One Good Turn

Suspense Stories | Nov 29, 2011 | 8 min read
132 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Suspense Stories

One Good Turn

WHEN JEREMY STILLS WALKED INTO HIS GARAGE, the first thing that hit him was the stench of Benito's soiled clothing, a foul combination of body odor and mouth-to-ass processed foods and liquids.  For some, the stench would have been shameful—a horrid disgrace, and for Benito this was probably true.  However, Jeremy didn't blame Benito; after all, it wasn't Benito's fault.  It was Jeremy's.  He had kidnapped the man and put him into the garage, chair-bound and gagged—handy fishing line and old shop rags finally being put to use after years of inactivity—between a full-sized Rubbermaid garbage can filled with an assortment of shovels, hoes, and rakes, and a self-propelled 6 hp. lawnmower.  He had also left Benito, bound and gagged, sitting alone in the darkened garage, for the past 15 hours.

Originally, Jeremy had planned things differently, having envisioned a simple snatch-and-grab mission, and then—a final solution.  Jeremy, though, wanted things to be right in his heart, didn't want to act too hastily, and then by doing so, end up committing some terrible act of evil.  That wasn't like him, at all, not at any time before in his life, and if he had his way, never ever.  He had simply needed to be sure, and now he was.  The last 15 hours hadn't just been spent in nigh-useless contemplation, although there had been plenty of that, but had been put to good use.  Jeremy had proven to himself, that, even if not right, then at least his current chosen course of action made sense.

Jeremy set up his folding card-table in front of bound Benito, and placed a simple dining room chair on one end, so that he'd be able to sit and face his captive.

The two-car garage afforded plenty of room, and now, with the overhead lights on, the place looked—almost perfect.

"I'll be right back, Romeo," Jeremy said to Benito, who just stared back glassy-eyed, his tear-streaked face more than a testament to his fallen hope.  He knows, Jeremy thought.  Well good; he ought to know.

Jeremy left the garage, leaving the door that led into his house, open.  He didn't stare, or even appear to look at anything as he walked through to his back workroom.  There was no need to look at anything.  He knew what lay about his place, the home that he and Doreen had put together, stocked and decorated over the course of their 13-years together.  There was also the fact that he didn't want to focus on anything; that would just probably bring more pain.  But maybe not.  He was feeling awfully numb.  He had been up for close to 30 hours, and now, his body was almost running on pure automatic.

Finding himself in his workroom, Jeremy grabbed his piece and, naturally, the all-important ammunition.  Have to have these babies, he thought, scooping up several of the homemade rounds.

A moment or so later, he was back in the garage, ready to begin.

 

*  *  *  *

 

"You ought to consider yourself a very lucky man, there, Romeo," Jeremy said, sitting down in his garage, in front of his card table, in front of the man.  "I mean that with all sincerity.  I really do."

Benito Rodriguez didn't look like he believed it.  Quite the contrary, he looked like he felt very unlucky.  The smell—even if it was unfairly so—confirmed the man's downtrodden confidence.

"You see this?"  Jeremy held up his favorite toy, a Colt Python revolver.  "This is nice.  It's a .357 double-action stainless steel problem solver.  A magnum, naturally, with walnut grips, and a hand-honed trigger system that puts the trigger-pull at about … hmm, let me see—at about one pound.  And I assure you, that really is very good."

Jeremy sat the empty revolver back down on the table.  "You may not be impressed with it, though; I do recognize, that, unlike yours, it only has a six-inch barrel.  So, for you, that might not be a whole lot to whistle about."

Jeremy's right hand seemed to find itself inside his jacket pocket, and then back out again, depositing several bullets onto the tabletop.  One round started to roll across the table, and in the terrible silence of the garage, the noise it made seemed enormous.  When the round finally rolled off the table and hit the floor, the sound of the impact caused Benito to flinch.

"Let me share something interesting with you, hero," Jeremy said, leaning back now in his chair.  "I'm not like you, but of course, you know that.  What I mean is … I'm not a 40th degree black belt, nor a big spiritual know-it-all, like yourself, and, apparently, neither am I anywhere in your league in the bedroom department."  Jeremy let out a loud sigh, his mind flashing momentarily to the ‘Dear Jer' letter, that Doreen had left for him, telling him how Benito, her karate instructor and spiritual mentor, had opened up her horizons and had shown her how she needed to be let loose—to fly free, to fucking find herself.  "But, then, I don't go around giving extra-credit lessons in hand-to-hand with other men's wives."

F'ing pussy, Jeremy thought.  He had been a tad bit concerned about the man and his ‘kara-te' and stuff, especially with Bennie being half his own age, and in far better shape.  Jeremy knew that he had a lot going against him in any straight-up fight.  However, he had been in the Army, and he wasn't a pussy.  Violence of action, he'd been taught, was the key.  And he had used that principle, showing up at Ben's place, ringing the doorbell, and as soon as the portal had opened: wham wham wham.   The crowbar had worked well.  Benito had never known what hit him.  Karate my ass.

