John Locke - Wish List

According to my watch, I’ve got about twenty minutes. I wonder if I should have another drink, to fortify myself for the grave digging, but decide that between what I consumed at dinner, and the wine just now, I’ve had enough. I turn out the bedroom lights and stand by the window that faces the front yard. I’m worried about the meeting for several reasons. One, Rudy scares the shit out of me. Two, though it’s hard to imagine, the guy Rudy’s bringing might be worse. Three, what if I get caught? Four, poor Mr. Oglethorpe. Sure, he was a bastard of a boss, but he has a wife and kids who probably care for him. Now he’s dead, and for no better reason than I wished it—and I wasn’t even referring to him in the first place! If anyone from work should die a horrible death, it’s Hilda. Five, digging a grave is bound to be strenuous work. I wonder how long it’s going to take. Six, I wonder if maybe the grave I’m digging is really for me. I never saw Oglethorpe’s body in my trunk. I wanted to open the trunk and look when I got home, but I also wanted to hide my money in the garage, and jump in the shower before Lissie could pick up Jinny’s scent on me.

I turn to look at my wife. If the grave is for me, I’ll never see her again, and she’ll never know what happened to me. I wonder if I should leave a note of some kind. Then decide that’s a terrible idea. If they can grant impossible wishes they can certainly destroy Lissie’s life. I wonder if they’ll let her keep the money after I’m dead. It seems the decent thing to do, if they’re going to kill me. I wonder how long it will take her to find it.

I can’t leave her a note saying there’s money hidden in the garage. Knowing Lissie, she’d report it to the cops. I don’t know what to do about the money right now, so I decide to do nothing, except hope they won’t kill me.

I’m still standing there, looking out the window, thinking I should bring another set of clothes and sneakers, so I can change afterward. It wouldn’t be smart to drag dirt from the crime scene back into the house in the event something goes wrong.

Jesus, listen to me: crime scene!

I’m in way over my head.

It’s dark outside, but there’s a streetlight on the corner that offers enough light for me to make out the forms of two people dressed in black, emerging from Bill and Norma’s back yard. I watch them cross the street and walk down my driveway. The river of ice in my veins makes it hard for me to move, but I force my way out of the bedroom and close the door carefully, praying Lissie sleeps peacefully until my return. I get down the stairs as quietly as possible, and enter the garage, making sure to lock the door that leads from the garage to the house before acknowledging the two men who have just entered my garage.

The first one to get his mask off is Rudy. But you could have knocked me over with a feather when I see who the other guy is.

Chapter 23

“What the hell?”

The guy standing beside Rudy is Richie, my best friend in the world, with the possible exception of Mike. Richie’s usually pretty lively, but tonight he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“What’s going on here?” I ask.

Richie turns away, and Rudy motions me to be quiet. “Buddy, you’re driving. Richie, shotgun. I’m in the back. Let’s go.”

I fire up the car and ease out my driveway before switching on the headlights. As Rudy directs me where to go, I try to make eye contact with Richie. But he’s looking out the passenger window.

“Where are you taking us?” I ask.

“Shut up.”

We take I-71 toward Cincinnati about thirty miles and get off at Exit 31. We bypass the small town of Talmadge, and work our way deep into the countryside. After passing a dozen nondescript dirt roads, Rudy says, “Turn left at the next one.”

“Are you planning to kill us?” I say.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“If you keep talking, I will. Jesus, do you ever shut up?”

I turn where he said to, and we’re in the middle of a hay field that’s taller than our car. The road is nothing more than two tire tracks heading God knows where.

Throughout the trip, Richie has said nothing, hasn’t even looked in my direction. A chilling thought strikes me.

I push his arm to get his attention. “Richie, are you in this with Rudy?”

Rudy’s fist crashes into the back of my head, causing me to jerk the car off the road, into the hay field. The tires are spinning, fighting for traction.

Rudy says, “I told you to shut up, asshole. Now get back on the road, or I’ll make the next punch hurt.”

Was he kidding me? The first punch hurt like hell! I wouldn’t be able to handle a harder one. My eyes are crossed so badly I can barely get back on the tire tracks. Once there, I keep drifting to the right. Each time I do, Rudy cuffs the side of my head to get me back on course.

