MR. ED CHRONICLES - talk three with Michelle

Mr. Ed had watched the ice melt and he saw the debris that had come undone when it came floating up. It was all in the past and for that reason it was more like watching a late news report come in, rather than a drama that unfolds before a person’s eyes. There was a certain fascination though, because it was almost as if there was something there at the bottom of the sea that had a part in all of it. 

Mr. Ed had come of the opinion that Martossa wasn’t just a peculiar town, but that it was one of those towns that dragged a certain history with it. It was the kind of history that’s more subtle than the words of recorded facts and the stories that people told each other to try to make sense of what was happening all around them. But at the same time, it was more like those ancient stories, it was more of an oral history —the story changed over time and a lot of it had been washed away.

The town had gotten a hold on Mr. Ed and with each passing day this idea of the day that he would return to his old life became less pressing. It was almost as if some part of Mr. Ed’s mind had made up this history of Mr. Ed’s Frozen Pizza and it was slowly catching up on itself. It was almost as if it had come floating up when the ice melted and at some point it would either decay or go back down again.

It were the two women though that Mr. Ed found most interesting, much in the same way that it’s usually women that can both drive men to the brink of madness and to definite greatness. On some level both Phyllis and Michelle could have been Mr. Ed’s daughters: Phyllis was the kind of daddy’s girl with boyish interests, while Michelle harbored the kind of spunk of the kind of person that harbors something dark deep inside, which may violently lash out at some point —this made her very interesting, and also very relatable for Mr. Ed. 

1

The VR had become comfortable like an old leather jacket. At some point Mr. Ed asked himself whether it hadn’t augmented his sense of reality. He had started questioning things that had happened —bigger things than he might have otherwise.

Mr. Ed had never been much for conspiracies, but there was a part of him that was willing to believe that experiences in VR were more than an escape or an enrichment of reality. VR could very well be used for mental programming, since the total immersion would – in theory – make it easier to add subliminal messages, because there’s literally no escape, no chance to look away and for that very simple reason it might be very effective for indoctrination of any kind. 

There were these stories dating from the 90s, that this was done through tv, and that certain mind altering chemicals were added to food and drinking water. These conspiracies usually ended with the government wanting full control, turning people numb in that they no longer had any will, turning them into empty vessels that could be subjected to any will and whose minds could be filled with just about anything. 

Mr. Ed had always doubted that these stories were true to that extent, but in a way there was a similarity: both altered our sense of perception and our sense of reality. But it’s only VR that’s so immersive that it makes us want to forget about our condition and our predicament. 

2

Michelle’ssense of reality was definitely augmented by VR: she is in fullimmersion since she learned about a dark horror web in VR. It has scary AI-creatures running wild and it has the kind of interactive movies that were classified as too violent for regular media. There’s one in particular that’s called The Butcherof which it’s rumored that whole flocks of people have gone crazy after watching that channel. Murders, suicides, lapses into schizophrenia; all those short circuits were caused by it.

The Butcher is violent and vivid to such an extent that it becomes painful to watch and you start asking yourself what sick mind had come up with the fiction —and possibly worse, what kind of mind had turned it into a visual horror-fest. For the avid viewer it was hard to imagine that most of it was scripted and staged in such a way that itwould result in the maximum shock, which obviously meant crossing boundaries that were spiraling inwards until things became too shocking and causing an overload. 

For some this threshold was low, even though these were also the kind of videos that were blocked in the conventional media. The first video that Michelle watched was one of those, but instead of turning her away it kept her coming back for more. This video was under two minutes and it started with a group of guys fooling around with martial arts. There was a bit of kick-boxing, Thai-boxing, k3. It started with the guys kicking each other, but then they moved on to objects, until in the final scene they moved on to a wall. 

This wall was made of 6 horizontal concrete slabs that were held in place by two vertical concrete rails. In this scene, one of the boys kicked the second slab in half. He succeeded, but what he probably didn’t expect was that the four remaining slabs came down and amputated the guys foot. You could hear the guy scream. The camera went to the guy and zoomed in on the stump, and then it ran to the other side of the wall to zoom in with all the connecting parts sticking out: bones, tendons, blood vessels, lymph vessels, nerves, skin, fat, skin. The whole lot. 

