pay the price for their sins."
"What sins? What did I do?" he babbled. "For God's sake, man, I didn't do anything."
"Shush, Carl. Calm yourself. You don't want to meet your Maker like this."
The man reached for the wide gray electrical tape and replaced the thick strip over the kid's mouth. "Sorry I have to do this, Carl. This old church is pretty isolated, but I don't want to risk someone hearing your noise."
The victim thrashed around, straining at the thick ropes that bound his wrists and ankles to the crude wooden cross. The man carefully placed the first wooden peg at the center of the right wrist. Two pegs left for the task ahead, one for the other wrist, the final one for the feet. He hoped the third peg, the longest and thickest, was strong enough for the crossed feet.
Raising the hammer, the Avenger began his work.
Chapter Nine
Just as he reached the turnoff to Placer Hills, Sheriff Benjamin Slater's pager beeped. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in the number of his dispatcher and all-around assistant. "What's up, Connie?"
"Barrington wants you to call him ASAP."
"How's he sound today?"
A snort came over the line. "Prissy as usual. And a little pissy to boot."
Slater liked Connie Glens. She cut right through the bull crap and told it exactly like she saw it. "I'm almost at Blue Canyon Road. Be there in twenty minutes, give or take. Think he can wait that long?"
"Why not? Give the little prick something to squawk about."
Slater grinned as he severed the connection. Nobody much liked the recently-elected district attorney of Bigler County, but Connie was outspoken enough to voice her opinion. Slater was forced to be more circumspect. As the county's senior law-enforcement officer, Charles Barrington was his direct superior. And that was just damn bad luck.
When Slater reached the office shortly after ten, he found Barrington seated behind the sheriff's desk. Ben leaned against the door jamb and amused himself by watching Charlie Barrington's bantam body try to fill up the space of the comfortable leather chair Ben had hauled out of storage when he took over the position as sheriff last year.
Someone must've told Charlie that all up-and-coming district attorneys wore three-piece Brooks Brothers suits. Today the man was clad in his gray edition, complemented by a maroon striped tie and light paisley handkerchief peeking from the pocket. In the overhead glare of the fluorescent light, his bare head gleamed whitely around the pathetic strands of a sandy-haired comb over.
Barrington crossed his legs at the knee and fiddled with the mouse on Slater's desk, glancing at the computer screen as it lighted up to reveal last year's budget report.
"Can I help you with something, Mr. District Attorney?"
Barrington jumped like a high-strung yapper dog and shoved the mouse away as if it were a dead rat. "Uh, Slater. I, uh, I need to talk to you immediately."
Barrington rarely called Slater by his title, almost as if he disliked conceding the position held by former Sheriff Xavier Marconi, who'd left office suddenly before his term was over. Slater didn't mind the disrespect, but he noted it.
The district attorney frowned, the expression making him look like a chubby-faced baby about to throw a temper tantrum. "Didn't you get my ASAP message?"
"I'm here now. What do you want?" Slater eased into the room and towered over the little man. Barrington stood, but immediately sat down again when he noticed the disparity in their heights. Slater grinned and threw himself into the guest chair opposite his desk. Once he was seated, apparently Charlie felt secure enough to rise. He bounced his fingertips together several times like a professor ready to launch a lecture. Slater sighed, recognizing the signs, and not eager to waste time listening to Barrington's drivel.
"The government wants our help in a matter," Barrington said, pacing around the office and tapping his fingertips together.
"The
"What sins? What did I do?" he babbled. "For God's sake, man, I didn't do anything."
"Shush, Carl. Calm yourself. You don't want to meet your Maker like this."
The man reached for the wide gray electrical tape and replaced the thick strip over the kid's mouth. "Sorry I have to do this, Carl. This old church is pretty isolated, but I don't want to risk someone hearing your noise."
The victim thrashed around, straining at the thick ropes that bound his wrists and ankles to the crude wooden cross. The man carefully placed the first wooden peg at the center of the right wrist. Two pegs left for the task ahead, one for the other wrist, the final one for the feet. He hoped the third peg, the longest and thickest, was strong enough for the crossed feet.
Raising the hammer, the Avenger began his work.
Chapter Nine
Just as he reached the turnoff to Placer Hills, Sheriff Benjamin Slater's pager beeped. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in the number of his dispatcher and all-around assistant. "What's up, Connie?"
"Barrington wants you to call him ASAP."
"How's he sound today?"
A snort came over the line. "Prissy as usual. And a little pissy to boot."
Slater liked Connie Glens. She cut right through the bull crap and told it exactly like she saw it. "I'm almost at Blue Canyon Road. Be there in twenty minutes, give or take. Think he can wait that long?"
"Why not? Give the little prick something to squawk about."
Slater grinned as he severed the connection. Nobody much liked the recently-elected district attorney of Bigler County, but Connie was outspoken enough to voice her opinion. Slater was forced to be more circumspect. As the county's senior law-enforcement officer, Charles Barrington was his direct superior. And that was just damn bad luck.
When Slater reached the office shortly after ten, he found Barrington seated behind the sheriff's desk. Ben leaned against the door jamb and amused himself by watching Charlie Barrington's bantam body try to fill up the space of the comfortable leather chair Ben had hauled out of storage when he took over the position as sheriff last year.
Someone must've told Charlie that all up-and-coming district attorneys wore three-piece Brooks Brothers suits. Today the man was clad in his gray edition, complemented by a maroon striped tie and light paisley handkerchief peeking from the pocket. In the overhead glare of the fluorescent light, his bare head gleamed whitely around the pathetic strands of a sandy-haired comb over.
Barrington crossed his legs at the knee and fiddled with the mouse on Slater's desk, glancing at the computer screen as it lighted up to reveal last year's budget report.
"Can I help you with something, Mr. District Attorney?"
Barrington jumped like a high-strung yapper dog and shoved the mouse away as if it were a dead rat. "Uh, Slater. I, uh, I need to talk to you immediately."
Barrington rarely called Slater by his title, almost as if he disliked conceding the position held by former Sheriff Xavier Marconi, who'd left office suddenly before his term was over. Slater didn't mind the disrespect, but he noted it.
The district attorney frowned, the expression making him look like a chubby-faced baby about to throw a temper tantrum. "Didn't you get my ASAP message?"
"I'm here now. What do you want?" Slater eased into the room and towered over the little man. Barrington stood, but immediately sat down again when he noticed the disparity in their heights. Slater grinned and threw himself into the guest chair opposite his desk. Once he was seated, apparently Charlie felt secure enough to rise. He bounced his fingertips together several times like a professor ready to launch a lecture. Slater sighed, recognizing the signs, and not eager to waste time listening to Barrington's drivel.
"The government wants our help in a matter," Barrington said, pacing around the office and tapping his fingertips together.
"The
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