He guides me to a thick stand of bushes and trees and tells me to put the car in park and surrender the keys. I do, and he pops the trunk and tells us to get out. Now Rudy’s holding a flashlight, which he uses to motion us behind the car. Once there, he comes up behind us and points the flashlight into the trunk, and we see a thick, black plastic bag with a thick seam of sealing tape around the center. He’s put one bag over the torso, the other over the feet, and taped them together in the middle.

“You want to open it to make sure it’s him?”

“No, I’m good.”

Rudy chuckles. “All right, one of you on each end. Lift him out and let’s go.”

Richie and I can barely budge Oglethorpe. Employing a series of grunts and tugs and whatever leverage is available, we manage to get him to the edge of the trunk, where we pull so hard he crashes to the ground. It’s frosty cold outside, and I think how hard the ground must be, and seriously doubt Richie and I will have the strength to dig a proper grave if we ever get the body where it’s supposed to go.

Rudy surprises me by cutting an opening at one end of the bag and exposing Oglethorpe’s feet. He shows his experience, saying, “There’s rope in the trunk. Tie his ankles together and drag him.”

We tie his feet together and I ask, “Where to?”

“You lead, I’ll walk behind you.”

“How will we know where to go?”

He aims the flashlight toward a small break in the bushes. “Follow the bouncing ball.”

Richie and I begin the task of pulling Mr. Oglethorpe through the bushes. This turns out to be much easier than I anticipated, and within minutes Rudy says, “Okay, that’s far enough.”

Chapter 24

I can see from the light Rudy’s flashlight gives off that we’ve entered a small clearing. Rudy is moving around in it, looking for something. Suddenly a wide beam of light flashes, and I realize he’s turned on an electric lantern. There are three others next to it. He turns them on, and carries them far enough to illuminate a twenty foot square that includes a large tree. Next to the tree is a mound of dirt with two shovels propped against it, and next to that is a deep hole, the size of a grave.

“Okay guys,” Rudy says. “It’s show time.”

We see his flashlight on our faces and realize he’s aiming a video camera at us. I shout, “We’re doing this against our will!”

Rudy laughs and says, “Yell all you want. There’s no sound, dipshit. Now remove the plastic and let me get a close up of his face.”

We do as we’re told, and yes, it’s definitely Oglethorpe.

“All right, now drag him to the edge of the grave, then take the rope off his feet and give it to me.”

We do what he says. Then he nods at the hole in the ground.

“Dump him in and fill it with dirt.”

Even though the hard work has been done for us, it takes longer than I’d have thought to fill a six-foot grave with dirt. By the time we’re finished, we’re huffing so hard we can barely catch our breath. We look up and see the video camera still recording, only now it’s on a tripod. Rudy can’t hold it because he’s got two sets of handcuffs in one hand and a gun in the other. And he’s pointing the gun at us.

“That’s good enough,” he says. “Now put the shovels down and come over here.”

Richie and I exchange a glance, then do as we’re told. Rudy says, “Lie face down. Put your hands behind your backs.”

When we’re in position, he handcuffs us and tells us to stand.

Richie and I are not athletic. He might be less athletic than me, but it’s a moot point because neither of us can get to our feet. Here we are, rolling, grunting and flopping around, making no headway at all.

“Can you believe this shit?” Rudy says.

“Where did you find these guys?”

Richie and I freeze where we are, startled to hear a second voice. Suddenly someone hoists Richie to his feet and there are more lights being placed around the tree. I angle myself to where I can see a young man and woman standing to the left of the tree with another gangster. The woman is sobbing quietly. Rudy is standing to the right of the tree, and there’s a goon behind Richie, the one that pulled him to his feet. My eyes go back to Rudy, remembering the rope we tossed him a few minutes earlier. He’s made a hangman’s noose from it and looped it over the low-slung branch of the tree.

Richie is visibly shaken. Not by the noose, but by the couple standing before him. He screams, “What are you doing? This was never discussed! This was never part of the deal!” The goon behind him stuffs a ball in Richie’s mouth and wraps tape around his head to hold it in place. Richie is still screaming, but his words are muffled and garbled. The gangster pushes Richie several feet forward, directly in front of the couple. The goon standing with the couple says, “This is him.”

Richie screams something and shakes his head from side to side as if shouting “No!” His eyes are wide with terror.

The young man’s face is twisted with rage. He says, “Are you absolutely certain?”

“One hundred percent.”

