A fist crashed into the side of my face. It turned my head, it left a bruise, it split the skin a little—but it didn’t hurt.
I know it sounds cryptic, but pain doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. Sit tight—I’ll fill you in on that a little later.
“You done yet?” I impatiently asked my assailant as I stood toe-to-toe with him in an alley in Detroit’s southeast side.
“The fuck?” he responded, confused by my apparent lack of reaction to his attack. He reached behind his back for what I assumed was either a knife or a gun. It was always one or the other with these idiots. Just once I wish they’d reach behind their back and pull out…I don’t know…an Amazon gift card or something?
Nope, it was a knife.
He flicked the blade out and jabbed it toward me in one smooth motion that told me this wasn’t his first time around the block. Unfortunately for him, I’d seen this maneuver a couple of times before.
He swung the knife toward my gut in an upward arc, so I stepped inside of his reach, grabbed the top of his wrist, and twisted in the opposite direction. I heard a pop and watched the knife sail upward, riding its skyward momentum without him. With my free hand, I caught the weapon by its grip.
I still had a firm grasp on his forearm so, without releasing him, I sent an elbow upward into his chin with enough force to knock his teeth together with an admittedly hilarious clack. He wobbled a bit, and I could feel his legs giving out, so I let him go and he collapsed in a heap on the grimy alley concrete.
Ignoring my attacker for the time being, I took a moment to inspect his knife. It was a cheap, gaudy, dull gas station blade that was rusty and pitted with age and hard use. How many innocent people have been hurt by this cut-rate piece of steel? I wondered.
The man currently pissing his pants on the ground before me was a piece of human garbage named Clarence Durant. For some reason that I can’t fathom, his preferred moniker was “Ice.” Ridiculous.
Anyway, why was Ice trying to gut me in a dirty alley in broad daylight? Simple answer? Because I’d cornered him there. I’d come to teach him a valuable life lesson.
My best friend and “business” partner, Alex Sheffield, is a detective over at the DPD and she’d sent me his current location, even though I hadn’t needed it—I’d already known where he’d be.
To put it bluntly, Clarence is a lowlife and a killer with friends in very high places. Somehow, even after all of his arrests, no charges ever seemed to stick. There has been enough evidence to convict Mr. Durant of murder on three separate occasions, yet free he remains. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes, and it’s pretty awful stuff. I’ve also seen the families of his victims crying in court while the man that took their loved ones laughed as his cuffs were removed outside.
I believe monsters like Clarence are the reason I exist. The law is adequate up until the point that it isn’t. Once that point is reached, what happens then? Should these assholes be allowed to steal and rape and kill at will—all because the police are bound by layer after layer of red tape or corruption? Were the families of their victims just supposed to accept that their loved ones’ killers were still out there destroying more lives?
No.
Fuck that.
That’s where Alex and I come in. When the law has no official cards left to play, Alex sends me information on cases like Clarence’s, and I deal with them in a variety of ways depending on the offender and their crimes. Sometimes I make them fear for their lives, other times I make them part with them. When those methods don’t work, I get creative. It all hinges on how they want to play the game.
Being a good person is a choice that must be made by everyone individually. I simply remind these wayward people of that choice, wait for them to decide, and act accordingly.
This brings us back to Clarence himself—he was starting to come to.
“Who the hell are you, man?” he asked, massaging his jaw.
“Think of me as a fortune teller,” I told him plainly. “I’m here to predict your future.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That means you’ve done some bad things to some good people and you haven’t paid for it. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘nothing in life is free?’ You need to pay for what you’ve done, Clarence—and I’m not looking for money.”
Clarence lifted himself up onto his elbows. This was always the part where my targets would act tough and defiant. It was also usually my favorite part.
“My name’s Ice, motherfucker, get it right or—”
The rasp of my gun being drawn from its kydex holster cut him off mid-sentence.
“What was that, Clarence?” I asked, tilting the barrel in his direction from my hip like a Wild West gunslinger.
He stayed silent.
I looked down at the gun in my hand with a double take, as if I’d just realized I was holding it.
“Oh, this?” I joked. “This is my problem solver. You’re a problem, Clarence.”
It was an intimidating weapon to look upon, especially from the wrong end. A Glock 19M I’d received when I worked for the FBI that I’ve since highly modified for precision and speed. It has gotten me out of more jams than I’d care to admit. It seemed to work wonders on Clarence, who deflated at the thought of a few jacketed hollow-points turning his head into a mushy, red bowling ball.
