The Punisher

Description

“The Punisher” had a mission: to wreak revenge on those who had escaped justice and who, surely, deserved the worst possible punishment.  He appointed himself judge, jury and executioner but, unfortunately, most of those – drug dealers, gangsters and the like – had the resources to protect themselves.  So, The Punisher decided to hurt and then kill what those criminals loved most, which in The Punisher’s mind would be the criminal’s daughter, particularly if that young woman was attractive and desirable, and no matter whether the young woman herself was guilty of any crime.

Cunning and careful, he presented the police with almost no evidence of who was committing the horrific murders, but The Punisher also had problems of his own that, eventually, led him to question his motives…

NOTE:  Although this book has a few scenes typical of John Savage’s erotic BDSM novels, it also is a psychological/crime thriller including both sexual and non-sexual murders.

Published Jan 2017               45,000 words

The small troll-like creature with the long blue hair and gray skin looked at him with what seemed to be reproach.

“What you lookin’ at?” The Punisher asked him.

The troll did not answer but the man knew what he was thinking.  “Okay, so I’m a bastard!” he blurted out.  “I did a number on some maybe innocent girls.  But hell, maybe – mark that – they might have been just as dirty as their parents, or whatever.”

The troll continued to say nothing.

“Okay.  I won’t do that any more.”  He sighed and closed his eyes.  “Maybe my method of justice wasn’t the best.  But my motivation is right.  Someone has got to clean up the trash that infects our city.”

The tiny ball with spikes that hung from a small chain in his hand swayed slightly with the breeze coming in the window.

“I’m not really a sexual sadist,” the man told the toy in a quieter tone.  “Not really.  I like women.  Most of them.  A few I even thought I might be falling in love with.  But that was when I was younger and didn’t amount to much.”  He snorted a laugh, quick and derisive. “I may be sick, but I’m not that kind of sick.  I hurt them for a reason.”

The troll showed no sympathy.

“Oh, hell!  What do I care what you think?  You’re just a dumb toy.  I don’t know why I ever bought you in the first place.”

Pushing away from the desk, he rose and headed for the kitchen.  While he fixed a lunch, he switched on the small TV sitting on the counter.  It was his habit to watch the news so he could keep himself appraised of the events happening in that huge city sprawling along the Pacific coast.  He kept the set turned to an all-news channel and rarely changed it.

“A police spokesman said that it was highly unlikely that the two cases were connected due to the fact the victims were killed in such dissimilar manners,” the announcer was saying.  In the background was an external view of the small wooden shack in the mountains wherein they had found the body of that DelGato woman.  In that video, two uniformed officers stood watching as a covered body was carried out on a stretcher.

“Bullshit!” exclaimed The Punisher.  “Idiots!”  Then he paused.  “Oh…  They don’t want to alarm the public.  Sexual serial killers get the public all riled up.  Makes people blame the cops for not catching him.”  As he smeared peanut butter on his bread, he was smiling.  The thought flashed into his brain that it might be interesting to kill a few more young women.  The connection could not be kept hidden for very long then, and when it came out the news would play up the story big time.  Serial killers made for good reporting.  And ratings.

For a few moments he stood there, frozen with the knife suspended over the bread while he considered that idea.  His files still have a few younger female relatives of bad guys.  To punish them for their father’s sins would be no problem.  Three successes made him a more than a little cocky.  He had been extremely careful and doubted that the police could ever catch him.  For long seconds he savored the idea.  Even so far as to wonder how he would punish those girls.  The images that conjured up were graphic.

Slamming the knife down, he moaned and clutched his head.  Another of those damned headaches was starting.  He fumbled in his pocket for the small brown plastic bottle of painkillers.  He could not deny that they were getting more frequent and severe.

Later, his sandwich unfinished and uneaten, he sagged in the recliner with his eyes closed, waiting for the painkiller to make him drift away from the pain.  It would still be there but he would not care.  Powerful pills, whatever they were.  As the increasing pain began to subside, he took in a deep breath and reconsidered.  Maybe it would not be right to keep on torturing and killing those girls.  He remembered the look of pure terror on their faces as they realized he was going to kill them.  That was so much more than the look of pain; a whole order of magnitude greater.  The fear of death.  We all have it, he told himself.  But when the moment comes and death is facing us – that is different from the general day-to-day dislike we have for thinking that we all will die someday.  That is true fear.  He had seen it in their eyes.

“All right!” he said aloud to the empty room.  “I’ll concentrate on the actual bad guys.”  His resolution was sincere.  Yet, in the back corner of his mind, lurked the thought that he could always return to punishing the offspring.  Maybe where he could not get at the main target.  Whatever.

An hour later, he struggled to his feet and made for the kitchen and the unfinished sandwich.