American Sledgehammer

AMERICAN SLEDGEHAMMER

A short story by J.T. Blacklight

         Tyrone Brown was on the come up, a hustler by all means. He was dead set on making a name for himself. He was a small time drug dealer, a thief, and a murderer. He was quick to pull his glock on anyone who stood in the way of him getting his money. His pants sagged and his hat rested askew atop his faded head. Was this man the product of the cruel oppression and mistreatment of an entire race of people? Or did his ignorance and lack of respect for any form of law simply make him a bad person as an individual, and a menace to society? For Walter Graham, the answer was easy.



         On a late night in the ghetto, Tyrone stood posted up in his usual spot. The street lamps illuminated the dirty neighborhood, the small broken houses and the grafitti lining the walls of old buildings. Tyrone puffed on his menthol cigarette while texting on his phone, trying to, in his words, "find a bitch to get his dick wet later that night." Just then, Tryone noticed deep bass reverberating in the air around him. Just as he looked up, he saw the familiar Lincoln Continental round the corner and head in his direction. Right on time. Tyrone reached in his pocket to grab the bag of sticky purple kush. The car swerved up to the curb slowed to a stop right in front of Tyrone, and the volume of the music dropped. The tinted window rolled down and revealed a face familiar to Tyrone, one of his friends and regular customers. The transaction was quick and easy, as these two had built a trust that is hard to come by in this part of town. The man in the car held out his hand, which cupped many bills. Tyrone's hand, cupping the bag of weed, met his briefly in what would look to any passerby to be like an urban handshake. The exchange was as simple as that.



         The man in the car checked his phone for a moment, and then said "Eh man you heard about dat party over on 4th St.? You wanna hit it up?"



         Tyrone had heard about it, and considered going one last time. "Naw dawg not tonight. You know if dat bitch Trey shows up I'm finna hafta pop a cap in his faggot ass. I ain't tryna get arrested right now."



         The man in the car smiled, and replied "Haha aight playa, do you then. I'll catch up witcha later." Tyrone nodded, and with that the man rolled his window back up, turned the obnoxious music back up, and pulled away.



         Tyrone pulled his phone back out and started texting away, walking toward the nearby alleyway which served as a shortcut back to his home. He walked with a fake limp, and leaning to one side, with both hands and his eyes glued to his phone. He occasionnaly had to reach down and pull his ever-falling pants back up with one hand. As he entered the mouth of the alley, he barely caught the shadow of a man, cast from a far street lamp, before everything went to shit.

~

         Walter Graham stood as flat as he could manage against the stone wall of the apartment complex, his large body completely covered by a both a long trench coat and a ski mask. He watched the criminal intently, as he had from other vantage points the past few nights. Based on what he had seen, Walter knew the criminal was going to walk right through this alleyway when he was ready to leave. All he needed now was patience. He watched as the Lincoln pulled up, and the criminal did the handoff meneuver that Walter had become keen to. Disgusting animals, he thought, fucking monkeys. He watched the car, lifted on oversized spinning rims and blaring outrageously loud music, drive off into the night. Makes me sick.Oh, here he comes!



         Walter reached to his side, staying as silent as possible, and grabbed a hold of the hammer. He lifted the 20 pound sledge and poised for attack. Walter watched the criminal with disgust, his gait stirring up a great rage within him.



         The criminal's first step into that alley was his last in this world. Walter swung the sledgehammer with all his might, which smashed into the criminal's face. The criminal dropped, landing on his back, his face mashed and bleeding. That might have been enough for some people, but Walter was here to send a message, and he wasn't planning on stopping until he turned this criminal into a puddle. He swung down on the dazed criminal, the second strike landing on the left side of the ribcage. The sledge plowed into the ribs, which emitted loud popping sounds as they cracked and splintered under the criminal's skin. The criminal screamed and wailed, reaching to where he had just been hit. Shut up, Walter thought, not taking the time to speak. Walter rose the hammer high again, bringing it down on the man's chest. The chestplate caved with a deep thud and a loud crack, splitting down the middle. The scream died with that blow, and instead the mouth of the criminal made a pathetic gurgling sound, presumably all it could muster. Shut the fuck up, you swine! Walter thought in his rage. He swung down again, this time on the criminal's mouth. What teeth remained were shattered, and the lower jaw ripped from both its hinges, leaving the criminal's mouth gaping. The criminal squirmed and flailed weakly, while more gurlging sounds, along with blood, spewed from the mangled opening. Walter unleashed a series of swings to the criminal's limbs, bashing each one until he was satisfied with the contortion of the broken bones.



         Walter took a step back, and looked upon the brutalized criminal. He was a dilapitated mess, and the pool of blood around him grew with every passing second. It poured from his broken and battered skin. Pieces of bone jutted out of the criminal every which way. The mutilated criminal was still squirming, however it grew less and less fervent as death was taking hold. "This is what you deserve," he said as he looked into the criminal's shocked eyes, which were open wide but darted around wildly in a confused state. Walter stepped forward and stood over the squirming mass, and raised the hammer for the final time. "Now get the fuck off of my planet, you scum." With that, he brought the hammer down on the criminal's head with all the force he could manage. It landed square on the criminal's forehead. His skull crushed against the pavement, sending brain and skull fragments bursting out of the sides of his head. The skull caved in around the head of the hammer, which delved deep into the criminal's brain matter before coming to rest.