When Michelle had first seen that video she had dreamed about it. She wasn’t a hundred percent whether it was real, but the scene started to haunt her: guy kicking, slab coming down, stump, foot. It was just that she didn’t feel what any ordinary person would feel: she didn’t feel pain in her own limbs and pain in her belly. What she felt was a definite fascination that had more to do with precisely executing a task than by acting or responding in any emotional way. 

Michelle came back for more and thatwas how she ended up on the channel of The Butcher. In the first video a guy was tied in ropes on a table and The Butcher appeared and he saidI have been ordered to remove the hand of a thief. The guy was clamped in what looked like a medieval instrument which made it impossible for him to move. 

The camera zoomed in on the hand that was clamped in. The Butcher started with a swift incision around the wrist. Blood started sprouting, but what was more unsettling was the way in which the guy started screaming. It wasn’t just a scream of pain, but was agony mixed with a loss of hope and a loss of faith. The Butcher put the knife to the side and continued with a bone saw that did the rest of the job. After this The Butcher started pointing out the same parts that Michelle had observed in that first video: bones, tendons, blood vessels, lymph vessels, nerves, skin, fat, skin. The whole lot. 

The Butcher took a hot iron plate and grilled the stump to stop the bleeding. It was the first and the mildest recording and after that it all started spiraling out of control and into insanity. The Butcher continued with more limbs, arms, legs, separating the meat. 

Michelle watched with increasing fascination: there was something about the act of butchering. It was the kind of fascination that some young kids have when they are finished playing with their toys and they then decide to dissect them to see how they work on the inside. It was just that she wasn’t sure where her fascination would end. 

3

This time the setting is a modern lobby in a dark hotel: black, grey and silver. The light has the feel of a cold winter moon. Mr. Ed picked the location, because he thought it would be appropriate —if he wanted a real shot at figuring out what goes on below the surface, it might help to emulate a place where bad things happen just around the corner, and where few questions are asked. 

Michelle walks up to the bar and orders two drinks. She casually hangs around and for a split second she’s unsure why she wanted to meet again.(the thrill).

“Why did you pick this location?” Michelle asks.

“It might be conducive,” Mr. Ed says, “A more public space.”

“Where is this place?” she asks, “I mean, if it was any place real?”

“This here is the dead of winter,” Mr. Ed says, cryptically, “A farawaytown in Alaska, Iceland, Green Land —you name it.”

“Such a town….” she says, “A good place to hide.”

“I know….” Mr. Ed says, and he can’t suppress a grin, “Who in his right mind will hunt a criminal to this far end of the earth?”

Michelle thinks: he’s still fishing for the extent of my badness.

“You’d be surprised,” she says.

“Where will it all end?” Mr. Ed says when Michelle has settled down, “How will it end for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“When should you fold?”

Michelle thinks: he thought about me.

“Only when it’s the best play,” she says, leaning forward and softeningher voice, “Roll dem bones.”

Mr. Ed thinks: she’s calculating and plotting right now.

“Never come clean,” Mr. Ed says, “That’s what my old man used to say.”

“Your prime directive,” Michelle says, trying to cornerMr. Ed, “Are you talking about you or me now?”

“Let me tell you a little story,” Mr. Ed says, “Let’s say there’s this guy and he has this really bad day —it simply couldn’t be any worse. He gets fired, he finds out that his wife is cheating, one of his best friends has suddenly died. If it was just one of these things, then it would mess us up pretty good, but this guy experiences all at once.”

“It’s shit to the max.”

“Right,” Mr. Ed says, “Now generally speaking different people respond differently to stress: some crumble up, while others fight to get from under it…. Now this guy, he was the latter: he literally lost everything and in his mind things couldn’t get any worse, ever.”

“So this guy flipped.”

“To say the least,” Mr. Ed says, “He went to a few crummy bars in a bad neighborhood, looking for a fight. In the first two bars they just laughed at him and told him to go home and sleep it off. In the second and third bar it was the same story: he was thrown out. The fourth bar was what he was after: He got into a fight with a guy who was playing pool. He was about to beat the guy and then another guysteppedin, then one of his friends, then another. In all his fury this guy who had lost everything won this fight. His fury burned so bright that he simply couldn’t be stopped.”

