hole in the glass, reminding him of his intentions should he refuse.

Lee stared at the barrel for a moment, struggling to find a way out. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to run, but he would be shot down before he even clambered out of the car.

He gently lifted Zala’s bleeding corpse from his lap. Her blood had soaked through his pants and was sticking to his thighs and groin. He didn’t feel any remorse as he shoved her away; he had already mourned over the loss of the Zala he thought he knew.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Patrick wondered placidly, peering into the car like a police officer about to hand over a ticket.

He stuck his face inside the van and ran his eyes over the slumped female form. “Such a waste,” he said, shaking his head. “Just like Jennifer. But …” He brightened up, “That’s women for you. They get what they deserve in the end. Isn’t that right, Lee?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“She was trying to con you. She wanted to use your good nature against you to rob you blind. Don’t you think she deserved to die?”

Lee looked indifferently at Zala, her body propped up on the driver’s side, her eyes staring coldly into the roof of the car. Her blood was turning the beige interior into a sickly burgundy.

“I’m not one to judge.”

She didn’t deserve to die. No matter how much she had hurt him, how much she had tried to hurt him, he didn’t think she deserved death. She was misguided, cold, unsympathetic perhaps, but they weren’t traits that warranted death. He knew that, yet he didn’t feel the slightest pity for her now that her body was growing cold and her blood was drying on his pants.

“What comes around goes around, right? She tried to fuck you over and in the end she lost her husband and then her life. That’s what they call karma, right?”

“That’s not karma. That’s just an evil dickhead with a gun.”

Patrick laughed softly, unperturbed by the insult. “Don’t you believe that everyone eventually gets what they deserve?”

Lee looked sternly at Rose. They stared at each other momentarily before Lee replied with a slow, meaningful nod—a warning that went unnoticed.

Patrick smiled. “And she certainly got what was coming to her. As did Jennifer—”

“Jennifer was a fucking saint,” Lee snapped. “I don’t care what you and her got up to. I don’t care what she did. She was a good person.”

“She committed adultery and murder,” Patrick pushed.

“What about you?” Lee wanted to know. “How many people have you killed? How many lives have you destroyed? If there is such a cosmic force as karma, then believe me, you have a whole world of pain heading your way.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Every rule has an exception, after all.”

Lee was lost for words, unable to understand the smiling sociopath. “Fuck you,” he said softly and without conviction.

“Get out of the car,” Patrick ordered, waving the gun.

Lee gently pushed the door open and slowly climbed out. He noticed the street had gone quiet again. Those watching the slaughter had now retired to the safety of their houses, hiding behind thick, suburban walls and callous ignorance. No doubt the police had received more worried calls though. Soon the area would be flooded with panda cars and riot vans.

“How can you still think of Jennifer as a saint?” Patrick wanted to know as he motioned for Lee to join him on the other side of the vehicle. “She cheated on you. She lied to you. She was telling you how much she loved you, kissing you good-bye, and then coming across the road to fuck me. She didn’t care for your feelings and didn’t even think twice about my wife’s feelings. Saints show compassion, she showed none. Don’t you think she deserved to die?”

Lee, whose chin had been resting on his chest, raised his eyes to stare directly into the eyes of the maniac. “I loved her,” he said with commitment. “She didn’t deserve to die and neither did Zala. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? Let me see … you cut my hand open with a key and busted the other one with a shovel and you clouted me around the head.”

Lee couldn’t help but smile. “You had it coming.”

Patrick’s face quickly flashed with anger and he lashed out. He drove his head forward, bouncing his forehead off Lee’s in a high-impact head-butt that sent Lee sprawling.

Lee fell backward, holding his left hand against his head and keeping his right by his side. He bounced off the side of the van and sprang back upright again. He used the momentum to his advantage and jumped forward, flying at Patrick. Tired body slammed into tired body as both men wrestled to the ground.

Patrick’s gun flew from his grasp under the strain of the impact. It slid down the driveway, screeching against the concrete before slamming into the garage door with a metallic shudder.

Fists, knees, and elbows collided as they each tried to gain an advantage. Patrick tried to use his teeth, snapping like a tormented alligator. He ate mouthfuls of clothing before he eventually gnawed on skin, taking a small chunk of flesh from Lee’s upper arm.

The bite was barely felt and Lee responded by driving his knee into Patrick’s groin. The psychopath squealed like a pig, then, freeing his hands, he grabbed Lee by the throat and squeezed.

Lee flipped over and the two men continued to roll, moving away from the van. Turning over on the cold tarmac and the wet grass, fists pounded flesh, fingernails grasped at skin, eyes, and orifices. Knees and feet clawed at bone.

