The Severed Arm of the Law (an Excerpt from Southpaw Nights)


They were dead. All of them. My wife, my babies. Left spent and bled out, forsaken. 
I pull out the little Ziploc bag from the other jacket pocket, along with a pocket knife that I purchased when I got the jacket. Using the plastic fast-food joint spork that I keep in the bag with the coke, I shovel a little out onto the blade of the knife. Rummaging through my wallet one-handed, I manage to find a now-cancelled credit card. I use this to push the powder into a rough line. I take a crumpled dollar bill from my jeans, do my best to roll it into a straw. Then I do the line. It feels good. 
You see, I hunted down the piece of shit that took my family away from me. Bound and gagged him, threw him in the trunk. He was a known rapist. Had a list of felonies about a mile long. Hell knows why he was even out on the street, but had taken it to the next level. I’ve since learnt that nothing is just in this sickening world. I drove to some buttfuck area upstate. Parked in a deserted park. And blew his brains out with my shotgun.