Mr. Ed takes a sip from his drink.

“In stories like these it might end up with the person getting over all his fears and achieving what they had only dreamed of until that point in time. It happened, but just a little different. This guy got stuck in this violence mode and slowly but surely this violence became the only way that he could function,” Mr. Ed says, “Scratch deep enough and you’ll find the true measure of a man.”

“So what did he do exactly?”

“He became a war tourist,” Mr. Ed says, “He would get the closest flight to war-zones that he could get, hang around, get guns and gear and set off. And this is where it became a beginning and the end: this guy didn’t go there to secure peace, or even for the thrills. This guy purely went there for the thrill.”

“To summarize: he found a way to tweak the system —he found a way to murder and butcher and not be caught or held responsible,” Michelle says, “So what are you saying? This guy was a dormant murderer all along?”

“Maybe,” Mr. Ed says, “And it links up with my premise: we’re violent by nature. Scratch deep enough and that’s all that we resort to.”

“That’s a grimview.”

“It’s the truth.”

“There’s one distinction though,” Michelle says, “A guy like that is a lone wolf. In a society violence serves the purpose of securing position and hierarchy.”

Mr. Ed leans back and there’s one thought on his mind: but that’s not what you think….

“You’re assuming that it’s always a means to an end….” Mr. Ed says. 

“When you get off on something….” Michelle says, leaning forward, “There’s an end….”

“What did you come here for exactly?” Mr. Ed asks. 

“I’m not sure,” Michelle says, “Maybe I came here to figure out what’s below the surface.” (the thrill of almostgetting caught!).

“….”

“It’s like a war by proxy: does funding a distant war make you guilty?”

“You’re in a position to prevent.”

“My point.”

“If I get my kicks out of watching other people do bad stuff, does that make me part of it.”

“Were you physically there?”

“….”

Mr. Ed thinks: did she see me? 

“What did you see?”

“It doesn’t matter….” Michelle says, “It’s a highly complex something and there’s no simple answer: there is a yesand a no, but it’s like telling a junkie that he shouldn’t drink.”

“….”

“It’s like anything else,” Michelle says, “There’s this outward appearance of sociability, society, human relations, art, and all that, but at the end of the day it’s all perception. It’s all individual. We can only grasp at straws when it comes to understanding what goes on in the mind of another person.”

“You want to know motive….” Mr. Ed states.

“It’s like this old story: there’s a man and a woman, they fall in love and live happily ever after,” Michelle says, “But that’s not how it works. There’s this vast undercurrent of human needs and emotions that’s like a hunger that doesn’t end.”

Mr. Ed thinks: she didn’t see me —she’s rambling about herself. This is all her, amigo! Brilliant and crazy and [BLEEP!]

MR. ED CHRONICLES: talk three with Marty

Mr. Ed needs to blow off steam and he heads straight for the establishment where he hung out on a few other occasions. Decent food and drinks that are endless and cheap abound, but best of all there are no nosy people around that are in this habit of asking too many questions. 

Mr. Ed had this nagging feeling that his stay in Martossa had made him docile. It didn’t make sense though, because he had unleashed his fury on that poor unsuspecting fellow that was finished by Victor Vaughn, who in turn was killed in a double murder by that other bad character named Malcolm Thompson. 

The nagging feeling that he had was more about Mr. Ed’s Frozen Pizza: he wanted to be back on the floor with all the hustle and bustle. He had lived in the big city his whole life, and even though a small town by the sea was nice and all, it didn’t really feel like it was his town and it simply wouldn’t be enough in the long run. 

1

It was almost as if those few nights that Mr. Ed had spend liquoring up had made him a regular. There were a few guys that nodded when he came in, the bartender asked him if he wanted a beer and the stool next to Marty was still empty.

Mr. Ed taps Marty on the shoulder.

“You again,” Marty says, “I wondered where you had been.”

