“So you actually gave it all up?” I asked, as the shock still circling in my mind. It was kind of a hard thing to grasp if you stop and think about it. Everything...
It wasn’t just that he’d told his father to got to hell. No sir. He gave the man directions, and what to kiss once he arrived.
“That was never me Dobs, we weren’t actually the heir to any of it. Maybe in some roundabout way we were kin, but way-way down the line. Besides having people kissing my ass, because of some title wasn’t right. I want respect because of what I stand for.” He finished his drink and smiled. “Now tell me of this rebellion you’ve started.”
I refreshed our drinks, and lit up a cigarette, I studied the glowing tip for a moment. Then I began.
The family was all here, and I was almost looking at it like it was going to all go in our favor. That we had a better than average chance of winning this thing. I wish that Joe had stuck around, I kinda wanted to hear his imput on what I was doing. Sometimes you need someone that really knows you to be the one to say: “What The Fuck were you thinking.” Or To Say: “Count me in too big brother.”
It’s called getting the straight facts no matter where they go. Facing up to the reality of how others may look at you and your actions. Just because you happen to think you’re right don’t make you you right.
Joe Macalister brazenly walked into the bar and ordered a double shot of Jack. He smiled as he caught sight of the familiar faces of the Dempsey’s. They’d always considered themselves to be the tough guys on the block, and went out of their way to prove it.
They were just bullies and everybody knew it, they were the type to pick whichever side that could or would, offer the most power.
Right or wrong never being an issue.
“Macalister. We heard that you’d finally grown a set of balls and returned. But we never knew that you gone crazy, what are you doing in our bar?”
“Bar is owned by Bull,” Joe replied without turning around. “Not by slime like you.”
The silence in the bar became deafening, as several men left. But many others downed their drinks, and removed their coats, in their minds it was time to pick a side. The Dempsey’s had aligned themselves with the German, and promises were made and a few gifts exchanged. Gifts in the way of young girls.
Not a bad trade, help take out anyone with the name Macalister and you can write your own ticket. But of course the German, wasn’t even in town, some said he was directing things from an undisclosed location.
Those with any sense knew that the cowardly bastard was hiding, he was getting fucked over from at least three different fronts. Quite possibly four. He was attacking women and children, all in the name of his call to war.
But he was being hit back and he was now running scared.
The Dempsey’s stood up smiling, this was what they were paid for. Kick some ass, and then later fuck some ass. Payment in full.
The sound of chairs being pushed back was very audible.
Bull viewed the scene and for a moment started to make a call. “Fuck it.” he said bitterly, as he reached for the ball bat from under the bar. “It’s time.” The large man smiled boldly, as walked from behind the bar, and walked over to stand beside Joe. Several other men walked over and took their place beside the two men.
The Dempsey’s froze for a moment, it wasn’t that they were scared. They were the Dempsey’s by god, and just their name was enough to make most grown men piss themselves. It was who had decided to join up with Macalister.
Men that they’d grown up with, men that they’d stomped ass with. Men that they’d committed extremely sick acts with, involving that Irish man’s sheep. But then again they were passed out and never actually saw them do anything.
Joe smiled, as he stepped forward and hit the older Dempsey, with a hard right sending the large man to the hardwood floor. “Let’s cut the chitchat and just fuck these assholes up.” he said with a faint smile.
He kicked the large man on the side of the head sending him into darkness. He turned and grabbed another Dempsey, and drove his fist into the man’s throat and as the man sank to his knees, Joe glared down at him.
The town knew that the Dempsey’s were into all sorts of sick perversions. As well as many other criminal acts, nothing had ever been proven, and the way things were, they probably never would be.
One memory had always stayed with Joe: He knew and his family knew it was the Dempsey’s but proving it was most tricky. Nobody had seemed interested in justice. “It’s just a dog Joe. You can always get another one.” was the reply from the law. “Let it go.”
“Let it go? Like Hell!”
Years ago he’d gone to that same bar, and boldly walked up and slammed a ball bat into the balls of the Dempsey boy. Several men had quickly jumped to their feet and grabbed the boy, a very pissed off eight year old boy.
Young Joe Macalister, smiled savagely as the boy lay on his side puking, he pointed a shaky finger at the Dempsey boy. “Someday soon, or maybe in later years, you can expect to die by my hands you cowardly SONOFABITCH!”
The boy had said it with such conviction that it caused a few men to cringe.
They each knew that someday the boy will try to make good on that promise.
The Dempsey’s had been ordered off the Macalister’s land the day before then had gone back and killed and skinned their dog, they’d hung the skin outside Joe’s bedroom window.
