Vengeance is Mine

A Vengeful Short Story for the Crime & Punishment 2023 Story Event

Millie Dynamite

© Copyright 2016/2023 by Millie Dynamite

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, actual events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Historical characters and events are used strictly for dramatic purposes.

Not every tale has a happy ending—not all lives are sunshine and rainbows. Demons walk among us. They move in the shadows, watching, waiting for the opportunity to devour those they can. Sometimes, the most brilliant minds have the darkest thoughts. Sometimes, the scales refuse to balance through the system. Sometimes, people with the best intentions take justice into their own hands.

Offered for your approval, the life and times of one Elizabeth "Shortcake" Dyer. A woman slight of stature, with an enormous intellect who pursues retribution with a dogged determination that would make a bulldog proud.

A deeply damaged woman who never wallowed in self-pity but channeled her rage into helping others. When she ran into brick walls pursuing justice, she manufactured vengeance.

After all, vengeance has its own sufficiency.

Vengeance is Mine

Hattori Hanzo: Revenge is never a straight line. It's a forest, and like a forest, it's easy to lose your way... To get lost... To forget where you came in.              

Kill Bill: Part One

****

"For as long as I can remember, well, since that day in June 1968, I have wanted justice. If not justice, then vengeance ... for me ... for my pain ... yes, my pain must end. I don't know if I can ever find peace if he is still out there somewhere — alive.

"I remember those horrible screams of my brother crying, pleading for mercy. Those bastards showed James no compassion. Most of the men are blurs, but the one they called Boss. I remember him. I can't get his image out of my mind. Not even now, after all these years," she said, fidgeting around on the couch. Sitting up, she looked at the doctor.

"This was a mistake."

"Now, Mrs. Dyer..."

"It's MS Dyer. I use my maiden name professionally."

"It takes time to make progress." The doctor scratched some notes on her pad. "Why did you wait almost twenty-four years to seek help?"

"Does that matter?"

"It could," the doctor said as she straightened her skirt. She looked at MS Dyer, concern on her face. Elizabeth wondered how genuine the appearance was.

"At a hundred-fifty dollars per hour, I suppose it could matter." Standing, Elizabeth moved toward the door.

"I want to help you." Doctor Proctor put on her most sympathetic face.

"I don't believe that is a truthful statement ... you know, it's my profession to sniff out liars." Opening the door as she hesitated.

"You, Doctor, are a liar. I shan't be back. Bill me whatever you think your time has been worth," Elizabeth told her, closing the door.

She would have to hurry to get back to court. She figured Monday would bring closing arguments, no hope that her words, whatever they would be, might help. The moment his lawyer smelled the blood in the water, any hope of a deal went out the window.

****

"Gil," Elizabeth said into the phone. "No, sir, it didn't go well ..." she waited as he talked, "We're losing this one. I'm certain ... the victim didn't help at all ... I think he got to her." She again listened while he talked.

"No, I don't blame her ... you can't help but fear a man like him, and he put her in the hospital. When the judge tossed the collected evidence, we lost the case ... at that minute. Well, hell, as soon as the victim heard about it, she knew he would be free and walking around. The victim couldn't or wouldn't finger him as a matter of self-preservation."

"Look, Shortcake, don't blame yourself," he wanted to say more but didn't know what to say. He talked on for a few more minutes, trying to let her know it wasn't her fault. He knew it didn't matter.

Hanging up the phone, she looked at her watch. Time to go to the boat. Maybe two days of fishing would cheer her. Though fishing was not her real purpose for going out there with — him — with Mike. He would tell her he was running away from it all. They would fight, and it would suck. If he stayed, it would never be the same between them. She couldn't forget, she couldn't forgive, she had never forgiven the wrongs done to her by anyone.

Elizabeth wasn't a forgiving person.

****

The smog hung heavy over the city, fouling the air as the boat exited the Marina, heading for open water. The big cabin cruiser, Lady Justice, slid through the water, smooth and straight. The pilot held her course; she watched the horizon. Her eyes darted around, looking for dangers. Picking up her ever-present cup of coffee, she sipped it carefully.

