JUDGMENT DAY

by

Terry Wright

Captain Holland held the phone in disbelief. The US Marshals should have been here yesterday. Even though Deckers was off the beaten path, they shouldn’t be dragging their feet on this.

“We’re sorry about the delay, sir,” the dispatcher said.

“Christ! It’s been a week already.”

“It’s not our fault the judge denied him bail.”

“But it’s your job to transport Billy Denton to the county jail.” Holland knew it was a two hundred mile trek across some of Texas’ roughest terrain. Justin Graves’ killer required special handling. “I don’t have the manpower for that kind of work.”

“Just keep him locked up until we get there.” The phone clicked dead.

Holland slammed down the receiver. “Lieutenant Simmons—get over to city jail. Backup Deputy Pender. Looks like we’ve got Denton for another night, at least.”

 “Right away, sir.” Simmons grabbed his suit coat. He was a young detective with a pretty wife and a rambunctious six-year-old son waiting for him to come home. But tonight, duty called.

            Holland shuddered as Simmons shut the door on his way out. Each moment that passed gave Billy Denton another opportunity to make good on his threat to escape. And he’d be getting more and more desperate with each passing hour, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he was transported to county where security was much tighter. With that thought, Captain Holland threw on his jacket, checked the clip in his Glock, and headed out after Simmons. Three men on guard duty tonight couldn’t hurt.

Deckers city jail wasn’t much more than a cracker box. Three cells, each complete with a commode and a cot, faced the front office where Deputy Pender sat at the squad desk with his feet propped up and his eyes shut. A ring of keys dangled from his leather belt and his holstered Colt hung on a wall hook by the door. Billy pushed his dinner tray aside and took this all in as he leaned back on the sunken cot in cell number two.

Jo Joe Peters, the town drunk, had been locked up in cell number one for the night. Lying on the concrete floor, he hacked and snorted in a drunken stupor, his weathered face and bulbous nose flushed like Santa Claus. He hadn’t combed his wiry hair and scruffy beard for months; nor had he taken a bath. He smelled like cat piss.

Cell number three was empty.

Other than Jo Joe’s belching, the jailhouse was quiet. Billy preferred it that way. Gave him time to think. Like he’d told Captain Holland, this jail wouldn’t hold him for long. Billy rubbed his goatee. One slipup, that’s all it would take. They could kiss his ass goodbye.

Jo Joe stirred, grumped and cursed, then started puking out his guts on the floor. The disgusting smell of bile knifed through the air.

“Pender!” Billy shouted, his stomach clutching. “You’d better get Jo Joe outta here before I blow a gasket.”

The deputy just snorted.

“Pender!”

Kneeling, Jo Joe coughed and spit. “Mind yer own beeswax, boy. I’m in my glory here, can’t ya tell?”

“Use the damn toilet.”

Jo Joe let loose another gush of puke, which splattered on the floor and filled the air with another wave of nauseating stench.

The smell was awful, causing bile to rise in Billy’s throat like some kind of chain reaction. “Pender!” A gut-wrenching spasm took hold of Billy’s innards, and crawling toward the commode, he upchucked before he got there. Puke hit the wall, the floor, and drenched his prison coveralls.

            “What a mess,” he heard Pender shout, now standing at the cell door, keys in hand.

            As if yanked from a dream, Justin was torn from the light and suddenly found himself spiraling through darkness toward a red glow in the distance. He’d been here before, not long ago, with Christy. The devil had obviously summoned him. But why? Had he changed his evil mind about their deal and taken Christy’s soul anyway? Damn!

            Nearing the smoke and fire of hell’s inferno, Justin’s body dissolved around him, leaving his naked soul exposed to the devil’s fury. Justin feared his daughter would suffer this fate, an eternity in hell. He’d only begun to fulfill his part of the deal, rounding up bad souls to save his daughter’s soul from the devil’s wrath. Now he wondered if all his efforts had been in vain.

            Flames seared the air and the stench of burned flesh rose out of a pit into which he tumbled. Hissing gasses belched fire, and cragged rock walls rumbled but did not collapse—an eternal earthquake of unnerving proportions. Echoing inside his soul, he heard laughter, a haunting kind of cackle, despondent and chilling.

