A Night Out With Stub

Tubby "Stub" Barker felt the warmth of the boy's blood on his fist with the first few punches. He relished in the crimson fear which danced across the kid's face.

He almost laughed out loud as he thought how stupid people looked when you randomly beat the crap out of them. A fierce demeanor had to be maintained lest his victim think him mad instead of methodically murderous, and the continued pleas through gargled blood assured him he had not lost composure.

Relief washed over him as he began to pummel the kid's kidney's. A twinge of elation began to flow through his loins as he began to visualize her instead the boy, reassuring him that he still "had it," even at his age. Tears threatened to overwhelm him as he mouthed her name, and for a moment he thought she might think him weak, although he realized she probably couldn't see any longer.

The fantasy only lasted a moment, shattered prematurely as the boy lost consciousness. Tubby stared down at his blood covered hands, admiring the odd bump where his right middle finger had been. He didn't notice it was gone anymore when he beat his victims. But looking at it now reminded him of her betrayal, and though he buried most of her six months ago, revenge remained foremost on his mind.

Leaning down, he removed a golden cigar cutter from his pocket. He admired the engraving on the side: "Duchess." He had only seen her use it once, but it had been extremely informative, which she might have noticed as he deftly slid the boy's right middle finger in like a fresh stogy. The resulting crunch of bone made his toes curl as he pocketed his latest prize.

As he removed his first aid kit from his pack he thought, "There lay I."

But he said only, "Welcome to the club, kid."

He patched the boy up to slow the bleeding and admired his work as he fingered out a grand in crisp Ben Franklins, depositing them in the only dry pocket the young initiate had left to be found later when he awoke.

"For your troubles. You did good, kid," patting the boy's chest before standing to leave.

He rushed to a nearby pay phone and dialed 911. 
"I'd like to report an assault."

As he gave the operator the location of the boy he couldn't remember whether he said he was going to tutor at the library or do a round for "Meals on Wheels." He smiled as he decided to do both, thinking today had been far too fruitful for him not to give back a little extra tomorrow.

The End

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