the death of her husband. She cried fake tears at his funeral and kept the ring as an extra.
She didn’t go golfing.
Vengeance
An excerpt from Veangeance, a short story.
I had no idea that I would die that day, along with so many other people. It’s been ten years and I still look back and wonder how that day got so fucked up.
I had been looking forward to that holiday all summer long. Four of us had rented a cabin for Labor Day weekend, early September. It was our last party before University started for another year. We wanted to finish summer with a bang.
Boy, did we ever. I blamed a lot of people during those ten years, but never myself. It’s so hard to own something that tragic.
It’s all my fault. Everyone’s death, everyone’s blood is on my hands.
I still kill to avenge their deaths.
#
Tabitha and I stopped at the last liquor store before the cabin to load up on alcohol. Scott and Allison pulled in behind us in their Jeep Cherokee. The sun was high, the air on fire, and we were sweating like crazy. My old Buick didn’t have air conditioning, so Tabby and I had driven for the past three hours with the windows down.
“Scott, how about this heat?”
He looked at me, raised his sunglasses to his forehead and winked. “It’s great. The inside of my Cherokee is like sitting in an igloo.”
I jabbed at his arm. “And you’d know how it is to be in an igloo because you’re a hard-boiled Canadian boy.”
We laughed, wrestled around and tried to get our girls to smirk. Tabby and Allison were both prepared for the heat. They looked great in their jean shorts and halter tops. I used to swear that these two girls called each other in the morning to coordinate their clothes for that day, making sure everything matched.
They hung back as Scott and I stepped into the small LCBO on the side of the highway. The Liquor Control Board of Ontario usually had larger stores, but we could tell at first glance that the selection was small, the building smaller.
I looked at Scott. “Grab what you want and I’ll meet you outside.”
He nodded and we parted.
When I got to the till with my loot, I looked outside at Tabitha. Three men, wearing a crazy-looking combination of leather jackets and green pants, were standing in a semi-circle around her and Allison. From where I was standing, it looked like they were blocking the girls’ way. They couldn’t move.
“Forty-three, twenty,” the clerk said.
I handed her a fifty dollar bill, got my change, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. It slid open and I stepped back into the sun.
“Everything cool here?” I asked, looking at Tabby. Her facial expression told me it wasn’t.
Two of the men turned toward me, acting tough and showing off, no doubt, for the third member of their trio, who didn’t look at me. One of them had a goatee that dangled below his chin, the hair tied in a hair elastic. The other guy had no hair on his head at all, only a tattoo of a tear drop on each cheek. Under other circumstances, I would’ve laughed at how funny it looked. But today, the tension in the air gave me a good idea that laughing wouldn’t be prudent.
“You know who we are?” the one with the stupid goatee asked.
I shook my head in the negative.
“I didn’t think so,” he said, and turned around to show me the back of his leather jacket. I don’t know much about biker logos, but it looked to me like a caricature of Satan with his hands out, and the name Vago’s with an “M” and a “C” on either side.
Goatee turned back around. “Recognize it?”
I shook my head and bent over to set my bag of alcohol on the cement as it was getting heavy. A car pulled in and I looked over. An old man in a Chrysler parked and opened his door. If only it was a police officer.
“We’re the Vago’s Motorcycle Club. The symbol is Loki, the Norse God of
She didn’t go golfing.
Vengeance
An excerpt from Veangeance, a short story.
I had no idea that I would die that day, along with so many other people. It’s been ten years and I still look back and wonder how that day got so fucked up.
I had been looking forward to that holiday all summer long. Four of us had rented a cabin for Labor Day weekend, early September. It was our last party before University started for another year. We wanted to finish summer with a bang.
Boy, did we ever. I blamed a lot of people during those ten years, but never myself. It’s so hard to own something that tragic.
It’s all my fault. Everyone’s death, everyone’s blood is on my hands.
I still kill to avenge their deaths.
#
Tabitha and I stopped at the last liquor store before the cabin to load up on alcohol. Scott and Allison pulled in behind us in their Jeep Cherokee. The sun was high, the air on fire, and we were sweating like crazy. My old Buick didn’t have air conditioning, so Tabby and I had driven for the past three hours with the windows down.
“Scott, how about this heat?”
He looked at me, raised his sunglasses to his forehead and winked. “It’s great. The inside of my Cherokee is like sitting in an igloo.”
I jabbed at his arm. “And you’d know how it is to be in an igloo because you’re a hard-boiled Canadian boy.”
We laughed, wrestled around and tried to get our girls to smirk. Tabby and Allison were both prepared for the heat. They looked great in their jean shorts and halter tops. I used to swear that these two girls called each other in the morning to coordinate their clothes for that day, making sure everything matched.
They hung back as Scott and I stepped into the small LCBO on the side of the highway. The Liquor Control Board of Ontario usually had larger stores, but we could tell at first glance that the selection was small, the building smaller.
I looked at Scott. “Grab what you want and I’ll meet you outside.”
He nodded and we parted.
When I got to the till with my loot, I looked outside at Tabitha. Three men, wearing a crazy-looking combination of leather jackets and green pants, were standing in a semi-circle around her and Allison. From where I was standing, it looked like they were blocking the girls’ way. They couldn’t move.
“Forty-three, twenty,” the clerk said.
I handed her a fifty dollar bill, got my change, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. It slid open and I stepped back into the sun.
“Everything cool here?” I asked, looking at Tabby. Her facial expression told me it wasn’t.
Two of the men turned toward me, acting tough and showing off, no doubt, for the third member of their trio, who didn’t look at me. One of them had a goatee that dangled below his chin, the hair tied in a hair elastic. The other guy had no hair on his head at all, only a tattoo of a tear drop on each cheek. Under other circumstances, I would’ve laughed at how funny it looked. But today, the tension in the air gave me a good idea that laughing wouldn’t be prudent.
“You know who we are?” the one with the stupid goatee asked.
I shook my head in the negative.
“I didn’t think so,” he said, and turned around to show me the back of his leather jacket. I don’t know much about biker logos, but it looked to me like a caricature of Satan with his hands out, and the name Vago’s with an “M” and a “C” on either side.
Goatee turned back around. “Recognize it?”
I shook my head and bent over to set my bag of alcohol on the cement as it was getting heavy. A car pulled in and I looked over. An old man in a Chrysler parked and opened his door. If only it was a police officer.
“We’re the Vago’s Motorcycle Club. The symbol is Loki, the Norse God of
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