Nobody knew.
Wade Crispin exploded. He went to Deputy Peters and screamed at him to find whoever was doing this.
Peters spread his hands. No evidence. No witnesses. Both victims said they never saw the attacker.
Claimed it was too dark. Or maybe they were scared. Wade understood now that somebody was hunting them.
Somebody dangerous. Somebody trained. He tightened up security and kept his gun close.
Wouldn’t leave the house unarmed. But I knew fear had already gotten inside him. He knew he was next.
I went to his house that evening. No sneaking. No disguise. Walked right up to the gate and knocked.
Wade looked out the window and saw me. Young guy in an Army uniform.
Hands visible, face calm. He didn’t recognize me. Probably thought I was an old Army buddy of somebody’s or maybe a customer.
He opened the door with a pistol hidden behind his leg. “Who are you?” I looked him right in the eye and said clearly:
“I’m Alex Gromer. Son of the woman you beat. The one who begged you not to break her fingers.”
Wade froze. His face went white. Then his hand moved and he brought up the gun.
I was ready. Stepped in and chopped down on his wrist. The pistol flew and landed on the porch.
Wade swung with his free hand, but I blocked it and drove my knee into his stomach. He doubled over. I shoved him backward into the house. The door slammed behind us.
Wade hit the floor and gasped for air. I picked up the gun, dropped the magazine, and tossed it aside. Useless now.
Wade looked up at me from the floor, fear all over his face. “You? You did Luke and Steve?”
I nodded. “I did. Now it’s your turn.”
He backed up on his hands, scrambling toward the wall, lips shaking. “Listen, kid, I didn’t know she was your mother, I swear. She owed money. I was just doing business.”
I stepped toward him. “Business? That’s what you call tormenting an old woman?”
“Breaking her fingers, making her scrub floors, filming it—that’s business?” Wade started shaking. “I’ll pay you.”
“I’ll give you everything. How much do you want? A thousand? Two?”
“Just don’t touch me.” I crouched in front of him and looked him in the eyes. I saw the same fear there that my mother had worn a month earlier, when he broke her fingers and laughed at her tears.
She begged too. You didn’t listen. Now it’s my turn not to listen. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the room.
Wade fought and yelled, but I was stronger. I hauled him to the basement door, opened it, and threw him down the stairs. He tumbled and hit hard, groaning.
I went down after him. The basement was big and dim. I turned on the light.
Boxes of cash lined the walls, sacks of stolen goods, a VCR, videotapes, all the spoils of what he’d done. Wade lay on the floor clutching his ribs. I walked over to the VCR and turned it on.
I found a tape labeled Gromer and put it in. My mother came up on the screen. On her knees, scrubbing the floor.
Wade stood over her laughing, saying something I couldn’t make out. Then he kicked her in the side. She fell over.
Steve and Luke were laughing off camera. I watched the screen.
The rage came back in a fresh wave. Cold, heavy rage. I shut off the tape and turned back to Wade. He was crying now, like a child.
“That funny to you? Made you feel like a big man?”