"But again, you are a lucky man.  You're going to witness something incredible.  Something that very few people, if ever, get to see.  Something supernatural, perhaps."

Jeremy grabbed his Python, hit the cylinder release, and inserted a round.  "This bullet here is interesting.  I made it.  A reload.  It's a 110-grain jacketed hollow point .357 round, that can go somewhere close to 1,700 feet per second, a fine round, an end-your-life kind of round, if you know what I mean.  And that was exactly what I had in mind."

Jeremy spun the cylinder and then flicked the handgun closed.  "There we go," Jeremy said, "we have had our one good turn."  Then he pointed the end of the shiny revolver's barrel against his temple and—

Click.

The hammer fell and nothing happened.  Benito tried to scream, but only a muffled hmmmph came out through the barrier of rags shoved into his mouth.

"Kind of spooky, huh?"  Jeremy smiled, and then put the barrel into his mouth.  Click click click click.  "Whew, what a rush, huh?"  Jeremy looked at Benito for several long seconds, as if he expected him to really give an answer, rags or no rags.

"This, according to all mathematical probabilities, should be it."  Jeremy, again, pointed the revolver at himself, this time barrel pointed skyward, deep underneath his chin.

Click.

"Watch this, Benny."  Jeremy pointed his Colt towards the garage door, and quickly cycled through five empty chambers.  "Now, here it is, get ready … get ready … get—"

BANG.

"GODDAMN, that's loud," Jeremy said, standing up, setting the revolver down and putting his hands to his ears.  "Now, what do you think of that?"  Jeremy started to pace around in the garage, his nose taking in the smell of burnt powder, deeply and happily.  He had proven his point.  "I think it's pretty damn amazing, myself.  I mean, I've tried for hours to put a bullet through my brain, and you know what—I can't."  Jeremy stood a moment and laughed, looking at the new bullet hole in his garage door.  "Good thing I live out in the boonies.  Hate to think what kind of freak that loud-ass noise would've given any neighbors.  Great blessing, living isolated, and all."

Jeremy walked over to Benito, stood before him a moment, then took a knee, looking at the seated man almost face-to-face.  "What would you call that, oh mighty guru of hide-the-salami with my wife?  A sign?  An omen or portent?  I sure as hell do, and that's why I got you here.  You see, if God, or whatever … whomever, doesn't want me to do myself in—and I don't really feel like living after you helped to open my wife's eyes and all—then there must be an alternative.  Because I hurt.  And somebody—if not me, then somebody—is going to eat a bullet.  I made these myself and they're very good rounds, and they're going to be used to put somebody down.  At least one of them."

Jeremy stood up, walked back to his table and sat down.  Grabbing the revolver, he opened the cylinder again, and inserted another round—then another, and another.  In a moment six hollow point bullets resided in Jeremy's Colt Python.

"Now we're ready, Romeo.  Let's see what happens.  I've taken my turn, and just to prove that maybe you got a chance, or perhaps you're as done in as Hitler in hell, I'm going to go again."  Jeremy buried the end of his gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.  Click.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get over that sound.  Amazing isn't it?  Now, we'll see how lucky you're going to be.  If you live, then I'll be letting you go, after I find Doreen, anyway.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Aren't I?"

Jeremy sighted his revolver towards Benito's sweating head, enjoying the look of terror on his face, even enjoying the smell of the man's shame.  His nose felt slightly irritated by the smell of sulfur in the garage, and his eyes were somewhat bothered—by the sulfur or by his tears, but he didn't mind.  All he had ever wanted was his family.  Children had been denied to him and Doreen, yes, but they still had each other, but then this Yin-and-Yang spouting free-love a-hole had to come along and mess with his life.

Both Jeremy's hands gripped the revolver, in a seated version of the two-hand Weaver hold.  He momentarily felt twinges of fear, almost of guilt.  What if this is murder? The feeling didn't last long, though.  After all, he'd tried hundreds of times now to take the bullet himself.  It just wasn't working.  The hand of God, or something, wouldn't let it happen.  The revolver was fine; the rounds were fine.  He should be dead now, head blown off and pain-free.  Now it was time to see if it would work against Benny the love-god.

Jeremy took aim, barrel centered and steady on Benito's forehead.  The man tried to struggle, but Jeremy had known how to use fishing line.

He pulled the trigger.

 

The End

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Alysa Apr 9, 2014

I think it was a super cool story!

Alysa Apr 9, 2014

I think it was a super cool story!

Austin Nov 30, 2011

That was a fun story. Intriguing throughout. I like your writing style

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