The coffee was hot.

"I don't know why you wanted to come along," the man said from behind her as he worked on his rod and reel. "You don't even like fishing that much."

"The hell I don't. What I don't enjoy is fishing with you. You aren't a patient man when you fish. You aren't persistent at anything you do." She added the latter statement with a mixture of regret and anger. Gaining control, she continued, "I wanted to talk. I want you to change your mind. You're throwing so much away, Mike, pissing away what we have built."

"I'm not changing my mind," Mike told her. Standing, he took the rod to the back of the boat and placed it in a holder. "I want us to go a long way, past the casino ships. Where the water's cold and the Whites swim."

Mike sat on the seat where he had been before, getting comfortable.

"Well, it's your funeral." Elizabeth laughed. "Seriously, dear, we can work this out. It's a bump in the road, nothing more. No need for such drastic measures. Your dalliance with trash shouldn't be the end of our marriage."

"Oh, Liz, first, it isn't drastic or rash. I didn't wake up this fine March morning and decide this." Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he tamped it down on the case. Lighting the smoke, he glanced at her, saddened for her. Realizing this can't be easy for her.

"This isn't the end, Liz. It's a break. You'll see once I get this new venture going. Once everything is right, we'll talk. I can see Rene during school breaks, holidays, and such. I will not divorce you, not yet, and perhaps not at all. Second, the 'dalliance,' as you put it, isn't the reason."

"Mike," she said.

"Yes, dear."

"If you leave me, and this Gabriela person is with you," she turned, glaring at him with angry daggers thrown from her eyes to his. "You will never see Rene again."

"You don't understand, Shortcake. I love her, and I love you. Elizabeth, darling, you can love more than one person," Mike said, sucking in the smoke. "You must admit you're obsessive about your work. You have a monomaniacal fixation with justice or at least the pursuit of justice. It's hard to live with someone so extremely fanatical."

"So, your infidelity is my fault."

"Didn't say that," Mike said, laying back, blowing smoke rings, shooting one ring after another through the center of the first. Pulling back the throttles, she stepped away from the console. Turning to him, Elizabeth folded her arms and tapped her toe. He knew she seethed with anger, as he had seen this all too often. Yet another reason to put distance between them.

"You picked a fine time for this shit," Elizabeth told him, her voice hard and hateful. "I have a case that will go to the jury early next week. I'm going to lose that case spectacularly. As a result, a horrible rapist will go free."

"You see what I mean? I mean, good God, it isn't the end of life as we know it, and it has nothing to do with me that the cops mishandled the evidence. I'm not a cop anymore, remember?" he spat angrily.

"Conflict of interest." Elizabeth sounded less angry.

"Sure, I get it. Best if I do something different. I gave up my fucking career for you."

"You think being a Private Investigator is any less of a conflict of interest if you're working for someone I'm prosecuting?"

"I always bow out if you're the ADA on the case. And believe it or not, Shortcake, despite how the movies portray it, being a PI ain't all that glamorous. I'm not the one with ambitions. You are. I'm making this move for a reason, and as I said before, it isn't just for Gabby, not by half."

"She's a ditz with the IQ God gave a sponge. You're a fool with a monster for a boss," she told him.

"And yet, Gabby and I are both loveable, ditzy, and foolish." Mike tried to lighten the mood.

"As usual, you're missing my point." Elizabeth teetered on losing her temper. Regaining some control, she continued, "I'm not angry about the move. Hell, it isn't even your whore, not so much about those issues as the reason. The reason you tuck your tail between your legs and run away. You fucking broke the law, Mike, you're up to your ears in this thing. You won't get away from it. You don't do favors for the mob and come out clean. But that won't last."

"I didn't mean for it to turn out this way," Mike said, but she broke him off before he could continue.

"You put me at risk, hell, you put Rene at risk. You don't swim with sharks and not get bitten," she told him. Tears flooded her eyes, and she returned to driving the boat. "Turn state's evidence." Shoving the throttles to full, the craft lurched, tossing him to the deck. He got up and sat back in his seat.

Elizabeth couldn't contain her smirk as she finished her thought.