“What do you want?” he asked, staring me dead in the eyes. Credit where credit is due: his voice didn’t waver.
I paused for a moment, pretending to consider his question. He didn’t seem to notice that the cut and bruising on my face had already completely healed. Oh well, that was probably for the best.
“I really want you to attack me again, Clarence, so I can erase you right here in this alley. I’m being very serious about that. However, you might just be in luck because, so far, you’re being pretty obedient. That said, you are still a murderer—among numerous other awful things—and all of that shit has to stop. I’m serious: no crime. Ever again. You’re going to get a real job, and you’re going to work for your money and contribute to society. From this day forward, you are going to be an honest, hardworking, straight-laced human being. Understand?”
“Are you serious right now?” he asked, incredulous, his face breaking out into a wide grin as if this was all just an elaborate prank.
“Deadly serious.”
Clarence actually laughed.
“Yeah, I ain’t doin’ any of that shit.”
I smiled sadly and bowed my head.
“I thought you might say that, so I brought you a present—maybe it’ll help change your mind.”
Casually, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out an earring. It was cheap—cubic zirconia and sterling silver—but it was old, and it clearly meant a lot to somebody, as it was well cared for. I tossed it to him.
“You recognize that?” I asked, but I already knew he did.
“Where did you…?”
I didn’t wait for him to finish before I bulldozed on.
“Your mom—Judy? She lives over on Casmere in Hamtramck with your little brother Zeke. I paid them a visit last night and picked that up for you. They’re nice people—and I know a lot about them.
“I know when they go to sleep, and I know when they wake up. I know what time your brother gets home from school every day. I know where the fat kid that bullies him lives. I know that your mom is three months behind on her mortgage and is very close to losing the house you grew up in. I know that Zeke steals the neighbor’s Wi-Fi to play Fortnite on a Playstation that you stole from a house you robbed last year. I even know the names of the people who lived in that house. Want to know what else I know?”
Clarence softened.
“Please…” he stammered.
I shook my head, refusing to let him off the hook just yet.
“I also know that I will not hesitate to put a bullet into both Mom and Zeke if I hear that you did so much as steal a bottle of Faygo from 7-Eleven. Do you think I’m lying to you?”
Clarence looked into my eyes and saw nothing there but iron and frost. He believed me.
“Please don’t hurt them, man. They didn’t do anything to anybody.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t done. I was here to make a point. I needed Clarence to believe I was more of a monster than he could ever be.
“Neither did the people you hurt, Clarence. But you hurt them anyway, so why shouldn’t I?”
Clarence couldn’t look me in the eye anymore, and I kept going, hammering my point home. This was always the hardest part for me—but the most effective.
“Imagine this, if you can. From now on, this gun is in your hand.” I nodded toward my weapon. “If you show restraint and behave, it never goes off and Mom and Zeke are safe. But if you hurt someone ever again, you’re pulling the trigger—and I will drive you to Mom and Zeke’s closed-casket funerals in my own car. And there isn’t a goddamn thing you can do about it. I own you, Clarence. You’re mine now.”
“Jesus,” Clarence breathed, on the verge of hyperventilation. Everyone has a weakness, and I’d found his.
“Jesus isn’t here, my friend. I am. And my word is the fucking gospel now. So, I’ll recap for you. When I leave, you’re going to stand up, go home, change into some piss-free pants, and apply for a real job—because you’re going to need it.”
I holstered my gun, pulled out my phone, navigated to a banking app, and read off the details for him.
“Now, you’ve got a lot of dirty money in the bank, Clarence. Or, I should say, you had a lot of dirty money. I took care of that for you. I used some of that money to pay off your mom’s house. You are free to take credit for that. The rest of your money, however, I donated anonymously to a charity for victims of domestic violence, because I think you should also literally pay for the damage you’ve caused. Your current balance is zero dollars.”
Clarence couldn’t speak, he simply gazed up at me, mouth wide open in astonishment.
“I’ll be watching you, Clarence,” I warned him. “If you do what I ask, you’ll never see me again and everyone gets to live happily ever after. But if you don’t—if you fuck up just once—you know what it’ll cost you.”
With that, I snapped his cheap knife in two and walked out of the alley.