Payback

sundown in zion

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Gideon Nelson serves retribution, Navy style.

            The sun was setting as Nelson eased through the traffic on Markham Street toward St. Vincent Hospital. He reached it as night settled on the city. The hospital was sprawling institution, located on a high spot at the intersection of two major streets. It towered above the area like a modern castle, promising nurture and succor to those in need. As he turned into the entrance, signs directed him to a large parking garage, and he wound through a maze until he found a place to park. He walked to an elevator, pushed the button, and surveyed his surroundings while he waited. The elevator took him to ground level where he crossed the main drive and entered the hospital. In the lobby, a receptionist reviewed his identification and told him Sheriff Love had contacted the hospital and they were expecting him. Clifton was undergoing some examinations at the moment, but if Nelson would proceed to the nearest waiting room, he could find out if, and when, visiting might resume. Nelson thanked him and complied.

            It was a long wait, an hour and a half. At nearly eight-thirty, a nurse entered the waiting area. By this time, Nelson was the only person there and the nurse told him that he might visit Mr. Sikes for only a few moments as he, “… had a pretty rough evening as you might imagine.” Nelson nodded and followed her down a corridor to a dimly lighted room. The nurse motioned him in and said, “Be brief. We’ve given him some pretty strong pain medication and he won’t be coherent for long.”

            Nelson was a stranger to neither injuries nor hospitals, but his first glimpse of Clifton stopped him cold. On hearing someone entering, Clifton turned his head to see who it was. The once merry face was a sickening color of purple except for two black eyes swollen partly shut. Gauze party covered his forehead, with red hair extending above it as though trying to escape the indignity. His lower jaw was supported by bandages and both lips were split. One arm lay at his side while the other hung from an overhead sling, a cast covering an elbow bent nearly perpendicular. The rest of his body lay beneath a sheet. He stared at Nelson, but didn’t speak.

            “Do you recognize me,” Nelson said.

            Clifton tried to nod, but only winced in pain. Through clenched teeth, he managed to speak in a raspy and soft voice. “Just who the hell are you, mister?”

            Nelson didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said, “Who did this to you?”

            “That’s what they wanted to know,” Clifton said.

            “That’s what who wanted to know?”

            “They wanted me to tell them who you are.”

            There was a chair placed against a wall not far from Clifton’s bed. Nelson walked over, picked it up with one hand, and set it alongside the bed. He moved close to Clifton so he didn’t have to talk loudly. “What did you tell them?”

            Clifton was quiet for a moment as if he struggled to remember. Nelson waited. Finally, Clifton said, “I told them you were a man who gave me a ride when I needed one. I told them you seemed to be the kind of person who helped those in need.” He stopped as a wave a pain traversed his body. His lips trembled.

            “And about the cook in the diner?”

            Clifton closed his eyes in thought. They remained closed until what could have been interpreted as the briefest hint of a smile flowed over the part of his face that was visible. “I forgot that part,” he said.

            “How many were there that did this to you?”

            “Two, I think,” Clifton said. “Maybe three.”

            “Did you know them?”

            “Might have,” Clifton said, “but I never got a look at them.” Another wave of pain hit him and he stopped talking.

            Nelson waited. Before long, Clifton nodded that he was in control. “They caught me behind the diner,” he said. “I went there to eat and they grabbed me when I came around back to where I always park.”

            “Did anyone see them?”

            “I don’t think so. They …” he stopped again and both men waited until he continued, “they put something over my head and pushed me into a truck. Took me out on the farm and then went to work on me.”

            “That’s enough talk,” Nelson said. “Now you just listen. I’ll find the ones who did this to you.”

            Clifton coughed, winced, but said nothing.

            “They’ll answer for this,” Nelson said.                                             

            Clifton nodded and said, “One thing, if you would, mister.”

            “Anything you ask, Clifton.”

            “Please,” Clifton said, “Talk to the doctors. Tell them to not let Marge come in and see me like this.”

            Nelson swallowed hard.

            “Tell them to make her wait,” Clifton said, “until I look okay again.” With that, he closed his swollen eyes and drifted into a merciful sleep.

            When Nelson reached the parking deck, it was deserted. Official visiting hours had ended and the hospital staff was between shift changes. He reached the elevator but stopped before reaching the doors. Instead of taking the elevator, he entered a stairwell and proceeded slowly to his floor.  He emerged at the opposite end of the parking space from the elevator. He spotted a surveillance camera trained on the elevator and one above him on the exit. Easing around the exit and avoiding the cameras, he looked both ways along the parking stalls. That’s when he saw them.

            Two men leaned against a truck parked across the drive from his. They were positioned to watch the elevator, but had neglected to observe the stairwell. Nelson watched them as they talked softly and joked with one another. One held a club and the other held what seemed to be large woven sack. The rear bumper of the truck displayed a “Soul Warriors” sticker.

The traffic outside on the busy streets masked the sound of Nelson circling around to approach them from their rear and out of camera view. He reached the opposite side of their truck, and he waited. Over the din of traffic sounds, he caught parts of conversation, including “The son of a bitch must have decided to spend the night.”

            It wasn’t long before Nelson heard the sound of an ambulance piercing the night as it sped toward the emergency room of the hospital. When the sound reached its peak, Nelson spun around the rear of the truck, took a step and delivered a sharp, open-handed blow to the temple of the nearest man. He collapsed in a heap. Before the second man could respond, Nelson had stepped into him and delivered an upward blow to one arm, disabling it. He seized the other. In a fluid and instantaneous move, he bent the other arm with one hand and seized its fingers with the other. The man fell to his knees yelling “Oww!” He stared at Nelson like a child seeing a killer animal in front of him. “That hurts,” he said.

