Maricruz wasn’t sure
which one it was, but one of the bodybuilders yelled out, “Umberto, we’re gonna
bail, bro!” Another of them said, “Yeah,
we’re not down for going to jail, man.”
Still another said, “We didn’t come here to kill nobody.” Umberto told them he understood and patted
them each on the back before they ran through the kitchen and out the back
door, leaving Maricruz with her two brothers, as well as with Lyle, Rick, and
Amanda, who had stopped a few steps away from DB, still gripping tightly to the
meat tenderizing hammer with her eyes transfixed on her tormentor who lay
bleeding on the floor, but still conscious, even if just barely so.
Maricruz told Umberto
and Miguel they should go too and after a moment’s protest they decided to head
in the same direction as the bulky foursome.
Maricruz wished she would have listened to Lyle earlier when he’d told
her to leave. She also wished that she
could run out the back door with her brothers, but she couldn’t leave because
it was actually her mess, to a certain extent, that needed to be cleaned up. After all, she was the one who’d done all the
damage to DB with her right fist and foot, so she couldn’t stand the thought of
anyone else, especially Lyle, having to pay for what she’d done, which had happened
pretty much instinctually and felt good at the time, but had caused the pulsing
pain in her hand. Her knuckles ached
like maybe DB’s face had done as much damage to her as she had done to him.
Maricruz had always
used her brain and her words to defend herself.
In fact, she had never hit—and certainly never kicked—anyone in her life
before that day, except, of course, for her brothers, who always had it
coming. However, she had also never been
treated the way DB had treated her by putting his hand where it had no business
being and then by saying the awful things he’d said about her. Why she cared what that scumbag said about
her she didn’t know; she just knew that she wouldn’t stand for it. Even if she didn’t already want to kill him
for what he’d done to Amanda, Maricruz probably still would have punched him
and then kicked him twice if she had to do it all over again. She did have to admit to herself, though,
that she hated the sound her fist made when it broke his nose, as well as the
dull thuds she heard when his head hit the floor followed by the snap of the
toe of her black tennis shoe cracking at least one of his ribs, and then the
groan he let out when she busted his chin open.
It made her stomach sick each time she heard it, and she couldn’t
believe she’d done it, not just once or even twice, but three times. Even with all she’d been through in her life,
though, she had never felt the volcanic eruption of rage and pure hatred she
experienced in those moments in the presence of DB. He deserved everything he was getting, and
would someday burn in hell, but there was something in her, maybe her
conscience, maybe the voice of Abuelita, maybe all of Father Carl’s homilies about
“Blessed are the peacemakers,” that caused her to feel just a little sorry for
the worthless jerk bleeding and cursing on the floor. She decided that she wouldn’t strike him
again for anything he said, but only if she somehow had to fight him off. Then, she just might send him to meet his
maker.
Maricruz also felt
ashamed that Father Carl had seen what was happening out in the dining room, but
she was also thankful, because his declaration that what they were about to do
was “madness” had served as a beacon of sanity in the blood red storm that had
swirled around them all. She was filled with fear, however, at the
fact that Father Carl was back in her dad’s office calling the police at that very
moment. How were they going to explain the
shape that DB was in to the police in a way that would keep her out of
jail? How could they explain what she’d
done to his truck, not to mention whatever Amanda was going to do to him if
somebody didn’t stop her? Every single
one of them was going to end up in jail for this, and not one thing that had
happened to Amanda would be undone. They
had to do something to clean this up
a bit, to somehow make it look less sinister and vengeful than it had quickly
become, and they had to do this before the police showed up in a matter of
minutes.
Rick must have been
thinking the same thing because he yelled out to Lyle, “You’ve got to do
something to stop this, Lyle!” Lyle ran
his hands through his hair as he paced out the same manic course again and
again, starting to say something a couple of times but stopping when no words
came from his mouth. Maricruz knew he
wanted to stop the whole thing but that he wasn’t sure how to pull the brakes
on this train that was barreling out of control toward the precipice. Maricruz knew he wanted to keep his promise
to Amanda as well, but that he must have longed that he could have just wished
this all away.
When Lyle didn’t say
anything, Rick began slowly to approach Amanda, trying to convince her, “Young
lady—I’m sorry but I don’t know your name—I know that you’ve been hurt, though,
and mistreated and used by this man and by others. It is not okay what he did to you. It is not your fault and it is not okay. He should spend the rest of his life in
prison for it and probably the rest of eternity in hell, but if you beat that
horrible man with that hammer, it’s not going to make him any less horrible, but it will cause you to be horrible along with him.”
