“Yes,” he cried out. “Yes. Please don’t cut off my fingers. I won’t ever do it again. I swear to God.”
“You’d better swear to me. I’m the one who you have to convince.”
“I swear, I swear. I won’t ever do that again.”
“Do what, Delbert? Tell me what you’ve done?” I grabbed another finger.
“I raped women. I don’t know how many. Six or seven. Maybe more. I’m usually h-h-high. But, I never killed any of them. It was j-just sex.”
“It wasn’t sex, it was only violence,” I said, taking off the next finger.
My fucking heart sank. I knew about Waverly, and I assumed he’d done the same to other women, but it made me sick to hear him confirm it. I pulled a butane pencil torch from the toolbox, clicked it on and held it directly on Boneyard’s finger stumps. Cauterizing the wound in seconds, while also causing him excruciating pain.
“Please don’t hurt me anymore. Please, just let me go. I want to go home,” he sobbed.
“Those women wanted to go home too, didn’t they? They begged for mercy too, right? But you didn’t care then, so I don’t care now. Tonight, you’re going to pay for what you did. And I want you to know it’s because one of those women was brave enough to tell her story thatI’m here with you tonight.”
“I’ll pay her. Whoever she is, I’ll fucking pay her whatever she wants. Whatever she’s paying you, I’ll pay double to let me go.”
“She doesn’t even know we’re here tonight,” I replied.
“If she’s not fucking paying you than why are you doing this?”
“I’m here to balance the scales of justice. You violently abuse women, and tonight you’re going to answer for it. You didn’t kill them, or you’d already be dead, but you did take something from them, so tonight I’ll take from you.”
“Please don’t take all my fingers. Don’t make me a freak.”
“Don’t worry. We’re done with that.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Boneyard sobbed.
“I’m pretty sure I can guess the answer to this question, but have you read much Shakespeare?” I asked.
Boneyard shook his head.
“Nah, I didn’t figure as much. Well, I have read ’em all, and my favorite of all his works is the Merchant of Venice. You know that one?”
“Nah, man.”
“It’s a courtroom drama set in sixteenth century Italy, about a merchant named Antonio who defaults on a loan he takes out on behalf of a friend. It was never as popular as Hamlet, Romeo and Juliette or Richard the third, but it’s a great play, and is where we get the term ‘Pound of Flesh.’” I turned to Orion. “Did you know that?”
“Nope,” he replied.
“Well, anyway, in the play, Shylock, the money lender, asks the court for a pound of Antonio’s flesh as payment and penalty for defaulting on the loan, and drama ensues. Now, I won’t give away the ending just in case you live to see another day and want to read it for yourself, but I will tell you that we have our own pound of flesh situation going on, here tonight.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Boneyard asked.
“I’m talking about taking a pound of your flesh to balance out the scales of justice. The very flesh you chose to assault them with, in fact.”
“Please don’t cut me,” was the last thing Boneyard said before I grabbed a dirty shop rag from thetoolbox and shoved it into his mouth. The last thing he said before I took his cock and balls with my kukri knife.
* * *
Orion and I were almost as quiet on the ride back into town as we were on the trip out, that is until we were almost home.
“You think it was smart, letting him live?” Orion asked.
“No, but it was fair. Boneyard didn’t kill Lennon’s friend.”
