Hazard 4

July, 2009
Hazard, Nebraska

It was dark as Mackie walked back up along the river bank. For some reason he didn't want to go home. He didn't want to walk in there and see his mother, still lying on the couch where he'd left her, with a blanket tucked around her shoulders, watching re-runs of Rosie O'Donnell. Even before she'd been diagnosed with cancer, Mackie had taken on more and more of the housework and the chores while Diana rested. Mr. Lawson refused to let him in his store, which at first had proved to be a problem, since it was the only general store in Hazard, but Mary – God bless her – had come to his rescue. He gave her the money and the list of everything they needed and Mary gave it to her mother, who got everything when she went to Lawson's.
Not that Diana had suddenly turned into a useless decrepit overnight. She still helped where she could, when she wasn't too tired.
Standing under a street lamp, Mackie looked at his watch. 11:43pm. Diana would have fallen asleep long before this. He might as well take his time.
Kicking a stone along the road, a smash stopped Mackie dead. Another smash . . . like a window breaking. Laughter. Alert now, he forced down the fear that wanted to scream out in excess of a thousand times. Stepping as quietly as he could, he ducked from bush to tree to fence and saw. The Kilch boys were breaking into Lawson's store! Again! His first impulse was to run. Run down the street, back to his house, up the stairs to his room, his one haven in a world of scorn. His second impulse was to pound these bastard Kilch's into the ground for making his life hell. His third impulse he actually acted upon. Silently, he crossed the road, using the darkness as his shield. At one point he was so busy watching, with a building horror, what was happening to Lawson's store, he didn't notice the pothole in the road, and fell flat on his face. He froze, waiting for the yell, the shout of being sighted, the kicking and punching, the pain, the welcoming blackness, the condemning eyes . . . but none came. Frightened almost witless, Mackie scrambled to his feet and ran.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. The pounding on the door was relentless. Couldn't it wait for the morning? Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Oh go away! Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Mr. Lawson grumbled as he pulled on his red tatty monogrammed dressing gown and worked his feet into the matching old granny slippers. Presents from his wife the both of them. She'd thought they looked rather nice on him. It wasn't her fault she was colour-blind, but – Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
"Stop that infernal banging, God dammit! I'm coming!" forcing a polite shop-keeper's smile on his face, Mr. Lawson opened the door, "What is it? What can I –? Mackenzie Hanson?!? Boy what the –!!"
"Mr. Lawson, I'm sorry to wake you up and all but –"
"Do you know what time it is boy!!! I thought I told you never to come near my property again!!! That doesn't just mean my shop –!!!"
"Please, Mr. Lawson, you have to listen –"
"You get your lazy bum off my property before I call the police! I'll have you arrested for –!"
"GOD DAMMIT WOULD YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!!!" Mackie shouted. Sent dumb with shock, Mr. Lawson listened, "I thought you'd like to know who's really been ripping off your store all these years Mr. Lawson," Mr. Lawson stared at the boy, not comprehending the meaning behind the heavy sarcasm. "In other words, your store is being robbed this very minute," Mr. Lawson barged past Mackie, sending him flying.
"If you're lying boy, I'll have your hide for a throw rug!" the man shouted over his shoulder. Watching with a slight smile, Mackie saw Mr. Lawson pound on the door of the police officer's house. They only had one here in Hazard, the rest of the force was the people themselves. The banging and shouting woke more and more people; there was a small crowd gathered behind them as Mr. Lawson and Constable Schultz rounded the corner and came in sight of the store. It was a wreck. The door hung off it's hinges, every window was smashed and thrown fruit graffitied the walls. The Kilch boys had outdone themselves this time. Danny was the first to step through the doorway, laughing at some private joke shared with Sonny. He froze when he saw the mob.
"Oh shit!" he whispered to himself.

