“Wow! Where to even begin. I absolutely loved this story!! It was an easy read but not a fluff story either. It was very engaging and had my full attention from the start. Although what these two friends are doing is wrong in every way, a part of me wanted them to succeed and get away with their “projects”. Not to say that they didn’t have a match up with two unsavory characters that gave the two main characters, Leo and Gordon, a run for their money…and their lives. My only complaint would be that the story wasn’t long enough!! I wanted more! It was that good!! Maybe someday this story will turn into a full blown book. I would buy it in an instant. I loved this story! It was entertaining, thrilling, and a story that I wont soon forget and will recommend to anyone who will listen. Mr Theo Cage has made a fan for life out of me!!Six child molesters are dead, their bodies found in separate house fires all across the city. A clever homicide detective thinks she knows who’s responsible. Proving it is another matter.” Amazon reviewer
A short thriller by Theo Cage.
Leo wound the monofilament line around the man’s neck with practiced hands, the shiny tether sparkling in the light of their high-powered flashlight. Gordon stood over their captive, holding both of his wrists as the pedophile struggled, jerking his arms back to quiet him for at least the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. Leo was in his seventies, retired over twenty years, but his hands were as steady as a seamstresses’ – his large meaty hands working the fine line like a surgeon.
The mono was Gordon’s idea. He had no idea where it came from. He had spent his working life as a firefighter, then a fire inspector – not the most creative career choice. But now, the project he and Leo were working on had lit a fire under them, pardon the pun. He loved the open-ended quality of their work together. No bosses. No routine. Every job a fresh new adventure.
The pedophile squeaked this time, his voice slowly but certainly being cut off by the thin line wrapped around his throat. And his eyes were wide now, big yellow saucers in the dim light of his filthy rented bungalow. Leo and Gordon had worked on this effect for some time – and made a lot of mistakes – but they had it now and they relished the recipe as if it was the Colonel’s special own. You don’t want a man thrashing around and doing damage, but you also don’t want him sedated so much that he misses the point. It’s a fine line. And the point of this exercise is all about that fine line.
The man they held, his chest bare and his arms covered in needle tracks, was Nelson Parrish. He was about forty, thin, no more than 120 pounds, which made this whole process a lot easier than it normally was. Plus the roofies they gave him made wrangling him easier too. Parrish lived in a rental unit on a broken down street in northern Phoenix called Cable Road. His neighbors hated him, avoided him assiduously. After all, he was a known child rapist just released from Clayton maximum in Minneapolis. The FBI now published the names and addresses of all known released sex offenders. You could look it up on the Internet with very little difficulty. A neighborhood group called Mothers for Sanity had pasted a poster on the light pole just down the block with a grainy picture that didn’t really do Nelson justice. He had shaved the eighties mustache the day he was released. Gordon found that odd. Why would you want to spend one day more in prison than you had to looking like a cop from Hill Street Blues?
Leo and Gordon were going to give Nelson what he deserved. Well, not exactly what he deserved. They didn’t have the stomach for that. His record showed that Nelson had abused at least five young boys all under the age of twelve over the past ten years. How do you pay someone back for that kind of indecency? They had given it a lot of consideration and couldn’t come up with a balanced response. Mostly they wanted him just gone. They weren’t in this for kicks. They were doing a job no one else wanted to do or had the balls to talk about. They didn’t really give a shit about what the bleeding hearts thought. They had both worked hard their whole lives, raised families, paid their taxes. This piece of shit was only a turd in the yard no one else wanted to have to deal with.
Leo finished the fine detail on the monofilament. The line was now digging into the gray unshaven flesh of Nelson’s neck, thirty pound test, the thickest they could find at a local sporting goods store. They used mono because it was plastic, would quickly melt away in the high heat of the fire and not leave a carbon trace. The idea was to make this look as much as possible like an accident. Nelson was just another lackadaisical smoker, drifting away on a cheap rayon couch that would soon be his funeral pyre.
Nelson was having a hard time controlling his arms and his legs but you could see in his eyes that he was wide awake.
Leo move back to inspect his work. The pervert looked like a bug trapped in a spider’s lair. He smiled. Then he knelt down and picked up a plastic cup from the floor he had filled with gasoline from a spigot he had installed himself under the right rear wheel well of his 1993 Ford F150.
He held the yellow cup above Nelson’s face. Nelson tried to turn but when he twisted, the nylon line cut deeply into the flesh of his face. Leo carefully let one drop fall into Nelson’s open right eye. Nelson jerked like a bug that had fallen into an open flame. Then Leo put the cup down carefully on the floor again. He took his time. Nelson had no friends, no lady callers. The only visitor might be his parole officer but not likely at one in the morning.
Gordon then took his cigarette lighter out of the pocket of his windbreaker and held it in front of Nelson’s face.
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COMING SOON BY POPULAR DEMAND … CRISPY CRITTERS PART 2 and 3.