Making the Cut by SD Hildreth Page A

name.”
    “Timmy, his name was,” he inhaled and attempted to look down at his bleeding stomach.
    “Timmy.”
    After some thought, I decided I needed a little more information from Frank, and he provided enough for me to confirm the man we were going to kill was who they believed him to be. Timothy was the name Frank reluctantly provided me. The ChoMo providing me confirmation was all I needed to hear. As much as I wanted to make him pay for his crimes, killing him would end my suffering of looking at him. The more I thought about what he had done to the little boys, the more I wanted to rid the earth of his existence.
    “It’s him, ain’t it Slice? Fat fucker’s the one, ain’t he?” Toad asked as he stepped between us.
    “I didn’t …” fatty began.
    “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll stick you again,” I bellowed.
    I wiped my knife on the fat man’s pants and folded it. I swallowed hard and nodded my head, “Yep, it’s him.”
    “Let me do him, Slice. I need my patch. Come on. Killin’ this fat whale ain’t shit. Let me do it,” Toad begged.
    “But…” fatty blubbered.
    I flicked my knife open and stared at the fat bastard. As he began to cry and spit, I closed my eyes and shook my head, “Hand me the tape, Otis.”
    Otis handed me the roll of duct tape we had used to secure him to the tree. I ripped off a twelve inch strip and pressed it over his mouth and stretched it to the sides of his fat face. After three more strips, he was muffled and as quiet as he was going to get.
    A skull and crossbones patch on the lower right hand side of a member’s cut indicated he had killed for the club. Otis and I had patches to confirm our participation in such situations. Tater didn’t, and at his age, asking him to do something like kill a man wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I turned toward Otis and Tater. Otis shrugged as Tater quietly stood holding the lantern.
    Otis swallowed hard and raised his hands to his face, “Let him get his patch, Slice. Hell, killin’ fuckers is all he’s done for the last ten years. But I’m done looking at this fucker, really.”
    Otis rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. He was as ready for this to end as I was. I turned toward Toad and nodded my head. As I folded my knife closed, Toad pulled a long straight bladed knife from a sheath on his belt.
    “God damn, Toad,” I said through my teeth as he raised the large blade in front of his chest.
    “Gunshot would be too risky out here in the dark. Someone might hear it,” he nodded.
    As the fat man began to cry and grunt through the tape, Toad stepped between the blubbering molester and me.
    “Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Toad demanded.
    The fat prick attempted to stop crying. Between the molester’s sobbing and blowing snot out his nose, Toad spoke clearly and as if he’d actually prepared a speech for the occasion.
    “Now listen. This world is full of all types of men. Good ones, not so good ones, and bad ones. I believe, and I may be wrong, that I’m one of the good ones. I ain’t never hurt a man without having a damned good reason. Never. I killed some fuckers in the war, and I’d do it all over if they’d let me. So, my opinion’s this, and you ain’t gonna agree for damned sure, but I’ll tell you anyway,” Toad paused and calmly glanced at each of us before turning to face the fat man again.
    “God controls the good on this earth, and Satan controls the bad. In men, sometimes there’s a fight between God and the Devil to see who gets control. Sometimes good men do bad things. And sometimes bad men do good things. But what you did? That’s not Satan stepping into a man’s life and causing him to do something wrong. No sir, it’s not. You can’t be fixed.  That’s my justification for what I plan to do to you. You can’t be healed. I Googled the shit, and I know . You’re four times more likely to hurt a kid again than any other criminal is to recommit any other crime. So,