            “JUSTICE!” the devil bellowed. “NOW YOU ARE MINE!”

            Floating in smoke and ash, Justin felt the essence of despair surround him, as if just hearing those words made them true and unforgiving. He expected to see Christy materialize in front of him, her flesh and hair on fire, her mouth agape in an eternal scream. Casting off the horrifying image, Justin said, “Why have you brought me here? I haven’t finished…”

            “SILENCE, FOOL!” Fire billowed from the depths of the pit. “I WARNED YOU!”

            “But I haven’t broken your rules. I haven't killed anyone. That was the deal.”

            “THE BLACK WIDOW WILL DIE!  YOU, AND YOU ALONE, ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR HER CONDITION.”

            “You've got to be joking.”

            The devil didn’t laugh.

            Justin couldn’t believe how the devil had interpreted the rules to suit his own twisted purpose. But Justin realized he should’ve known that an evil this powerful could not be trusted. The devil cheated at solitaire. No pact was sacred, no handshake binding, no deal set in stone. Such was the character of this nemesis Justin had to appease, or his daughter would face eternity in his service. “I did not kill the black widow. Old age or a broom will cause her death.”

            “BUT YOU TURNED HER INTO A SPIDER.”

            “A technicality. She was a black widow in human form. I only made her see what she really was.”

            “AND SHE WILL DIE BECAUSE OF IT!”

            “Justly so. But I did not kill her myself. I did not break the rules.” 

            “DAMN YOU, JUSTICE!  YOUR POINT IS MADE.”

            “Then quit griping. She’ll soon be serving you. That’s what this is all about.”

            Rock walls spit fire, parting clouds of smoke and revealing the devil to Justin’s soul. Razor-sharp horns glistened in firelight. The devil’s face glowed red with rage. “YOU DO NOT PLEASE ME, JUSTICE.”

            “Even though I'm upholding my part of the deal?”

            “YOU THINK I APPROVE OF THAT?” He pointed a talon-spiked finger at Justin. “YOU ARE WRONG, JUSTICE!  I LOATHE LOYALTY AND HONOR. I ADORE HATRED AND MURDER.”

            Justin turned his soul to the devil’s canted eyes. “And I abide by the rules of law and order.”

            “I DESPISE YOU FOR THAT.”

            “Because I’m not like you?”

            The devil chuckled. “YOU’RE MORE LIKE ME THAN YOU KNOW, JUSTICE, FOR DEEP INSIDE YOU HARBOR A HATRED THAT HASN'T YET SURFACED.  THE TRICK IS FINDING YOUR BREAKING POINT...YOUR WEAKNESS...AHHH...YOUR DAUGHTER.”

            “Leave her out of this.”

            “BECAUSE OF HER, HATRED AND REVENGE WILL BE YOUR DOWNFALL, JUSTICE.  YOUR JUDGMENT DAY IS COMING AND I WILL GET MY SATISFACTION.”

            “Never!”

            Flames shot upward. “I DO NOT LIKE YOU, JUSTICE.   I HATE YOU!  FOR THAT REASON ALONE, YOU WILL NOT SUCCEED AND I WILL NEVER LET YOUR DAUGHTER GO.”

            Justin backed away from the plumes of fire erupting from the depths. He expected hatred in hell. That in itself wasn’t a dilemma, but if hatred would condemn Christy to this horrid place, Justin had to be sure he wouldn’t fall into any trap that would allow the devil to prevail. But then again, must Justin become like the devil to gain his favor, to truly please him? Would the corruption of Justin's soul set his daughter free? There had to be another way. “I'm not like you.”

            “YOU ARE!”

            Justin’s soul met the devil’s glare head on. “Don’t play games with me. Don't twist the rules. Don't...”

            “SILENCE!  HOW DARE YOU DICTATE TO ME?”

            “It’s my daughter’s life we’re talking about here.”

            The devil squinted his fiery eyes. “YES.  SHE IS THE KEY TO YOUR DEMISE, JUSTICE.”

            “She is the reason I've followed your rules. I haven’t killed anyone. Nothing will change that.”

            “DON’T BE SO SURE!”

            “You are gravely mistaken.”

