Billy Williamson
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Billy Williamson was a bad man, that is to say a very not nice man. His entire life was an exercise in being very not nice – bad. By the age of six he was torturing small animals, people we wont to blame his poor confused parents, but really, no one had an idea why as he progressed in age and nastiness. Billy was not particularly large or strong and he certainly was not attractive. Billy Williamson was mediocre in all respects but one – meanness. If he managed a bit of charm it had only one end and that was an unkindness, and worse – it needed have no point, no rationale beyond that it brought someone or something pain. It is sometimes said of a person that they are a waste of skin or a misuse of oxygen – in a rational universe Billy Williamson would have had neither, unfortunately the universe does not enforce rationality.
Billy’s environs had the fortune that few people found him to be likable and many animals seemed to have a natural sense of mistrust because any who had sustained contact came to regret that, providing they survived the experience. Sadly, living in a large city provided Billy with enough … fodder … that his proclivities produced an extensive list of victims. Such numbers naturally enough led to a rap sheet of sorts, not as a long as one might expect from such a person – due to the lack of criminality of most of his depredations and the fear induced in the victims of actual crimes. No confidants could betray him; they simply did not exist thanks to his to the core rottenness. Time spent with Billy Williamson had only one end – harm.
The police were very nearly oblivious to his existence, he moved among no particular grouping beyond that which marks powerless victims. The poor are the most powerless but the inability to retaliate extends far beyond that simple categorization and Billy had an almost preternatural instinct to select for that. He roamed the city freely dealing destruction as long as he stayed within those parameters. Billy made an error in judgment one day, it was inevitable that it would happen and so it did.
Fawn David was not quite as alone in the ally as it seemed when she found Jaime Fahrney, Billy Williams was walking past the alley entrance. “Well now, what’s that David woman up to, there?” he wondered as he watched her reach into the refrigerator box. He watched puzzled as Fawn helped the bloody Jaime out of the box and up to her place. “I might be able to do myself some good here,” he remarked to himself. And so, Billy wandered out of his zone of safety.
Over the next two days Billy asked careful questions of anyone who would speak to him, either out of ignorance or fear. What he found out increased his interest…both in his monetary fortunes and lust for meanness. It seemed that someone had played poker with Little near the alley and the ending had been unfortunate for that player. Why it had worked out that way wasn’t exactly clear but what was clear was that Little was…pissed and not the least happy that the player wasn’t a body in the morgue. Identities beyond Little’s were entirely lacking in the story as it dribbled out to Billy’s ears. “That,” he figured, “was something to be remedied.” He began to watch Fawn and her place as carefully as he could and so was looking as the stereo shop delivered several large boxes. “She needs to be talked to,” he muttered.
Billy was waiting in the shadows of the alley the next day when Fawn David returned from her cleaning jobs, tired from the grind of polishing up the houses of people who wouldn’t have spoken to her outside the job and the long bus ride to and from where such people can afford to live. Billy watched as Fawn began the trudge up her stairs and moved to the edge of the wall and waited until she had unlocked and begun to open the door to dash up the stairs two at a time. Fawn had turned toward the noise so Billy shoved her stumbling backwards through the partially open door to land on her butt on the floor of her living room. “Gawd save me, don’t hurt me mister!” she exclaimed fear blanching her dark features. Billy stood above her menacing with fist raised, “Tell me about that man from the alley.” “Don’t know him,” she snuffed through tears. “Tell me his name and where he is, or I’ll hurt you,” Billy demanded in a peculiar cross between a growl and whine. “All I know is his name is Jaime,” Fawn half lied hoping God would understand her predicament. “What about that man who came for him?” Billy’s growl losing ground to the whine. “Don’t know nuttin’ ‘bout him,” Fawn lied completely giving herself over to the sin. “Bullshit, I’m gonna hurt you real bad,” Billy whined in frustration and in that moment seemed more dangerous than he had at any time in the encounter. “Honest mister, I’d tell you if I knew anything,” Fawn sobbed in fear, of Billy and the impossibility of retrieving the already spoken lies – and most acutely of her desire to now save herself at Jaime’s expense. Billy’s fist arced down into Fawn’s nose which broke with an eruption of blood driving her head back onto the floor. A running shoe shod foot whipped onto the side of her face, once, twice, three times, “If I find out you know any more or you tell anybody about me I’ll hurt you a lot worse,” Billy’s voice was a snarl as he launched a kick into the writhing woman’s ribs. He whirled around and dashed back out the door and down the stairs.
Billy pause a moment at the entrance of the alley, breathing hard – not from exertion but in exultation, “I showed that bitch,” he whispered fiercely, “She’ll think real hard before she crosses me!” He stepped off down the sidewalk with a bounce in his stride. He didn’t notice the parked Harley with the lean dark faced rider smoking a cigarette opposite the alley, he just walked on lost in the glory of beating on a fat black cleaning lady. After an ambulance arrived, loaded Fawn and left, the Harley fired and roared down the street.
It was late afternoon when Jaime’s phone rang, “Bad news, brother… I got to thinking on that lady that helped you and decided to keep an eye out,” Duane’s tense voice sounded in the receiver. “An ambulance just rolled out of there and I’m pretty sure it was her. Mercy Hospital is where it went.” Jaime’s response was terse, “Anything else?” “Well, I saw some little rat bastard come out and go bouncing down the street…I’ll bet you I can find out who he is and where to find him.” Jaime’s voice was tight as he responded, “You do that, low key. I’m out of here, going to the hospital and then…well, shit.”