         Walter pulled a cloth drawstring sack out of his pocket and bent over the demolished person. He reached down and picked up a single tooth from the bloody debris, whiped it clean on his trenchcoat and had a look at it. That makes 10 even, he thought. Walter opened the drawstring sack and emptied the contents into his hand. He took a moment to admire his collection, especially the single gold tooth that lie amongst them. It was the first one he acquired, after all. Walter smiled, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

~

         Today was a great day for Walter Graham. He had just been promoted to manager, and couldn't wait to get home to his wife to celebrate. However, he drove slowly. The sun seemed to shine brighter for Walter today, and he took in the pleasant sights of his suburban neighborhood as he cruised. He passed the park, watching the good people having fun on this beautiful day. He looked at the children playing on the playground and smiled. This is what we fought for, he thought. Walter was proud to be an American. He looked in the mirror, observing the signs of his aging. His skin was wrinkling, and his gray hair still in the same crew cut he always sported. Some things just stay with you. "Gee, Walter! You're gettin old, buddy! Ahhh, but you still got it!" Walter chuckled to himself and looked back to the road.



         He turned on to his street, and then into the driveway. He admired the lawn for a moment and all the work he put into making it absolutely perfect. He parked the car and stepped out, straightened his suit, and gave a salute to the American flag that flew on his front porch like he always does. He grabbed his briefcase out of the passenger seat and shut the car door. Walter had a bounce in his step for the first time in a long time, and he even whistled a happy tune as he walked up to the door.



         "Honey, I'm home!" Walter was anxious to give her the news of his promotion, so when she didn't answer right away, he tried again. "Honey!? I'M HOME!" Still nothing. Walter left his briefcase by the door, turned to removed his suit jacket and carefully hung it on its hook. "Barbara? Are you there?" It took a moment to set in. The house looked... off, at first. Walter rubbed his eyes and went for a second take, as his vision is not what it used to be. Things were tossed around. Shelves were open, the couch cushions were scattered, and a painting lay fallen to the floor. Oh God, "BARBARA!" Walter ran through the house, his eyes darting around in search of his wife. "BARBARA! ANSWER ME!" He opened every door as he moved swiftly down the hallway and stuck his head in, peering for any sign of Barbara. He heard a moan from upstairs. "I'm coming Barbara!" He bolted up the stairs with unbelievable speed for a man of his age and large size. Another moan, and Walter could hear that it was coming from the bedroom. "Hang on Barbara!" He flung the door open with all of his momentum and assessed the room. Oh God no... Barbara lay on the floor six feet infront of him, covered in blood. There were several rips in her gown, surrounded by splotches of red. She had been repeatedly stabbed, Walter knew, because the handle of the knife still stuck out from her ribs; the blade completely buried. Walter knelt down to her and looked at her wounds, tears streaming down his face "Barbara, I'm going to call an ambulance, do you hear me!? Just hang on, Barbara!" She looked up at him, shaking her head and moaning in agony. With all her strength, she began to raise her arm, and pointed to the closet. With that, Barbara went limp, lifeless. "No Barbara! Hang on! Please, God!" He pulled her in close and embraced her, crying for his wife.



         He knew she was gone, her wounds were extremely severe. "Damnit! Why, God!? Why my Barbara..." He sobbed, then slowly looked up at the closet door. His blood ran cold. In the panic, he didn't realize what Barbara had meant. Not until now. Walter stood up without taking his eyes from the closet door. Between the cracks, he saw a fleeting change in the shadows. Someone was in there. He didnt waste a moment. Walter barrelled toward the door and kicked it in, full force. The wood of the door caved in, and Walter could feel a body behind it. He adjusted his next kick to hit the center mass of the person behind the door. When it landed, the door shattered further, and he could feel the wood of the door being slammed into the person. He pulled back his leg for another kick, but the pieces of the door went flying as the man lunged out from the closet and bolted to the door. During a split second that the man ran past, Walter got a good look at him. The man that broke in to his home and murdered his wife in cold blood. Dark skin, and with dreadlocks swaying behind his running form. One hand clutched desperately at his pants to keep them above his knees as he ran. The one thing that really caught Walter's eye, though, was the tooth. As the man ran past, the light caught his open mouth just right, and the reflection of the gold tooth burned into Walter's memory. Walter tried to chase after the man, but he was too fast. Walter did not give up. He ran out of the house after the man, and down the street, until the man completely disappeared out of sight. I can't let him get away with this, Walter thought as he gasped for breath and inevitably slowed down. The bastard, I'll kill him! I'LL-- "Hrng!" Walter clutched his chest as pain shot through him, followed by numbness. "ugh.." Everything went black.



         Walter awoke in a hospital with a doctor and several nurses peering over him. "Mr. Graham? Mr. Graham, can you hear me?" Walter blinked his eyes many times before he could get a clear picture. "Yeah, yeah, I can hear you." he replied. "How are you feeling, Mr. Graham?" It was the doctor speaking. "I'm a bit conf--" HOLY SHIT Time froze as the memories came flooding back to Walter. "Mr. Graham!? Mr. Graham!? Nurse get me--" Walter cut him off, "That won't be necessary, doctor." his voice surprisingly calm, yet sullen. "Whew! Gave me quite a scare there, Mr. Graham! Glad to see you are alright! You had a heart attack, you know? God must have a plan for you, eh?" Walter smiled a grave smile. "I believe he does, doctor. In fact, I was thinking the same thing myself."