            “YOU DARE TO DOUBT ME, JUSTICE!” Hell spit flames and belched putrid smoke. “YOU SHALL SOON LEARN WHAT IT IS TO TRULY HATE SOMEONE.  IN A FIT OF REVENGE, YOU WILL KILL ONE OF MY FINEST SERVANTS OF SIN.  THEN I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL AND YOUR DAUGHTER’S AS WELL!”

            Justin growled. “No way.”

            “IT HAS ALREADY BEGUN!” Laughter boomed.

            Deputy Pender bent over his prisoner convulsing on the cell floor. Billy Denton looked white, pale like a ghost as he hacked up vomit. “Jesus Christ, Billy—Jo Joe.” Gagging, Pender cranked open barred windows to let in fresh air. “You guys are cleaning up this mess.”

            Jo Joe hiccupped. “Did you see that punk lose his lunch? That was SO gross.”

            “Shut your mouth,” Pender said, grabbing Billy’s collar and dragging him to the toilet into which he heaved violently. “I’m never gonna get the smell out of this place.”

            Pender, his stomach lurching, left the cell door open and rushed to the maintenance closet where he filled a bucket with water and grabbed a mop. When he returned, Billy was sitting by the toilet, wiping puke from his lips with his shirtsleeve. “Jo Joe—I’m going to kill you.”

           Jo Joe started laughing like a hyena with asthma. He grabbed the bars. “Keep talkin’, Billy Boy. I wouldn’t want to be in yer shoes where they’re takin’ yah fer killin’ Justin.” In his drunken state, he couldn’t have realized the sting of his words. “Them fellas at county will be real sweet on yer young ass.”

            Billy scowled.

            Dunking the mop, Pender shouted at Jo Joe. “Sit down and shut up, ya old coot. Christ! Billy…on your feet…clean up this mess.”

            “Mop, mop, mop yer puke,” Jo Joe sang to the tune of Row Your Boat.

            “Shut up, Jo Joe! You’re getting this bucket next.”

            Billy, spitting, took the mop and slapped it on the floor.

            Pender started walking out the cell door. He heard a sudden whoosh behind him but never felt the mop handle crack against the back of his head.

            Jo Joe tugged on the cell bars like a caged ape as Billy beat the deputy senseless. “Yer killin’ him, Billy.” Blood splattered on the wall and pooled on the floor. “Yah killed him.”

            Finally satisfied Pender was dead, Billy tossed down the broken mop handle.

            “Holy bejesus, boy! You gone and done it now.”

            “Shut up, Jo Joe! I’m trying to think.”

            “It’s a jailbreak, by God. Let me outta here.”

            Billy spit. His mouth tasted like the toilet. Fighting off another wave of nausea, he remembered Pender’s Colt hanging by the door and dashed to get it.

            “Get the gun, get the gun,” Jo Joe hollered through the bars of his cell.

            Just as Billy made it to the holstered Colt, the front door swung open.

            “Pender?” It was Lieutenant Simmons. His eyes shot to the deputy bludgeoned to death on the floor, then to Billy standing only three feet away. The sudden look of terror on his face could’ve raised the dead.

            Billy drew the gun.

            Simmons ducked as he reached for the weapon holstered under his suit coat.

            Gunfire rang out.

            Simmons keeled over and hit the floor with a thump.

            “Nice shootin’!” Jo Joe shouted. “You got him, Billy Boy. You got him! I seen the whole thing.”

            His blood boiling with adrenaline, Billy rushed back toward the cellblock. The whole affair seemed so unreal, like he was walking through a dream, or standing off to the side watching himself move through the jailhouse with thoughts of killing the only witness to the murders he’d just committed. In slow motion, he raised the Colt, aiming at Jo Joe who stumbled backward, eyes wide. “You lily-livered coward!” He fell against the cot.

            “Screw you, old man.” Billy fired two rounds, one striking Jo Joe in the heart, the other spattering brain matter all over the back wall.

            Then came the shocker.

            Captain Holland burst in, gun drawn, obviously alerted by the gunshots that killed Jo Joe. Damn! Billy ducked behind the maintenance closet door, thinking he should’ve left the old man alone and made his break when he had the chance.

            “Throw the gun down, Billy!” Holland bellowed. “Come out with your hands up!”