Joe’s lip curved up into a wolf like snarl. “Ain’t payback a bitch!” Joe asked as he savagely kicked, the man in the face knocking him back pinning his legs beneath him. The second oldest Dempsey son lay dying making all sorts of disgusting sounds.
The doors to the bar opened, and the people that entered could not believe the scene before them.“Federal Agents! Everybody Get On The Goddamn Floor!” a man shouted.
The bar fell into a loud silence, and nobody was doing as they were ordered. The men all defiantly stood their ground. This of course didn’t set well with the FEDS. The loud obnoxious sound of gas escaped from Dempsey.
“Do you people have a hearing problem? I said to get on the floor.”
“Actually you said: Everybody get on the goddamn floor, it would appear that none of us cared for your tone. Say pretty please, and maybe we’ll listen to you.” Joe said with a straight face.
A Dempsey laughed at the words. “For a Macalister he does have a bit of class.”
This from a man that years ago, had skinned a dog and hung it outside a little boy’s bedroom window.
“Macalister? You any kin to Dobs Macalister?”
“He’s my brother.”
“You and I’ll talk in a moment.” the man said as he looked at the bodies.
The agent calmly walked over, and looked down at the body of Kit Dempsey. He’d read the file on the Dempsey’s before even coming to town. They were trash, and the type not many people would miss.
They were bullies and cowards, truly sick motherfuckers. The very type that would always choose the wrong side of the war to fight for. One of the so-called bad ass uncles had been sent to San Quentin, for the rape and murder of a young mother. Upon his arrival he’d walked up to an inmate and told the medium size man, that he was going to be his bitch. That he was going to wash
his socks, his shit stank underwear, and suck him whenever the mood struck him.
He put his hands on the man’s shoulders and forced him to his knees. “You can suck or be fucked.” Dempsey said as he pulled his penis from his pants.
The man smiled as his hand went to his sock, he then whispered something very low as he pulled the blade from his sock.
“What was the sweetness? Can’t hear you with your mouth full.”
“I’d said. You BE FUCKED!” Then with lightening speed he then sliced and diced Dempsey’s privates into several very small pieces.
The guards and other prisoners all swore that they’d never heard anything. No cries, no pleas.
Price you pay dude. . .when you rape and kill. . . the price is paid in full, and on demand. Particularly, when your cell mate is your victim’s father.
That was the story of the Dempsey’s, they took and would always continue to take until somebody took them. On this day two more members of the family ceased to be a problem.
The FED smiled as he lit up a cigarette, and then offered the pack to Joe. “This can work to both our advantage, we wanted those two out of the picture anyway. My-uh my friends are talking with those left in the bar.”
“Why don’t you cut to the chase, you’re wanting to cut a deal. This was murder, and that’s the way it’ll be viewed-unless.”
“Highly intelligent, as well as a highly skilled fighter, you work with us, and I might be able to forget certain things. You scrub my back and I’ll...”
“Let me set this straight for you. You can expect all you want for a Macalister to scrub your back, all you’ll get from us is the request for you to kiss our ass. I’ll take my chances in court.”
The agent was clearly shocked. Just the thought of prison usually scared young men like, Joe Macalister into submission. The ones that had some spunk usually lost it, after a session behind closed doors, or a couple of days in a cell with certain types. “Don’t push your luck boy.” the agent warned.
Joe got nose to nose with him, “Be sure Not To Push Yours.”Joe replied in a cold tone.
The agent swallowed hard as he watched the extremely large young man walk away. Jeeze, when did he start sweating that badly, and since when did he get the trembles and shakes.
He refused to acknowledge the answer that was brewing in his mind. No-way in hell. Not no, but hell no. It could never ever happen. That was preposterous.
He was a highly trained experienced field agent, he had a gun and Macalister didn’t. He was trained in at least seven highly deadly forms of self-defense. “It must be someone dancing on my grave.” He reasoned.
No, it was very obvious, to even a moron what had happened. . . the highly trained experienced field agent had pissed himself.
It would have been hysterically funny, had it all not been so serious. The FEDS were actually looking, more and more like a pack of incompetent asses. They couldn’t even solve the problem brewing in Texas. What made them possibly think they could protect the nation?
The pinheads outside of Texas generally known as the press, insisted it was a group of radicals. Not a one had even bothered to come to Texas to investigate. Hearsay worked, and all other stories were quickly killed and had been lay to rest.
It seemed the other states, had all solved their problems and life had gone back to a degree of normalcy. Texas stood alone.