“I needed to lay low for a while,” Mr. Ed says, deciding how much he was willing to tell, “Sometimes there are circumstances that dictate that kind of action.”

“Too much work, or too little money.”

“A nagging wife….”

“No….” they both say.

Mr. Ed sizes up the bar and he waits for his beer.

“You ever got this feeling as if you have got luck on your side.”

“Aaaah,” Marty says, “One in a thousand.”

Mr. Ed gives the number a thought. The bartender places the cold beer in front of him and Mr. Ed asks him to get another beer for Marty.

“I have had years like that,” Mr. Ed says, “But this last year it seems like I got at least ten in one year.”

“Getting a raise? Attention from a nice girl? Getting away with murder?”

“It really is that kind of lucky,” Mr Ed says cryptically. 

Marty thinks: he finally did it – he finally went apeshit and started slashing away….

“Explain,” Marty says, not sure how much he wanted to know exactly. 

“Maybe it’s more like winning the lottery.”

“….”

“Let’s just say that it has to do with business….”

“As long as you keep some cold ones floating towards me, I don’t care where the dough comes from….”

*

Mr. Ed needed to talk about what had happened, but he fully well realized that it would be more prudent to keep most of it to himself. 

“There’s something on my mind though,” Mr. Ed begins.

“Shoot,” Marty says.

“You know about this question that has been asked a million times by a million different people: can a man do the bad thing for the right reason?”

“It kind of sounds like a contradiction.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mr. Ed says, “But let’s say that something like this happens: you’re working late one night and you’re the last one in the office. Then an intruder comes in. This character holds a gun to your head and he says he wants all the money. Then there’s some sound outside and he let’s his attention slide for a split second. You manage to get his gun and shoothim then and there. He then dies of the injuries. Later on it’s ruled to be self-defense and you get out blame free.”

“I’d say it’s self-defense.”

“A guy is dead.”

“In that moment you don’t know what else he had up his sleeve. Maybe a second gun? A knife?” Marty says, “We simply don’t need those kind of elements running around.”

“In other words: it’s possible to do the bad thing for the right reason.”

“It’s murky,” Marty says.

“Ok,” Mr. Ed says, “Let’s say this happened back than in the Gulf War. You’re on sentry duty and after a few hours your mind starts to shut down. Your eyes are getting tired, you’re feeling fatigue, you’re getting thirsty, hungry —all that. Now let’s say that there was this Iraqi that was watching you for let’s say the last two hours. This guy patiently waits for an opportunity to get close to knife you down.”

“My fellow soldiers can’t see me….” Marty says, “I’d say that the same kind of struggle ensues and it ends with the death of that Iraqi soldier.”

“Same basic situation.”

“Same outcome,” Marty says.

“And I must say I feel as bad for this Iraqi soldier as I do for this mugger,” Mr. Ed says, “Meaning: not at all.”

Mr. Ed takes a sip from his beer and he thinks it over. 

“One more,” Mr. Ed says, “This one is from an old movie. There’s this guy. A rich guy. He has this younger secretary and she comes with him on business trips and it’s not long until they have an affair. From the beginning this guy kept telling himself that he shouldn’t let things get out of hand —but then they do. Now this secretary is getting fidgety and she has come to believe that there’s more going on than there actually is: she believes that this guy will leave his wife over her.”

“This is about you?”

“It ain’t,” Mr. Ed says, and he reads the expression on Marty’s face, “What can I say: it’s complicated.”

“…..”

“So this secretary wants to go public and she gives this guy an ultimatum: tell the wife before the end of the month, or she will,” Mr. Ed says, “So on the ride home this guy’s mind is on his predicament, because this woman has become a serious jeopardy.He can only think of one way out of it.”

“So this is where it becomes the same story as the one with the mugger and the Iraqi,” Marty says, “But still this one is different.”

“Because there’s a young lady that’s good in the sack?” Mr. Ed asks, “It will destroy his life: his wife will divorce him and go with half of the money and he’s convinced that she might even drag down the company with her.”

Mr. Ed gives it a thought.

“Never come clean,” Mr. Ed says, “That’s about the only advise that my old man gave that was any use to me. And that’s the only thing that I can make of this strange story.”