            “Go to hell!” Billy leaped from behind the door and shot two rounds at Holland who returned fire, bullets now zinging through the air and pinging off cell bars. Empty shell casings tinkled on the cement floor. Crouching low, Billy fired again but Holland had ducked behind the squad desk. Billy dove into the closet, gasping for air that tasted like vomit. This gun battle reminded him of the standoff at the warehouse when he’d killed Justin Graves and his whore daughter, Christy. That bitch. Ejecting the gun clip, a sudden wave of hopelessness washed over him. Only one round left. Shit! In panic, he swept his eyes around the maintenance closet, looking for a weapon. Anything. He spotted a Crescent Wrench.

            “Give it up, Billy!”

            “Don’t shoot! I’m out of bullets.” He slapped the clip back into the Colt.

            “Throw out your weapon!”

            Billy slid the Crescent Wrench across the floor. It sounded like it might have been a gun, and from a distance, it could’ve looked like one to Holland. Billy made sure it clattered into his cell through the open door where the Captain would have difficulty seeing it.

            “I give up!” With his hands behind his head and the Colt firmly in his  grasp, Billy stepped out of the closet. “Don’t shoot!”

            Slowly, Holland stood, gun pointing at Billy. “Get down on the floor.”

            Dropping to his knees, Billy’s heart felt as if it would burst, the smell of puke on his clothes causing his eyes to water. But he had to be cool, if only for another moment.

            “Don’t move a muscle.” Holland stepped forward, his gun dropping slightly as he reached for the cuffs with his free hand.

            Billy held his breath, and in a heartbeat, brought the gun around and pulled the trigger, his last shot echoing through the jailhouse like a clap of thunder.

            Holland clutched his chest, dropped the Glock, and fell over backward, his eyes wide in total disbelief.

            Now Billy wasted no time making good his escape.

            Amidst all the carnage, Justice materialized in Deckers city jail, dust and dirt raining down from his cowboy hat and long coat. He was too late. Billy had escaped and three good men lay dead on the floor. Inside Justin’s decaying body, hatred for Billy Denton swelled like a brewing thunderstorm. Thoughts of revenge swirled in his skull.

            Hatred and revenge, the very things the devil had said would be Justin’s downfall, now appeared to come true, as if just by speaking the words, the devil had made it happen. But it wasn’t as if Justin didn’t have good reason. After all, Billy had killed him, and his daughter, and now his friends: Captain Holland, Lieutenant Simmons, and Deputy Pender. Worse yet, he was on the loose with nothing to lose. How many more innocent people would he murder? Justin felt the urge to kill the punk himself. But that would only prove the devil right. There had to be another way. But was there?

            Justin picked up the phone, and with a bony finger, punched out 911. “There’s been a shooting at city jail,” he told the operator in a raspy voice.

            “Who is this?”

            A moan echoed through the jailhouse.

            Dust swirling, Justin whirled around and immediately located the source. Captain Holland. His eyes were focused on the ghoul.

            “We need an ambulance. Hurry!” He hung up.

            Holland wheezed. “Justice! My God—I must be dead.”

            Kneeling beside his fallen comrade, Justin lifted Holland’s head up from the floor a little. “Help is on the way.”

            Coughing, Holland grabbed Justin’s dusty coat sleeve. “Your eyes…your face…you’re looking poorly, my friend. And what’s that awful smell?”

            “Never mind that. Try to relax.”

            “Where’s Billy?”

            “He’s gone. But don’t worry—I’ll get him.”

            Paramedics rushed in with a stretcher and all kinds of equipment, which they started hooking up to Captain Holland.

            “Don’t do anything stupid, Justice,” Holland shouted. “You could get yourself killed.”

            “A little late for that.” Justin took a step back.

            “No, wait! Justice!”

            A paramedic inserted an IV needle. “He’s hallucinating.”

            “When will I see you again?”

            “Take it easy, sir. We’ll get you to the hospital right away.”

            “Justice! Don’t leave! Tell me what’s going on.”

            “I’ll see you soon,” replied Justin.

            “But what about Billy?”

            “Please, sir. Be still.”

            “His judgment day is coming…and so is mine.”

            “No, Justice! Don't take the law into your own hands!”

            With a gust of wind, the ghoul was gone.

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