"Mike, we can help you."

The argument lasted for hours before the anger petered out, and the pair fell silent.

No truce was called, but they stopped bickering. They slept in separate beds that night — each angry with the other. Each unwilling to make a move to end the years-old conflict. Elizabeth was at the end of her rope and was determined to make an end to all of it that weekend.

They fished in silence the following day, neither arguing nor talking pleasantly. Elizabeth couldn't stop thinking about the betrayals. Both the adultery and his felonious association with gangsters. Finally, she put away her fishing tackle and drank.

The gears in her mind whirled around as her anger grew. Mike had hurt her, and she would return the favor. The day wore on. He fished as she watched, too angry to relax and enjoy the day. Near sunset, he hooked a big one, a Great White. He fought it until after sunset. At last, it was near the boat, and he could see how big the brute was.

"I'm cutting him loose. Would you hand me that knife, please?" he asked.

"Here." Elizabeth handed him the big knife. "Why let it go? I thought you wanted to catch a Great White."

"Yeah, sure I did — a four or five-footer. But she's at least a seventeen-footer. I would never wrestle her into the boat, not all fifteen hundred pounds of the ole girl. She might take my arm off if I get any closer." Cutting the line, he sat down on the hardwood deck of the boat. "Man, that took it out of me," he peered at her, smiling. "It was fun, though."

"Did I ever tell you about the man they call Mad Dog or the hitman Saunders?" the question seemed to come from nowhere.

Elizabeth's mind worked that way occasionally. She would hit him with something out of left field and expected to change gears as fast as she did.

Mike played catch-up with her for over ten years.

"Only that they got away scot-free," Mike told her. Opening his metal cigarette case, he removed the smoke, tamped it down, and lit it.

"Oh, there's a lot more to the story than that," she looked at him, then jabbed a knife in his heart as he had done to her.

"I had an affair with Saunders."

The cigarette fell from his mouth, landing on his arm. At first, he didn't react until he felt the heat and brushed it off onto the deck. Standing up, he crushed out the cherry with the toe of his deck shoes. Putting a hand to his forehead, he looked at her. No anger, but pain — an awful, deep, hurtful anguish.

"Well, that's a hell of a thing to tell me," he said, falling down on his butt and leaning against the back of the boat.

"You confessed Gabriela to me." Elizabeth twisted the blade, deftly turning the blame back on him. "What was it you said? Confession is good for the soul. Only the confessor's soul is my guess. Would you like to hear about my affair, Mike?"

"Why the hell would I want to hear about that?"

"Because I'm going to tell you, Mike, that's why — like it or not, I'm telling you about it. Because Mike, a month ago, I had to hear about your loveable ditz and how she was better for you than me. So, you will listen since there's no place for you to go but with the sharks."

****

It was a few years ago when I lost an important case. In truth, I lost that case by design. The contract killer, Saunders, walked because I wanted him to, and more to the point, he knew I had arranged it.

I had an unofficial meeting with Saunders during the trial. A closely guarded rendezvous on a weekend break. It was ... intimate ... he was easy to seduce and made love well. I picked him for a specific reason — his statement in his interview. I listened to the audio recording of the statement repeatedly.

"I got me a code. I don't kill anybody, and I mean nobody, that doesn't deserve it. I only kill people I know are killers, cold-blooded murderers, or rapists. I don't kill women either, especially ones that have children. The only exception is a woman who murdered her husband and a couple of other folks. I killed her only 'cause you all let her walk."

Honestly, I nearly wore out my copy of the tape. There was a killer, a cold-blooded murderer with a code. A man like that could be ... helpful.

So, I got a message to him, and he met me inside his authorized zone, at a hotel of my choosing. I took a trip to San Francisco for the weekend. You remember that, don't you, dear? Only I didn't go to San Francisco. I met him in a hotel, a room I got for us. It wasn't hard to set up, either. It was a holiday weekend, a lengthy court break, and a simple, uncomplicated, unethical meeting.

No other lawyers, judges, or jurors. Just me, him, and a proposal.