“It’s interesting,” Marty says, “I mean I would never be in a position to have a secretary, so this situation would never come up —for me. But still it’s tempting to imagine that it does.”

“My point exactly.”

“I would like to say that I would do the right thing, because that’s what we’re programmed to do,” Marty says, “But I doubt that I will...”

*

“Back to my initial predicament,” Mr. Ed says, “It isn’t like the mugger, the Iraqi and the broad, but it’ssomething like it. There was a situation that I had to deal with and then it resolved itself right before my eyes.”

“No loose ends?”

“Not one string.”

2

Marty hadn’t given Mr. Ed’s predicament much thought until the next day. After all, how much did he really tell? Then his mind started going over the way he said right before my eyes.

The glimpse that was in Mr. Ed’s eyes revealed that he still saw it before him and that’s when Marty realized that it wasn’t just a figure of speech. All of a sudden it gave him this eery feeling. A few months ago, this guy Mr. Ed comes to town. His gut tells him that this guy is bad news, but then nothing really happens. 

What if he was a witness or he had something to do with those two bad elements that murdered each other at the edge of town. That in itself was the kind of bad thing that became good. What was it that this Mr. Ed guy had to do with those two?

THE DEBT COLLECTOR PART 3 - The Purge

Mr. Ed instinctively knew that it would be a bad idea for him to be seen with Victor Vaughn from here on. 

“You do what you see fit,” Mr. Ed said when he stepped into the rental, “Have a good one.”

“Likewise,” Victor Vaughn said. If it wasn’t for the guy tied up to the tree it might have seemed like a conversation between two old friends that had gone hunting at night.

Mr. Ed looked in the back mirror when he drove off and he saw that Victor Vaughn was bent over the trunk of his car, probably taking out some tools. 

1

Mr. Ed was surprised to find outthat the road back to Martossa was blocked by the deputy.

“Just a random check,” the deputy says, while checking the rental papers, “What were you doing out of town?”

“I went for an early morning stroll,” Mr. Ed says, prying if the guy was already reported missing, “No law against that, right?”

The deputy hands his papers back and waves him through, without saying so much as a single word. 

*

That same morning the boys didn’t have anything better to do and they biked down to the store close to the Martossa Inn. The soft chewy candy that they used to munch on was 10 cents cheaper than in the other stores. Besides, they didn’t have much else to do that day. 

Not much was going on though: the old Mercedes was still gone and Mr. Ed was not in sight either. After an hour they were about to go home to play video games, but somehow they got this feeling that they should stick around just a little longer. Brandon was the one to stay back and observe the inn, while the others biked off in different directions. 

*

After thirty minutes the last of them returned to the tree across from the Martossa Inn. There was no sight of the Debt Collector in town.

“Maybe he skipped town already?” Brandon says.

“My mom says that he always stays for three to four weeks,” Bobby says.

“That is strange,” Bradley says, “And usually there are these extremerumors about this or that, but this time: nothing.”

“Video games,” Tommie-Lee says.

“Just hang on,” Brandon says.

It’s then that they see the crummy Mercedes turn around the corner. The Debt Collector gets out -- it looks like he had rolled around in the dirt. 

“Like he dug someones grave,” Tommie-Lee says softly. If it was any other person that would probably bethe way to crack a joke about it, but in this case chances werethat he actually did kill someone.

2

The next day the disappearance of the guy was all over the news and it turned out that he also had a name: Felipe Owen. He turned out to have been some office worker without too much of a social or family life. The Sheriff stated that he was most likely one of those lost souls who had looked too deep in the bottle and had gone off to kill himself at the darkest hour of the night. There was one woman who stated that he might have been struggling to cope with modern life, like so many men that were build to be cowboys and more apt at dealing with horses and guns than the softer skills that are needed for our day and age.

Felipe Owen definitely hadn’t been one of those men though: if he had lived in the 19^thcentury he might have become a telegrapher or worked the post office. The reporter asked if the guy didn’t have any family in town. The Sheriff said that there was and the family had stated that there hadn’t been any contact for months. The police had gone through the apartment and it had seemed like this guy had just gotten up and headed out: there were no indications of foul play.