The young man looks at me and says, “Who’s he?”

Rudy says, “He’s not involved. But this one, Richie, he’s your guy.”

The young man stares at Richie. “Do you have proof?”

Rudy walks over to the couple and hands them an envelope. “I found these in his desk drawer.”

Richie screams and shakes his head again.

The young man and woman open the envelope and look at the photographs. I have no idea what they’re seeing, but as the photos fall to the ground, the man lunges at Richie, who lets out a yelp and tries to run away. But Goon Number Two, the one behind Richie, grabs him and holds him while the young man punches his face again and again. I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m still on the ground, but I try to work my way over to them. Goon Number One, standing next to the woman, points a gun at me and tells me to stay put.

When Richie’s body goes slack, the young man finally stops hitting him. Then he falls to his knees and sobs. The woman puts her hand on his shoulder. Ten second later, Richie starts coming to. The young woman walks up to him, slaps him hard, and spits in his face. Then Goon Two walks Richie over to the noose and slips it around his neck. Richie’s face is so full of blood it’s hard to make out his facial features. Rudy tightens the rope to the point that Richie is standing on tiptoes to keep from being strangled. At this moment, God help me, an old joke goes through my depraved mind, and I hear my internal voice ask if maybe one of Richie’s wishes was to be well hung.

I hate myself for having made that connection, but it’s weird how the mind works when subjected to horrific violence. My friend is crying out in fear. Goon One leads the couple over to the tree. As Rudy keeps the rope taut, Goon Two pulls Richie’s pants and underwear down to his ankles. He hands the young man a scalpel and says, “You still want to cut off his dick, now’s a good time.”

Richie screams and kicks the air with his right leg, trying to keep them away. He’s sobbing and yelling and the scene is so terrifying I start to wretch.

The young man looks at the scalpel a long time, and finally says, “No.”

Goon Two looks at the young woman and says, “How about you?”

She shakes her head.

Rudy says, “You still want us to hang him, though, right?”

The young couple look at each other. She says, “It won’t bring Tracy back, but…yes. It will keep him from hurting some other child.”

The man says, “Just do it quickly. We don’t want him to suffer unduly. We just want justice for Tracy.”

Rudy says, “We can hang him now, or after you leave. Depends on if you want to watch. One thing I’ll say, it’s not a pretty thing, watching a man hang. On the one hand, it might make you feel better. On the other, it might make you feel worse. He’ll be dead in five minutes either way. But it’s your wish. You make the call.”

They speak to each other softly, and then embrace. The young man says, “We’ll watch from a distance as long as we can. Then, if someone will walk us back to the car, we’d be grateful.”

Rudy nods to the two goons, and they pick up lanterns and escort the couple to the edge of the clearing. As Richie and I scream, Rudy pulls the rope and Richie’s feet come off the ground. He manages one blood-curdling scream but the noose chokes off any additional sounds. Richie is still alive and kicking the air. His eyes bug out and his face looks ghoulish. When he shits himself, the young man and woman can’t take any more. They turn their backs to him, and the goons escort them away.

Rudy immediately releases the rope, and Richie falls to the ground. Rudy removes the rope from Richie’s neck, and I start rolling across the ground toward them.

Chapter 25

We’re back in my car, heading home. Having soiled his own clothes, Richie’s wearing the extra underwear and pants I brought. He’s looking out the window again, crying softly.

“Did you do it?” I said.

I slap the back of his head. “Answer me, you son of a bitch!”

I think about the obscene comment and gesture he made about Lissie last Sunday, when all this wish business started. What he’d said, and the way he said it while grabbing his crotch, had pissed Mike off.

Mike.

For a split second I wonder what’s become of our friend. He was the first to fill out the list. I can only hope he’s okay. But I can’t concentrate on Mike right now. The idea of Richie being a child molester is too repulsive to allow me to focus on anything else.

“Tell me the truth, Richie. Did you do something to their little girl? I’ve known you twenty years.”

“Relax, pipsqueak,” Rudy says from the back seat. “He’s never been within ten miles of their little girl.”

“What? Then why—”

“Sally and Tom made a wish that their daughter’s killer would be caught and hung from a tree. Of course, Tom wanted to cut his dick off, as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We took the wish and found the guy, but too late. He’d already killed himself, hours earlier. Richie owed us a payment, so we decided to let him step in for the guy.”