Trigger Warning: Contains profanity and scenes of violence.
The text message said, “Meet me behind the water tower at midnight. Come alone and don’t tell anyone.”
Jace Windham looked at his phone and quietly exhaled.
“What the fuck does he want now?” Windham asked himself under muttered breath.
He had been undercover for almost six months. And the longer he was undercover, the further he felt he was from the answers.
Who really runs this ring? Who the hell was responsible for all the crap being peddled to school kids and down on their luck businessmen?
Every fucking day, another overdose. Another death. Another psycho checked into an overcrowded ward.
Violet-E had to be the worst shit to hit the streets in decades. And it was up to one Jace Windham to figure out how to stop it.
When Windham pulled up behind the water tower, he saw Marcos Ruello pacing madly back and forth, smoking like a demon.
When Marcos saw the car, he ran at breakneck speed towards Windham.
“J! J! You gotta help me, man!” Ruello exclaimed. He was sweating bullets and in an obvious panic.
“Calm down, man. What’s the fucking problem,” Windham asked, clearly annoyed, “Why the fuck are you dragging me out here at fucking midnight for Chrissakes?”
“It’s this chick, man. I met her earlier…” Marcos’ voiced trailed off.
“So, you called me out here for dating advice, or what?” Windham asked sarcastically.
“Yo, this is serious shit, J! Stop fucking around”, Marcos exclaimed.
“Alright, fine,” Jace said quietly. “What’s the problem?”
“So, I met this chick tonight down at El Tigre. Bro, she was so fine, I’m telling you. She had the sweetest little ass on her,” Marcos almost seemed lost in a daydream for a moment.
“Oh, fuck. Anyhow,” he continued, “we went back to her place and had a few drinks. Everything was going great. We were talking, laughing, having an awesome time. I asked her if she wanted some Violet…”
“Fuck,” Windham said flatly. “OD?”
Marcos nodded his head slowly.
“She’s dead, J,” he said softly.
“Where…,” Windham started to ask.
“In the trunk of my car. I gotta get rid of the body, bro. You gotta help me!” Marcos was beside himself with panic again.
“Marcos, relax,” Windham said plainly. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s see her.”
They walked to the trunk of Marcos’ black ’68 Chevelle SS. Marcos loved that car more than his own mother, most everyone agreed.
When he popped the trunk, it was like Windham’s world came crashing down in an instant.
“Katie,” he whispered softly.
“You know this bitch?” Marcos asked suddenly.
“This bitch…is my little sister, you fuck!” Windham screamed as his right hand connected with Marcos’ jaw.
Marcos toppled to the ground, spat blood and tried to answer.
“J! I didn’t know! I swear! I…”
Before he could say another word, Windham dragged him up by his neck and smashed Marcos’ face into the Chevelle’s rear quarter. As Marcos fell, Windham spotted the tire iron.
A switch within him had flipped.
He snatched it up, and with an unhinged hatred, leapt atop Marcos and pummeled him mercilessly.
Five times, ten times. Fifteen times.
The quiet of the night made the cracking of Marcos’ skull ring out like a gunshot.
Windham beat him with the tire iron until there was nothing left but a dark red puddle where his head once resided.
Panting, Windham stood up and hovered over Marcos’ body. In absolute contempt, he gave one final stomp to the remains before staggering away to collapse next to the Chevelle.
As his muffled tears turned to uncontrollable sobs, the only thing Jace Windham could think of now was burning this entire fucking operation to the ground and killing anyone who stood in his way.
Not for public safety.
Not for law and order.
For Katie.
©The Beginning At Last, November 2024
The Beginning At Last 
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