Warning: This chapter contains strong language and images.
God how he wanted to kill that SOB – wanted to smash his skull in, wanted to hear the crack of it as it broke. He wanted to scream rant, rave, and tear things up.
“You stupid SOB, of course she doesn’t remember killing Saul’s dog, or her Mom’s cat, cause it wasn’t her, it was me. As for Saul, he had told on me about the cat. Killing his dog seemed like the right thing to do. He smiled as he remembered how Saul had thrown up all over his shoes watching slid the knife into the dog’s soft belly.
And I weren’t running around pretending to be a man, I am a man. And you’re gonna find that out!”
He wanted to push Rebecca’s mousy little personality out of the way and yell, you’re too late asshole, I’ve already seen those pictures, last year at Sam’s big Thanksgiving party. Of course, Sam’s nigger wife didn’t give me the time of day. I walked around the place for an hour or more before Sam spotted me. Yeah, good old Sam. Maybe, he’d breakout the film he’d taken of the crash and watch it again tonight.
You were right, though, seeing those pictures and all that Sam and Curtis had, reminded me that I had a score to settle with those bastards. They had everything and I had nothing. And you, you SOB, you’re alive only because, let’s face, your life sucks.
Right then and there, he decided Saul was next.
For more pictures of the mid-air collision that happened over the skies of Park Slope, Brooklyn in December 1960, click on the link below.