“Unless they expose themselves,” Riptide adds.
“How?” I ask, double checking my pockets and patting down my thighs to make sure everything is where I put it and nothing has shifted. Everything I carry on my person has its place and I know exactly where it is for easy access.
“If the councilwoman inquires about how he died, she’d have to explain to the coroner’s office why she’s suspicious and why it needs to be investigated. Same with his deputies. If he was law-abiding then the truth of his son’s gang activity could send him over the edge. But if he supports his son and the rest of the Onyx fuckers then he’d be seen for the snake he is,” Rip explains.
“Makes sense in a morbid kinda way,” I admit, releasing a long exhale as I center myself and get my mind in the game.
“What’s morbid about it?” Indiana asks as he sidles up beside me, his swagger exaggerated. Always the jokester who acts grandiose when he’s seeking attention. It’s maddening. For me, anyway. Everyone else, they get a kick out of it and encourage it.
“Don’t know, just liked the way it sounded,” I lie. I’m not getting dragged into a conversation with him on what’s right and what’s wrong when it comes to how I express myself. I said what I said and don’t want to be called out for it. It’s as plain and simple as that. I won’t apologize to anyone for the way I am and the way I speak. As far as I’m concerned, everyone can kiss my ass if they don’t like it.
“I can see that,” Indiana excuses as we all circle around Rip and Slayer. After we go back over the plan, we branch out and go in separate groups, each taking a different entry point to Maloney’s house. Lucky for us, he’s somewhat segregated from his neighbors, there’s at least three acres, if not more, between him and them on all sides of the parcel of land where his house stands. Gotta love country life, it comes in handy when you don’t want anyone close enough to hear your victim scream. As a matter of fact, one of the houses to his left has a field full of cows, their moos should cover the sounds he’ll be making.
Indiana, LoneStar, Riptide, and I are going to take the front door. I’m excited to let him know we’ve come for a visit. He may see us coming, but there’ll be no place for him to run once the others come strolling in. “Should we be polite and knock?” LoneStar asks, a smile spread across his face, expanding from one cheek to the other.
“Fuck no. I’ve never been polite a day in my life. I’m not about to start now,” I answer, lifting my foot and kicking his door down. “Maloney,” I sing as I stomp into the living room, shooting him a smile when I see him spit out his beer. It broadens when I notice he’s lounging in his easy chair in nothing more than his boxer shorts, no gun in sight. Bad move, for him, not us. As he goes to get up, I place a hand on his shoulder and keep him where he is.“That wouldn’t be a good idea, Maloney. I think you need to sit there and listen to what my president has to say.”
“What the fuck are y’all doing in my house!” Maloney shouts, his face reddening. “Get the fuck out! Now.”
“That’s not very hospitable of you,” Indiana spouts, tsking.
“I agree,” LoneStar states, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed that we didn’t receive a warmer greeting. “I’d expect a better welcoming from an elected official. Got more of that beer, Maloney? You’re going to need to wet your whistle with all of the talking you’re about to do.” It’s not a true question, it’s posed as more of a suggestion because LoneStar doesn’t wait for a response, instead, he saunters into the man’s kitchen and opens up his fridge, scanning the contents.
“I got nothing to say to you lot,” Maloney hisses, giving us a look of derision. “See yourselves out and count yourselves lucky if I don’t arrest every damn one of you come morning.”
LoneStar sits on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, smirking. “He’s so full of crap, I may have to go put on my shit kickers,” he lightheartedly says, wiggling his boot-covered feet.
“Get to the point,” Maloney edicts, causing us all to grin.
“We don’t take orders from you, Maloney,” Rip tells him as he plants his ass on the coffee table beside LoneStar’s feet, knocking them to the ground, and then aims his attention to our captee. “We need to have a chat.” Maloney gives him a mutinous look but otherwise stays silent. “You’ve been gunning for us, and that ends today.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maloney fibs, smirking. “I’m a lawman doing his job by keeping my town safe.”
“Then you suck at it,” Slayer muses, which earns him a round of head nods because a man in Maloney’s position isn’t supposed to pick and choose which outlaws to back and which ones to get rid of.
There’s a longer, more drawn out conversation that happens from there, but I pay it no mind, instead, I’m fantasizing about how I can make him suffer before he ‘takes himself out of this world’. Kinda looking forward to watching him take his last breath.
I snap back to attention when bottles of vodka start appearing. I maniacally laugh as the liquor is poured down his throat. He tries to spit it out, so I pinch his nose and make sure he has no other alternative than to swallow. I’m having a grand time watching him get rip-roaring drunk at our hands. Soon, the fucker is swaying in his chair, his speech slurred as he begins grabbing the bottles and pouring the contents down his own throat.
“Wow, look at him guzzling that shit,” Indiana snorts.
“Told him he was going to get thirsty,” LoneStar says, tooting his own horn before shrugging his shoulders. “When I’m right, I’m right, what can I say, I’ve got the gift of insight.”
“You’ve got the gift of bullshitting,” Riptide retorts, shaking his head. “Pull out the note, Renegade.”
“Be happy too,” Renegade responds, whipping it out of his back pocket and unfolding it.
Thankfully, we’re all wearing gloves so our prints won’t be on anything that’ll be left behind. Nobody touched that note without taking precautions, but we will need to do a sweep and make sure there are no traces of our DNA left behind. But that’s Shade’s area of expertise so I’ll leave that duty in his capable hands.
Maloney begins singing and the song he chooses has me amused. “I was drunk last night, dear Mother. I was drunk the night before, but if you’ll forgive me, Mother. I’ll never get drunk anymore.” He wraps it up with a hiccup and falls over in laughter. “That gentlemen, was from my mother’s favorite movie. It was a musical. Did y’all ever see it?”
“He’s blitzed,” Slayer mumbles, refusing to take his eyes off the dickhead.
“He’s one screw loose from the toolbox,” I mutter, watching him with a keen eye to see what he’ll do next.
Shade moves to my side, asking, “Do you think he’ll still cry before pulling the trigger?”
“With our luck, he’ll laugh before doing it,” I reply.