Amanda refused to look
up at Rick; she just kept staring at DB, who was again trying to sit up on the
floor just a few feet away from her, which he finally did successfully now that
Umberto and his friends had fled. He
coughed and spit more blood onto the tile floor.
“He’s right,” Maricruz
agreed, now beginning to approach Amanda as well. “Believe me, I wish we could rid the world of
that worthless sack of crap on the ground right there, but he’s not worth
ruining the rest of our lives over.”
Amanda looked up at Maricruz, who continued, “You finally have a chance
at life, Sweetie, a chance at freedom. I
know you’re scared that the police won’t lock him away, but they will if you
just tell them what he did to you.”
Amanda began to cry again. “No
matter what happens, Amanda, you can know that you’re safe now. Lyle and I won’t let anything happen to
you. You’re with us now, and we’ll take
care of you from here on out. We
promise. Isn’t that right, Lyle?” Maricruz turned to Lyle who seemed to be
calming down now that the situation was defusing a little. “I said, isn’t that right, Lyle?”
Lyle, who was farther
away from Amanda than Maricruz and Rick, finally responded, “Yeah, I told you
that Amanda. I’m not going to let
anything happen to you. This asshole
will never harm you again.”
“So why don’t you just
give one of us the hammer,” Rick added.
“Yeah, Sweetie,”
Maricruz joined in. “Either drop the
hammer or give it to one of us. The
police—”
“Are on the way,”
Father Carl, who had just walked back in through the kitchen door, finished the
sentence for her. “They’ll be here in a matter
of minutes.” He also moved toward Amanda
with one quiet, deliberate step after another.
“You don’t want to be holding that hammer when the police get here. Just give it to one of us and we’ll put it
back in the kitchen and the police will never need to know anything about
it.” Father Carl then motioned to
Maricruz saying, “I suggest you raise the blinds in here quickly, Maricruz, and
unlock that door so it doesn’t look to the police like you were actually going
to do what you all came dangerously close to doing. I will vouch for you all if you stop
now. We aren’t punished for the sins we almost commit.”
Maricruz walked over and
raised the blinds, then came back over to continue to try to get Amanda to let
loose of that hammer before she could tenderize DB’s temple or chest or crotch
with it, although she might let Amanda get a few hits in on the crotch before
she tried to stop her. In looking at
Amanda, Maricruz could tell that Amanda’s mind was working hard, trying to
figure out what was the best way to survive: to kill DB or to leave him to the
cops? She knew that Amanda wasn’t
willing to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life, so she must have
been seriously considering ending it then.
Father Carl, Rick, and
Maricruz, all tried to convince Amanda to relent, but right when it looked like
she was going to give up the hammer, DB, who was sitting up and leaning against
a chair, spat out, “You little skank! You
wouldn’t dare touch me. You know you loved
all the attention all those pricks gave you.
You loved it that they’d pay
good money for you. You should be thanking me. You weren’t nothing before I found you. You know you liked—” DB stopped midsentence and turned his head to
look toward the door when he and the others heard the police sirens growing
closer.
In that moment, with
DB’s head turned, Amanda had finally made her decision and she ran toward DB,
raising the hammer up like she was about to pound a spike into a railroad tie
and screaming, “I hate you!” But before
she could bring the hammer down on his skull, Lyle leapt over DB and knocked
the hammer out of Amanda’s hand, which caused Amanda to stumble back, tripping
over a chair and falling down onto the blood splattered floor as Lyle’s feet also
got tangled up with DB’s and Lyle bounced his shoulder off a table. When he finally hit the floor, the gun that
had been stuffed in the back of his pants fell loose and clanked off of the
tile floor, sliding within inches of DB, who immediately snatched it up and pointed
it at Lyle as DB, himself, struggled to stand, supporting himself against a
table.
“Well looky here, now!”
DB said through his macabre red tinted smile.
“It looks like somebody’s still going to die but it ain’t going to be me
now is it?.” He turned to point the gun
at Maricruz, while keeping an eye on Lyle.
“Maybe it should be this little brown skinned beauty over here who
thought she was going to get away with taking cheap shots on me.” Lyle started to rise from the floor slowly,
prompting DB to turn the gun back on him.