            “It’s supposed to, asshole,” Nelson said, applying pressure that produced a soft scream from the other. Nelson had him completely immobilized. “Now,” he said, “let’s you and I talk.” He looked toward the inert form of the other man. “I don’t think your pal has much to say.”

            “Mister,” the kneeling man said. “You’re killing me.” His eyes were white from fear and pain.

            “Bullshit,” Nelson said. “If I wanted you dead, guess what?” The man didn’t answer. “I said, ‘Guess what?’” Nelson said.

            “I would be?”

            “Let’s just say you wouldn’t beat up old men any time soon,” Nelson said.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nelson increased the pressure and the man groaned.

            “Are you two the ones who hurt my friend?” When the man didn’t answer, Nelson waited. When appeared to move, the threat caused the other to nod and speak.

            “Yes,” the man said. “We did it, but we were ordered to. It wasn’t our idea.”

            “Whose?” Nelson said. “Who told you to hurt my friend?”

            The man looked around as if help might be forthcoming. Nelson repeated the question. The other drew a deep breath and seemed to relax. “Bully did,” he said.

            “So you beat an old man because Bully Bridges told you to?”

            Uncertainty covered the man’s face. “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Why what?” the man said.

            “Why beat a harmless old man within an inch of his life?”

            The man looked even more confused. Finally he said, “Because Bully told us to.”

            “Why?”

            The man groaned from the increase pressure on this wrist. “He thinks you are out to harm the Soul Warriors.”

            “Why would I want to do that?”

            “That’s what we wanted to find out.”

            “Stand up,” Nelson said. The man rose slowly. “Now tell me about Abbey Stubblefield.”

            The man cocked his head. “Who?”

            “The girl that wasn’t welcome in your church.”

            Understanding descended upon the man’s face. Confusion returned immediately. He appeared sincerely bewildered. “You mean that little ni…,” he began but stopped when pain pierced his arm.

            “Careful,” Nelson said. “We’re talking about a young lady who came to your church, was mistreated, and found dead in a nearby ditch a week later.”

            “Mister,” the man man said. “I don’t know anything about her, except that some of the guys had some harmless fun with her.” He immediately screamed in pain and fell to his knees again. Sobs rose from him like bubbles. He shook his head in pain and cried.

            “Her name was Abbey,” Nelson said, “Now who killed her?”

            The man continued to sob. Nelson had him stand again. Looking the man directly in his tear-filled eyes, Nelson said, “You know. Oddly enough, I believe you.” He eased the pressure on the man’s fingers and the man ceased crying. “Thing is though,” Nelson said, “you still have to answer for my friend.” Pure terror filled the man’s face. “What do you think would be appropriate?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Doing the same to you would be the apparent answer, the Old Testament one,” Nelson said. “Now wouldn’t it?” When the man didn’t answer, Nelson increased the pressure again. The man nodded. Then Nelson said, “But that would make me just like you, wouldn’t it? The man was confused as to the correct answer, so he said nothing. Nelsons twitched his hand slightly and the other nodded. Nelson said, “But the New Testament thing would be to forgive you and let you do to me what you did to my friend. Right? You do know your scriptures, don’t you?” The man nodded again.

Beside them, the other man moved slightly. “Would he know any more than you?” Nelson said, nodding toward the crumpled figure. The standing man shook his head.

“Tell you what,” Nelson said. “I’ll do something worse.” The man’s eyes widened. “I’m going to take away your most cherished asset.” He nodded toward the fallen man. “His too.”

The man waited, a look of faint hope mixed with awe clearing his eyes.

“Now I figure the thing you cherish most, the thing that sustains you above everything else, and the thing you fear losing above anything is …” When the man didn’t respond, Nelson did. “Your pack. Your gang. The thing that gives you courage and superiority by its numbers. Am I right? That’s what makes a bully, an overpowering and protecting group of other bullies, right?” The man looked at the ground and nodded. “Not a team, mind you,” Nelson said. “I know about teams. They’re composed of individuals joined in a worthwhile cause.” He turned an spat on the one still down. “I’m talking about a gang of assholes, assholes like you that gang up to do evil, a nest of cowards, usually with their precious guns strapped on them.” The man kept looking down and said nothing.

“So,” Nelson said, “I’m going to make sure you go don’t go back to them. In fact, if I were you, and can remember this pain, I wouldn’t slow that pickup truck down until I was way over in Texas somewhere. If I let you go, you will light out, won’t you?”

The man nodded so hard that spittle ran down his chin, Nelson released his grip and, in an efficient movement swung one fist into the other’s left eye and the other into his right. The man slumped to the ground. Nelson pulled a baseball cap from the man’s head, pitched it into the bed of the pickup, and grabbed the man by the hair exposing his face. With a sharp strike, he broke the man’s nose, saying,  “I don’t imagine you would ever show that face to your Soul Warriors, now would you?”

After Nelson had delivered the same judgement to the second man, he placed both unconscious bodies into the cab of their truck where he left them. An observer would have thought them asleep, perhaps waiting for a visitor to return. He returned unviewed to the exit, walked to his truck in plain view of the security camera, and drove home. When he arrived, Charlie was on the computer. He looked up as Nelson came in. “Well,” he said, “it is a surprise to see you. What have you been up to this pleasant evening?”

“Working on my anger management,” Nelson said.