*

Mr. Ed realized that things had gotten out of hand, but at least there were no leads pointing towards him or Victor Vaughn. Mr. Ed wasn’t sure though how to control a guy like that. If he was back in Moac it would be simple: he would get a few guys to talk some sense into this guy. He could get a few of those guys over to Martossa, but that would draw too much attention. Mr. Ed thinks: this one needs some ingenuity.

3

Felipe Owen was the uncle of Bobby. When the word had gotten out the boys stayed in contact via walkie-talkies. The other boys assumed that Bobby would be so struck with grief that his walkie-talkie would be off. 

They were all surprised when they heard Bobby’s voice: “Let’s just meet at the usual,” Bobby said, “The junk yard with the cars.”

“He bobbie-man,” Bradley said, “You alright.”

“I’m okay, I guess,” he said, “I just need to get out of the house.”

*

For the boys things had gotten very real over night, since it weren’t just stories about bad things that happened to other people that they didn’t know too well. They didn’t know Felipe Owen and Bobby also didn’t care too much for the man, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was that it was as if the Debt Collector was closing in on them. In a way it was as if circling around them and this was the last victim that had been close, but not close enough to paralyze them with fear. 

“My family doesn’t seem to believe a word of it that my uncle killed himself,” Bobby says, “He mostly kept to himself, but he just wasn’t the type to do something like that.”

“Then what do they think has happened here?” Bradley asks.

“The Debt Collector,” Bobby says, “When we were on that stake-out yesterday, it really looked like he had just dug someones grave.”

“That was a weird co-incidence….” Tommie-Lee says.

“That guy just has something to do with it,” Brandon says, “Your uncle goes missing the same night that this scary creature doesn’t go back to his hotel for the night.”

“What if it’s true?” Bradley asks. 

“What do you mean: what if,” Tommie-Lee says all agitated.

“The question is: how can we find out?” Brandon asks. 

“We can look for traces,” Bradley says, “Inspect the outside of that dude’s car.” 

“Looking for what?” Bobby asks, and he turns all pale, “Blood? Pieces of clothing?” 

Bradley nods, realizing that that might actually be a very painful experience for him. He also thought something else because he had his share with heavy stuff and muddling through: Painful, yes, but it will help you process what has happened in the long run.

4

Victor Vaughn wasn’t worried: this hadn’t been the first time that he iced someone and it sure wouldn’t be the last. The circumstances were worrisome though. He usually acted out of duty or towards some greater good. This one had been different though, since there was no need for any involvement on his part, other than the fact that he didn’t trust that Mr. Ed guy. 

It was all the reason to keep this guy close, but he just hadn’t expected that he would go quite this far to establish and maintain this kind of proximity. The whole idea of leverage hadn’t come to mind, but it might come when he would find himself cornered or strapped for cash. 

Victor Vaughn needed to catch some air and that’s why he got in his car and he drove to the edge of town. At the end of the road there was the lot with the junked-up cars. 

*

“Look who just turned onto the lot,” Brandon whispers, “This is like a sign, guys: we need to investigate this guy’s car.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just walk over and check it out a little,” Tommie-Lee says.

“What do you guys think?” Brandon asks.

“I guess just looking couldn’t hurt,” Bradley says, “You in?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby says, “What if I like see blood or pieces of clothing…. I think I will freak out for real….”

“Stay back, it’s ok,” Brandon says, “Then you can be the lookout.”

*

The car was battered and beat up. They looked around all they could, but except for dirt and more dirt, they couldn’t find much of anything.

“I think I can pry the lock of the door, you know,” Tommie-Lee says, “Then we can open the trunk from there.”

“I don’t know,” Bradley says, “It’s kind of risky.”

“You’re going to tell me that you’re not the least curious?” Brandon asks. 

“Okay, I admit to that….”

Tommie-Lee used his army knife and a paperclip; cracking a lock wasn’t as easy as they made it seem in the movies and it took him a good fifteen minutes. He quickly opened the door and pulled the release for the trunk. 

“O man,” Tommie-Lee says, “It feels like that guy is watching or something.”