Saunders is a big man, but when he opened that door and saw me dressed to kill, he seemed to shrink. You know, I don't think he imagined I would show. I remember it like it was yesterday. You can't grasp my excitement — venturing off the straight and narrow — to be confident I could right a few wrongs. The goal wasn't fucking him, darling.

That was a pleasant bonus.

"Oh, good lord ... hey, I didn't expect," Saunders said. I just moved to him and wrapped my arms around him. Pressing my lips to his, sticking my tongue in his mouth. Well, he got the message.

You know, for a brutal killer, he is the gentlest, most loving person I have ever fucked. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, kissing me all over as he undressed me, and I undressed him. His hot lips burned a desire in me. I hadn't felt for years. His coarse fingers sent tingling shivers through my body like no other man's touch ... ever.

He was erect before our clothes hit the floor. To my surprise, he laid on top of me, held me, and then rolled us over, positioning me on top. Imagine that, Mike. He was secure enough in his masculinity to have me on top of him. And his prick, oh good lord, he had the most beautiful cock, big, hard at a moment's notice, and my love, he knew how to use it oh so well.

As I lay on top of him, positioning myself, he made the slightest move, and his prick slid in, only a tad, just the head. I can't tell you how good it felt. I nearly came. I got so wet when I rose I just moved up and down on his magnificent shaft. It filled me so well, just the perfect fit. I felt so hot and wet as I embedded his pecker deep inside my yearning body. Heat radiated from there through my whole body.

As his hand slid over my flesh, poking and prodding, exploring, the quakes of pleasure passed over me in wild, wanton waves. Unlike some people, his hands were rough, but his touch was tender and loving.

You couldn't call it fucking.

That's far too tawdry a word. No, we made love. My emotions built up in me. I had many orgasms. Oh, God, did I. But the big one had nothing to do with the act. No — the massive pressure grew from our long accumulation of loving making until I couldn't contain the pleasure.

When I went that time, oh dear God, I exploded, arching my back and riding him harder and faster. We writhed in passion, feeling, exploring, fucking. His hands caressing me, those calloused hands so tender and loving, sent wave after wave of rapture through my body.

You know, for you, it's all about how your cock feels and how fucking makes you feel like a man in control. For me, it's how loved a man can make me feel. You never fucked me and made me feel loved, Mike. He made me feel loved, and we barely knew each other.

That's when you know it's special.

I could have stayed that way for the rest of my life, holding each other, fondling each other, sharing our bodies, feeding on each other's emotions. We needed nothing but each other's bodies. The entire three-day weekend was like that; no sooner did we wake from a nap than we were at it again. Loving each other's bodies and becoming one, moving as one. And yet, still, two separate individuals operating in harmony. I hated it when Sunday afternoon arrived.

It so depressed me to think of having to go back to you.

That was when I told him of my pact. He would work for me in a part-time position. He had a greater calling, righting wrongs, for want of a better way of putting it. When justice couldn't be rendered, he would administer vengeance. In exchange for his help, I would shield him from his other jobs. He would confide in me about that work, and I advise him on how not to get caught, on the condition the person deserved to die.

When I had to, I misdirected the investigations related to him.

I made certain evidence was tainted, and the charges dismissed, with prejudice. If you recall, I was so upset about Saunders going free that I took a trip to escape everything.

He and I went to Catalina on this boat. We made sweet love for a week. You know, once we fucked right there where you are sitting. Our bodies again moved as one. Touching, feeling, satisfying our carnal cravings, and making love exactly where you're sitting for hours.

I bet the cum stains are still right under your ass.

****

"We fucked for a week like rabbits. Please understand, I'm not trying to be cruel, Mike, but he really knows how to please a woman," she laughed, walking back to the cabin door as she turned back to him.

"Want to make love for old time's sake?"

He breathed a heavy sigh, putting his hands up, one on his face rubbing the stubby days' old growth of whiskers and the other on his hair. Dropping his hands to his side, he pushed up and moved to the seat. Plopping down, he looked at Liz. His eyes were bloodshot, and tears threatened to fall.

"So this," Mike motioned at his chest, "is what it feels like to find out the person you love cheated on you. I did this to you? I didn't know, I just..."