Sonny tripped and fell down the back stairs as he was thrown from the back door by his mother. The backs of his thighs felt like they were on fire. He wouldn't be able to sit for days! Not that it was really surprising, Mrs. Kilch had a reputation in her house for wearing through a brand new belt when giving some tough love her boys.
"Oh man!" he moaned as he collapsed on the ground beside his brothers, who'd already taken their serve of their mother's sense of discipline. Oh man!
"Whoever dobbed us in is gonna pay for it, god dammit!" Kenny managed to get out. Benny groaned; that was his reply.
"Of course they are!" Danny murmured.
"A bit hard since we don't know who it was," Sonny said – with plenty of kittenish moans of pain in between.
"Oh who do you think it was shithead?" Danny snapped back.
"You think Mackie-baby had the guts to dob us in?" Benny asked, disbelieving. Little Mackie-baby was as weak as a snail waiting to be squashed.
"You fuckwits, of course it was him! Who else would it have been?"
"That Mary chic who's always hanging round him," Kenny suggested.
"No way," the three all looked at each other; Danny had answered far too quickly. 'No,' Danny told himself, 'Mary wouldn't do that,'. He'd been fantasising about her for weeks. She always wore skirts and cardigans, her blond hair was always pulled back in a braid or a plait, her blue eyes were always slightly down-cast. The old innocent school-girl look. It didn't fool him. Underneath the naοve and sweet shell was a wild, passionate, sex-crazed woman, waiting to be unleashed. In his mind, he'd stripped her so often, the body he'd never seen was more familiar than the back of his hand. Mary was almost an obsession for him; she'd become his own private strip show. Lately his fantasies had been running in the direction of dungeons; skimpy leather body suits, suspendered black fishnet stockings, six inch stilettos, studded dog collars, whips, hand-cuffs and medieval instruments of torture. Oh man! . . . the only problem was Mackie-baby. The bastard had her in his palm. No! He wouldn't let Mary go, he'd have her if it was the last thing he did!

Mackie smiled at Soot's antics; he was such a playful cat! Tired now, the black and white cat 'yeoooow'd and crawled into the boy's lap. Chuckling, Mackie affectionately stroked Soot's sleek fur. The cat yawned and stretched, settling down to go to sleep . . . Mackie was on his stomach, gasping for breath, the pain slowly spreading around where he'd been kicked in the back.
"Well, well! If it isn't Mackie-baby!" Danny said mockingly, jealousy raging through his veins. This bastard wouldn't have Mary. She was his, god dammit! His! Twisting onto his side, Mackie saw who it was. Bad move. He groaned when a well-aimed kick from Danny sent his stomach on strike.

Kenny and Benny had Mackie by the arms, holding him upright. He couldn't have stood even if he tried. With surprising efficiency, Danny was thoroughly bashing him senseless. Another hard fist to the stomach brought it all up, and Mackie spewed, with one last act of defiance, aiming at Danny. He didn't miss.
"Bastard! You mother-fucking bastard!" through the pain Mackie just managed a half-smile, "You'll pay for that Mackie-baby! God fucking dammit you'll pay for that!" a 'yeoooow' caught them all by surprise. A slow malicious grin spread across Danny's lips when he saw the fleeting show of panic in Mackie's eyes. Here was the way to get to him! Grabbing the cat by the back of the neck, he shook it – hiss! – swore and dropped the creature, a hand flying to the deep parallel scratches on his cheek. Soot growled viciously and clawed at Danny's ankle. Had the cat run, then maybe things wold have turned out differently. Kicking as hard as he could, Danny sent Soot flying. The pain nearly drove him crazy, his anger and jealousy having pushed him most of the way there. He grabbed a nearby can of fuel. . . .

Mackie was fighting off unconsciousness when a blaze of bright yellow-orange caught his eye, followed by the most agonised yowl he'd ever heard, followed by an evil laugh of triumph. Shaking his head, his vision cleared. He instantly wished it hadn't. The tears came unbidden to his eyes.
"Soot!" he cried out, knowing already there was nothing he could do. 'Yeoooow'ing in absolute agony, Soot dragged himself around on his two front paws, trying to get away from the fire that had melted his back legs and was consuming his entire body.
"SOOT!" Mackie shouted desperately, sobs racking his voice. Too weak to struggle, all he could do was watch and listen to the cold, heartless laughter of Danny Kilch as Soot's staggering and yowling slowed and stopped all together, the fire blazing bright on the doused body of the dead cat.
"SOOT!!!" Mackie's voice erupted in a anguished sobs. He was too heavy. Kenny and Benny dropped him. The fire was dying down. The last thing Mackie saw before giving in to the black oblivion was the heel of Danny's boot coming down on the remains of Soot's charred head. . . .


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