“What are we looking for exactly?” Brandon asks. 

Inside the trunk they saw two barrels of gasoline, a large collection of all kinds of knives and a whole lot of guns. There were also what looked like ancient devices of torture, but before they had a chance tostudy everything in there they hear someone yell in the distance:“What the hell!”

“O, shit,” they all say and all of them run back to the cars where they usually hang out, “Grab your gears, guys.”

Victor Vaughn ran towards his car and pulled a shotgun out the back of his trunk. By luck the guys had their bows and arrows ready.

“You kids made a huge mistake,” Victor Vaughn yells, “A huge….”

The guys didn’t wait for them to be shot at. The first arrow came from Bobby and it pierced Victor Vaughn’s shoulder. The second pierced his other shoulder. The third hit was a rock from the slingshot that hit him right in the head. The fourth hit was another rock that hit him on the knee. The fifth was an arrow that pierced his hand. 

“I’ll be back,” Victor Vaughn yells, while retreating, “You better believe it.” 

The boys grab all the stones they can and they drive him back to his car. They don’t stop there and by the time he’s about to drive off all of his windows are shattered, except a small one in the back. 

“You guys think this was smart?” Brandon asks, while they are still trying to catch their breath.

“My dad says that bad guys respect strength,” Bradley says.

“Even when it comes from a bunch of kids?” Brandon asks. 

“I don’t know,” Bradley says. 

“We’re fried,” Bobby says in a scared voice, “I know it.”

“Don’t move ahead of yourself now, son,” Brandon says, “That guy had it coming for a long time.”

*

What the boys didn’t know was that Mr. Ed was still plotting his revenge and it so turned out to be that he came across the site of the agency that employed Victor Vaughn as a bounty hunter. They have a listing of all active bounty hunters in the area and Mr. Ed hires a guy by the name of Malcolm Thompson.

Mr. Ed puts out a $10.000 reward for a dead or alive on Victor Vaughn a.k.a. The Debt Collector.

5

Malcolm Thompson was very interested in the 10k that Mr. Ed had offered for Victor Vaughn. Malcolm Thompson once served as mayor in Martossa, but he was so bad to the bone until there was one night in July that it was so hot and miserable that something just needed to give. That night it had rained slightly and then it stopped, but by that time people were so riled up that a whole posse formed out of thin air. The Sheriff and his two deputies couldn’t do much to stop what the posse had on their mind (and secretly they might have been of the same mind). 

When Malcolm Thompson had been elected to office it had been by a majority of 74 percent. It had much to do with the fact that he had been a decorated war hero and that he didn’t come from town seemed much less important. If he had been, then the people of Martossa might have had an idea of what would have been coming for them: tyranny.

Much like anywhere else, or come to think of it, maybe even more than anywhere else people were accustomed of politicians lying wherever they could, while taking bribes left and right. What Malcolm Thompson had established in just a few months wasn’t a whole lot of lies, but he had turned the government of Martossa into a de facto military regime. The kind that tended to be headed by a man with absolute power. 

How he had gotten away with it, no one really knew, but he had managed to instill a culture of fear with his subordinates. They in turn demanded absolute loyalty of all citizens. There was one thing though that Malcolm Thompson couldn’t control and that was the warm, hot and miserable weather of July that seemed to drag on longer than during other years during that faithful year. 

In a way, this heat wave was like a cloak or wall between him and his subordinates. Malcolm Thompson saw that he lost his grip by the day. When there was one day that was even worse than all the others, his subordinates simply deserted him, all of them. 

It was during that night that the posse rounded up after heavy rain of just 15 minutes that did little to cool the people down, but it gave them clarity of mind as to what they needed at that time. There were no words spoken between any of the people, but they had one thing on their mind: the lynching of Malcolm Thompson. 

Much like any man of his caliber, Malcolm Thompson somehow picked up on the angry mob that was after him. He grabbed the escape bag that he always kept by the front door and he skipped town. By the time the posse had reached his house they found it empty and it was the mother of Bobby who said: “The weasel must be gone.”

By that time it started to pour and it lasted for one night and one day. The people took it as a sign that that had been the end of it. 