“Get your ass back on
the floor, Cowboy, or I’ll shoot your girlfriend first and then that little
whore over there.” Amanda now held her
knees up to her chest, trembling and rocking gently.
“If you’re going to
shoot anybody, shoot me,” Lyle pleaded as the sirens grew louder and louder
outside.
“No, I think I’ll
reverse that order,” DB reasoned. “I’ll
shoot the little cooze first. She’s the
one that can do the most damage to me, that’s if the cops will trust a runaway
drug addict whore.” DB pointed the gun
down at Amanda and pulled back the gun’s hammer, but when he heard the police
cars screeching to a stop outside the front door he looked up for just a brief
second and the moment he did Rick barreled into DB from the side, tackling him
hard to the floor where they rolled around and around in the puddle of blood
and spit, fighting over possession of the .38 revolver. Father Carl ran over and pulled Amanda away
from the two men as they wrestled. DB
landed some ferocious blows to Rick’s body and head. Father Carl helped Amanda up off the floor
and pulled her behind the bar where she’d be safe.
Maricruz backed up
against the front window, her heart pounding and eyes welling up as she watched
Lyle leap into the fray bashing his fist into whatever parts of DB he could
hit, first the side of his neck, then his shoulder, and then his chin, busting
it open again covering Lyle’s fist with blood.
Surely, Maricruz thought, between Lyle and Rick, they could get the gun
away from DB, but somehow as all the chairs and tables tipped over around them
and on top of them DB held on to it.
Father Carl motioned
for Maricruz to walk out the front door.
“Go out and warn the police what’s going on in here!” he yelled to her
from over by the bar where he was staying close to Amanda. Maricruz turned to open the door, feeling the
cold air rush in on her as she pushed it open just as two police cars squealed
to a stop, but she stopped dead in her tracks, her body going rigid, when from
behind her the deafening crack of a gunshot filled her ears.
Maricruz jerked around
to see Rick and DB both lying still on the floor, tangled up with one another,
but with Rick on top. Lyle lay off to
the side, partially under a table, not moving and with his eyes closed. Maricruz ran over to Lyle and fell to her
knees beside him, searching his body for a gunshot wound. Unable to find one, she put her ear to his
chest. Oh, thank God. Still beating.
Finally there was
movement from the direction of Rick and DB, which filled Maricruz with hope,
but then she noticed it was DB who was moving, grunting as he rolled Rick off
of him, allowing Maricruz to see the blood pouring from Rick’s abdomen, and
leaking from his mouth and down his chin.
It is then that she heard DB’s blood soaked words, hissing out, “Where
the hell are you, Amanda? You’re next
you little whore!” as he began to try to stand up, falling down several times. Finally he kept his feet under him and
stumbled toward the bar area, searching for Amanda. Father Carl stood up from behind the bar with
his hands up.
“You don’t have to do
that, Son,” he said to DB, who was pointing his gun toward the priest. “Haven’t you hurt enough people in your
life?”
“There’s always room
for one more,” DB answered in a blood curdling and snarky tone, as he pulled
the hammer back again. “Or two. I’m not afraid to kill a priest if that is
what I have to do to get to her.”
Father’s Carl’s hands
were shaking as he continued to hold them in the air and took a brave step
forward toward the gun. “That’s what
you’ll have to do then, Son, because you’re going to have to kill me if you want to touch that little girl.”
“My pleasure—”
At that moment the
front door flew open and two police officers, one of them a middle aged cop with
a salt and pepper mustache and the other was the chunky young cop that had been
sitting in the car when Maricruz and Umberto were on the snowmobiles. Both of them had their guns drawn, yelling
out, “Drop that gun! Now! Everybody on the floor! Hurry up!”
Maricruz and Father Carl both hit the floor, but DB turned and faced the
cops instead and pointed the gun at the young cop.
“Drop the gun now,
asshole!” the middle aged cop yelled.
“All this over some
used up piece of—” DB began to put pressure on the trigger, but before he could
pull it both officers opened fire on DB, each hitting him in the chest,
dropping him to the ground. They ran
over, kicked the gun away and radioed for both ambulances in town to come to
the scene.
“We have one
unconscious,” the young cop communicated to the dispatcher, “and one”—he looked
from DB over at Rick and then added—“probably two fatalities.”