A muffled blast of gunfire erupted between the two bodies, followed by a blood-curdling scream that spat out in shock and horror. After the deathly howl, the rolling stopped. The fight was over.

They rolled away from each other and struggled to get to their feet. Lee was the first to rise. He stood with the aid of his rubber foot, applying weight to it with little care, apathetic to the pain.

In his hand, he held the small silver gun taken from the van’s glove compartment. A six-shooter now with five bullets in the chamber. He pointed the smoking barrel at the wriggling killer.

“You fuck!” Patrick shouted, his voice strained through a sheet of agony. “I’m going to fucking rip you apart.” His hands gripped his stomach, holding back the blood that gushed from a wound above his naval.

Lee stood over him, aiming the gun down. “Feel free to try.”

Patrick looked up at the weapon, staring directly into the barrel before moving his gaze to Lee’s face. He released a stuttering, painful laugh.

“Is something funny?” Lee wondered.

“This is a turn out for the books, isn’t it?” Patrick aimed the laughter at himself. “This certainly wasn’t part of the plan.”

“You ruined my life,” Lee accused. “You killed the only person I ever loved, the only person to ever love—” he stopped and let the rest of his words fade away. He wasn’t sure of their validity anymore.

Patrick laughed harder, at Lee this time. “You sad, sad bastard!” he spat. “The only girl you ever loved and she didn’t give a shit about you. She was probably the only one to actually like you and well …” He laughed mockingly. “She didn’t. You might as well turn that gun on yourself, you have nobody.” Still gripping his stomach, he lifted his head off the ground with great effort and spat at Lee. “You have nothing.”

Lee casually stared at the glob of saliva that landed on his knee, soaking into his trousers below the crimson stain. “You’re wrong,” he said, bringing his attention back to Patrick. “I have money. I have a house. Jennifer gave you cheap thrills and a ticket to whatever fucked-up state you’re in now, but she gave me a fortune. She gave me a chance.”

“The money would have been mine,” Patrick spat. “We were going to live together. We were going to be together.” His words lacked venom.

“You still can,” Lee said simply.

“What?”

He grinned broadly. “Give her a kiss from me.” He waited just long enough for Patrick’s face to change to horrified realization, then he pulled the trigger.

Patrick’s scream was delayed. He thought the bullet was heading for his face. He thought the gunshot would be the last sound he heard. The bullet struck lower then he had anticipated though. It crushed and splintered his right knee cap, tearing it away and nearly separating his lower leg.

“What the fuck!” His words cracked in his throat.

Lee laughed, a light of sadism in his eyes.

“Maybe you’re right about this karma thing,” he pondered aloud.

Patrick lifted his head to look at his knee and then dropped it back to the floor, wishing he hadn’t. The extreme pain caused his muscles to twitch uncontrollably as blood gushed from various wounds. Turning his head to the side, he coughed and sputtered, saliva dripping from his mouth like clear glue, before vomiting violently on the concrete.

The sick was minimal, barely enough to fill a cup, but his nausea was intense.

“Nasty,” Lee said with a grin.

Patrick continued to wretch. Some of the vomit splashed onto his face, some dripped from his bottom lip. “You bastard,” he shouted up at Lee, his words barely audible.

He tried to sit up, the vomit catching in his throat. He shifted his weight to his uninjured leg and used his hands to push himself upward. The process was long and painful for him and, as soon as he managed to sit, Lee kicked him back to the floor again.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Patrick demanded to know.

“Call it karma.” He raised the gun and aimed it at Patrick’s other leg. The bullet shattered shinbone and penetrated to the ground beneath.

Patrick’s screams rang out into the night, sending fear into the hearts and minds of anyone who heard them.

“Zala, Riso, and Jennifer couldn’t let things sort themselves out. What goes around comes around, but for them, what came around was you,” Lee explained. “People don’t always get what’s coming to them, at least not to the extent they deserve.”

“What do you want?”

The neighbors were watching. All eyes in the street blinked through the darkness to catch sight of the mad dance beneath the streetlights. They were getting their fill. They were witnessing their killer as he prepared to kill.

“I want to make sure you suffer as much as possible,” Lee explained. “I have three bullets left and probably about ten minutes before the police get here. That gives me three minutes per bullet and then one to finish you off before anyone can save you.” He paused and grinned, beaming sadistically into the glassy eyes of the man who had killed his wife. “So tell me, Patrick. Where would you like to be shot next?” He aimed the gun at Rose’s groin while he waited for the screaming man to decide.