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Fiction, © Copyright 2002, Jim Loy
"Can I buy you a beer?"
"Maybe I had enough."
"If you say so. I just thought you looked like you needed a beer."
"Did I?"
"Yeah."
"Well then, a beer it is. Thank you sir. Let me buy you one, too."
"Thanks, I already have one."
"That's right; I saw that; thought it looked familiar. I thought, 'That's a beer that guy's got, whoever he is.'"
"Steve."
"What?"
"Steve, that's my name."
"Nice to meet you. My name's . . . uh . . . Al."
"A pleasure. So, you seem to be unhappy. Why is that?"
"Unhappy? Well, I had a wife this morning. And now I don't seem to have a wife. She run out on me; took Johnny with her."
"Johnny your son?"
"Johnny's my dog. I need another beer."
"You haven't finished that one."
"You're right. Always finish your beer before you start another beer, I always say. There, I finished that beer. Waiter! Where's that waiter?"
"Allow me. I'll go get it."
"Really? You're a good friend in need, indeed, as they say. Boy, he really is a good friend, indeed. I wonder who he is."
"There you go."
"Thank you, Frank."
"Steve."
"Steve. That's what I meant. Thank you, Steve. Oh, I spilled my drink."
"Maybe you better not have any more. Can I give you a ride home."
"Nah, I got a car around here somewhere."
"Well you better not drive."
"I can drive just fine. Ain't never ever had an accident in my whole life . . . far as I can remember."
"Well I'm going to drive you home anyway. I insist."
"Oh. Well OK. I don't know where my car is anyway. I can't seem to be able to get up. Could you help me up."
"Where do you live?"
"Ohio."
"Where you staying?"
"Hotel, here's the key. It says Roadrunner Hotel and Casino, room 522."
They eventually made it out to Steve's car. And they drove out into the moonlit desert, where Steve stopped the car. He pulled a gun out from under the seat and pointed it at Al. "Get out."
"Hey what's going on?"
"Get out or you're a dead man."
"Hey man, I thought you were a good guy."
"Shut up and get out." They both got out through the passenger side of the car. "Give me your wallet."
"No!"
"I'll shoot ya."
"This isn't right. You can't just shoot people."
"Shut up and give me your wallet. I shot a guy last week."
"You liar. You didn't ever shoot anybody. Who'd you shoot?"
"A stupid guy like you."
"Like me? What'd he look like?"
"I don't know; he was big. What do you want to know for?"
"I don't believe you ever shot anybody. If you don't know what he looked like."
"He was big and had a big mustache and his name was Conrad. Hey!"
Al moved with lightning quickness. Steve was now face down on the sandy ground, with his arm sticking straight up at a nearly impossible angle. Al was holding him down and putting painful torque on his shoulder, by holding the arm straight up in some sort of martial arts hold. Al stuck his thumb into Steve's eye.
"Hey, you blinded me."
"Your eye is the least of your worries. Conrad was my brother."
"Ow ow ow, that hurts. I give up."
"So?"
"So, take me to the cops."
"How?"
"I promise to sit still. You can drive me there. I promise, OK?"
"That won't work."
"Tie me up. I got jumper cables."
"Unh uh. Come over here."
"Ow, you're pulling my arm out of its socket. Ow ow."
Al dragged Steve through a prickly pear over to the gun, which had gone flying a moment earlier. Al picked up the gun, and examined it while Steve moaned in agony. Al said, "Tell me about how you shot Conrad."
Interspersed by sounds of agony, Steve told how he had gotten Conrad drunk and had brought him out to the desert. And Conrad wouldn't give Steve his wallet. And so Steve shot him in the chest. Conrad had looked surprised that he had been shot, and then he keeled over. And Steve took his wallet and drove away.
"Is that all?"
"What do you mean, is that all? I didn't mean to shoot him. But he wouldn't give me his wallet. It was his own fault."
"Then I guess it's time for you to die."
"Die? You can't kill me. I mean please don't kill me. Tie me up. Beat me senseless. The cops'll get you. My ghost'll get you. Hey I got a wife and kids. Please don't kill me, please, please."
Al flipped Steve over onto his back and shot him in the chest. The sound of the gun rang in Al's ears for a while. Then he drove the car over Steve's dead body and headed back to town.
Author's note: Vigilante justice is fairly satisfying, isn't it? I suppose that is because regular "justice" is often not satisfying.