Jaime Fahrney stalked up to the reception desk and asked the pleasantly smiling woman, “Is Fawn David here?” She looked up at him and asked, “Who are you, sir?” Jaime’s smile was a bit grim, “I’m her son, Jaime.” The receptionist typed, looked at her screen, and cocked her head at Jaime, “I rather doubt that, sir.” Jaime’s smile tightened a bit more, “I didn’t say she gave birth to me.” Flustered she nearly stuttered, “Oh, oh certainly sir, she’s in 203.” Jaime nodded and looked at her expectantly, “Um, take the elevator over there and turn right on second floor,” she smiled again, composure regained.
Jaime stopped in the room’s doorway, looked at Fawn and in a husky voice said, “Damn it Fawn, I never meant for anything bad to happen to you. Shit, I thought we were careful…” Fawn interrupted him, “Now hush that kinda talk, Jaime; the good Lord don’t approve.” An honest smile crossed his face, “Tell me what happened.” So Fawn told him, her swollen face ranging through an entire gamut of emotions, from fear to shame to pride, finishing with, “So he don’t know more than your first name, Jaime, I hope the good Lord will forgive me.” Jaime shook his head slowly, his soft warm smile belied by tight cold eyes, “You took an awful chance on my regard, lady. I owed you a lot before and now even more…and I owe that little bastard and intend to pay that one.” Fawn’s puffed eyes widened, “Now you be careful, you hear?” Jaime barked a laugh, “Well, sure honey…as careful as ever,” and walked out – a man struck to the heart by the occasional nature of his fellow human beings.
Jaime slouched down on Duane’s couch, “So, you find out anything?” Duane wrinkled his face, “Took some doing, folks that ain’t scared spitless of him don’t like him a bit. He’s a piece of work, that one. Something wrong with the little prick, mean wrong, and he’s known. 420 Euclid, he’s got the basement apartment. Want some help?” Jaime looked thoughtful and frowned, eyes wrinkling, “No buddy, this is real personal…appreciate it, though.” He winced as he stood to leave and Duane noticed, “Still not right, eh?” Jaime winked at him, “Nah, I’m fine. A little exercise’ll probably do me some good. Thanks, my friend.”
Once again Jaime found himself walking the poor streets of the neighborhood Fawn lived in, he’d called a cab from a service station several blocks from his home and been dropped also several blocks from his destination. His dress was unremarkable, Carhartt work pants and jacket, worn but serviceable over the one remarkable bit of attire, heavy logger’s boots. His face was bland but his mind was coldly playing scenarios, none of them friendly, he’d reached no decision how this was all going to play out (at least not beyond violently). He entered the building through a dilapidated door with no lock and no call box, found the stairs down and stopped outside the one door on the basement floor. He moved close to it and listened intently. He could hear someone moving around inside mumbling but no other voices. He examined the door latch, a simple passage lock with no dead bolt, nodded to himself and backed to the far side of the hall. He took a quick step, launched himself into the air drawing his knee back and slammed his boot sole onto the door next to the handle. The impact of the boot was louder than the sound of the latch tearing out of the frame and he landed inside still moving for a couple steps.
Billy Williamson, clad in a shabby robe, whirled toward the sound of the molestation of his door, mouth dropping open as the dark-haired tan faced man stopped on the verge of his living room. He got part way through the exclamation of “What?” as the man took two large strides to him, shoulder drawing back with elbow, and then the pad of his palm smashed into his nose. The sound was something he’d never heard before, a crunch mixed with a splash, light flared across his vision, and he was unsure how through a red haze he found himself seeing his ceiling. A body loomed above him and he saw a boot sole, ribbed and heeled, and then his right hand exploded in pain. He started to squeal, there was a flash of leather and rubber and his mouth ceased to work. He could barely see, the entire front of his face was dead – cold – but his hearing was preternaturally acute. He could hear the muted thud of the boots as they moved around his head and the whispering rustle of heavy fabric and slow steady breathing. He tried to scream as his left hand was crushed into the floor by another heavy impact but the sound was muted and guttural. He was barely conscious of his left foot being lifted but the sharp snapping sound and exquisite pain of his knee being driven backward were clear but as the right knee received the same treatment he was past being aware and didn’t even feel the boot toe that broke three ribs, one of which pierced his lung.
As Jaime walked to the door he turned his head to look at the broken motionless bleeding body, for a moment he felt slightly ill, and then coldness coursed through his mind as he saw Fawn’s broken face and remembered her sweet disposition in the face of all the adversity of her life. He could do nothing to lift her out of her circumstances but that rat bastard would never trouble her or her compatriots in powerlessness again. ‘It’s not rationalizing,’ he thought, ‘it’s a cure of this one problem.’ He walked a few blocks to a convenience store, not a grocery to be found in these parts, and took a cab to another service station some distance from home where he dropped into an easy chair and slept.
Billy Williamson woke three days later in a hospital bed, still a small mean man – but one without the means to engage in his behaviors. He would never walk again, never make a fist again, in fact lifting a coffee cup would take both mangled hands and there was some doubt he’d ever chew solid food. He honestly tried to tell the police what had happened to him, but like the small dumb animals he’d tormented he didn’t know why or how it could happen – all he would ever be sure of was pain…and fear. Those would be his lonely companions.
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