*

It would be an understatement to say that Malcolm Thompson didn’t feel much like going back to Martossa. He was sure that they wouldn’t be too happy to see him, but on the other hand, if he brought their new tormentor to them in a cage – he figured that it might ease their judgement. The other reason was that he could sure use the 10k. 

6

Connie Moore was among the first to spot Malcolm Thompson driving around town. He had gained some pounds, lost some hair, but she was sure it was him. The rumor spread and the Sheriff got air of it: he summoned Malcolm Thompson to the edge of town and told him not to come back. His deputy escorted him to the edge of town. 

Malcolm Thompson waited until the deputy was out of sight, then he turned his car around. 

This time Malcolm Thompson had more luck and he spotted the guy that fitted the description. The person was just getting out of his car. Malcolm Thompson had half a mind to gun this guy down then and there, the catching alive seemed more of a challenge. He wrote a note and slipped it under the windscreen: payback 5 pm car junk yard, edge of town, signed MT.

*

Victor Vaughn figured that the note came from the boys that he had it out with the other day. He figured that MT stood for something like Mighty Teens. 

Victor Vaughn went down there at five, this time wearing two revolvers on a belt. The guns were for backup though, he brought his own bow and arrow, because he wanted this one to last. 

7

When Victor Vaughn turned on the lot at five, he was genuinely surprised that the boys weren’t there. He thought: those little punks chickened out.

“Who the hell are you?” he brisks at the guy who’s at the far end.

“I’m your 5 pm.”

“You?” Victor Vaughn asks, “You’re a dad of one of those punks?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Victor Vaughn says, and he’s getting vexed, “So how you want to do this?”

“Man to man,” Malcolm Thompson says, “Just like they did in the Wild West.”

“Turn at 3.”

*

They both turned at two, but Malcolm Thompson did it a fraction of a second before Victor Vaughn. He managed to shoot him in the knee. Next he shot him in the hand when he went for his gun. 

“Where on earth did you learn to shoot like that?” Victor Vaughn cries out in pain.

“What do you think?”

The boys were there the whole time and somehow Malcolm Thompson registers it when when Brandon said “We better split.” 

Victor Vaughn managed to shoot Malcolm Thompson in the belly (he aimed for the heart). He turned around and shot Victor Vaughn in the head. The blood was already coming up from Malcolm Thompson’s mouth and he thinks: off all the places this dump is where I end.

The boys saw what happened and they saw Malcolm Thompson collapse across from Victor Vaughn. 

“They killed each other….” Tommie-Lee says.

“No shit….” Brandon says.

“We better split still,” Bradley says, “What if one of their friends shows up and think it’s us….”

*

The boys alerted the Sherif and he immediately came down with his two deputies following in separate cars. 

“Malcolm Thompson,” the Sheriff says, when he turns the fella over with his foot, “To see the light of day.”

“I think he’s dead, Sheriff,” the deputy says.

“It’s an expression, you idiot,” the Sheriff says, “If he was any more dead he would nothing more than a pile of dust.”

“What do you figure this guy did here?” the other deputy asks. 

“I have no idea,” the Sheriff says, “Making amends?”

“Neither of them will be missed, that’s for sure,” the first deputy says, “So what should we do with them?”

“Call the coroner,” the Sheriff says, “I assume that neither of them has any relatives that give two bits that these two are gone.”

“People might want to see these two for themselves,” the second deputy says, “You know, to keep rumors from spreading that these two are still around.”

“Sharp thinking,” the Sheriff says, “We give the town five days, until Friday. Then at a town meeting we can celebrate that Martossa has finally been set free.”

*

The next day Mr. Ed heard the news. He hadn’t withdrawn the 10k yet and he hadn’t met in person with Malcolm Thompson. As far as anyone knew they never had any business. Mr. Ed ordered one of his men to erase all digital traces that he had ever dealt with any bounty hunter. 

Mr. Ed was fully aware that the luck that he had just had tendency of not coming back twice. He was playing with the idea of donating the 10k to the local church. It was just that there was no way for him to do that without people finding out about it. 

He needed a third man to do this for him. The 10k would clear his conscience.