Rene Santini Brushed down his jacket and adjusted his already perfectly positioned tie. He looked around at the run-down neighbourhood in which he now found himself and sighed; it had not always been this way. Only a few short years ago Rene had grown up on these very streets. Yes, the times had been hard, the streets had been rough, and the men that walked them had been hard and tough. But those men had gone now leaving the pimps, drug dealers and prostitutes: the dregs of a once sociable society. Not many people would have felt comfortable alone in the neighbourhood now, but this was not the case for Santini. He was a tall, well built man and his very presence – like his father before him – seemed to command authority.
As he continued to stare at the depressing landscape, Santini’s thoughts flitted back to his childhood. The familiar streets and alleys where he used to play, the town park where he had first experimented – although only briefly – with cigarettes and the old abandoned warehouse where he had lost his virginity. He could remember Molly’s face well enough, her broad smile with a mouth habitually adorned with too much lipstick. She was the girl that the whole town talked about. Teenaged lads would whisper about the reputation that she had for dropping her panties for the price of a beer or two. But, oddly, Santini was never really interested. Somehow the thought of paying for sex didn’t do much for him and it was only after he had heard Molly’s cries for help and subsequently seen the two men that had her pinned down on the dusty floor of the old warehouse that he actually got to know the reputed girl at all. It had been rage more than anything that sparked him off. Molly was spread eagled on the floor with her skirt pulled roughly up to her waist. Her panties lay discarded to one side and while one man held her firmly down the other was preparing to enter her. Rene flew straight at the men, fists and boots flying in a murderous rage that lasted only a few minutes before the would-be rapists realised that they were no match at all and beat a hasty retreat.
Molly had been overwhelmed by her rescue but still aware enough to thank her young hero by straddling Santini’s thighs and riding him until his climax burst deep inside her. But not only had the incident rid Santini of his virginity, but as soon as word about his daring intervention had circulated, people started to treat him differently. Men would defer to him reverently and women would smile as he passed them in the street. A room would go silent as he entered it. In short, Santini had the respect of the town. But with that respect came problems: there were always others that would challenge his authority and Santini knew that, on these occasions, there was only one way to deal with the situation.
Santini had pulled his car over to the curb outside a small, dilapidated looking two-storey house. He noticed that the outside was in quite a state and would certainly benefit from a coat or two of fresh paint. But he wasn’t there to offer his services as a handyman. Santini had bigger fish to fry.
Pressing the doorbell of the small house seemed not to illicit any sound and so Rene used the flat of his hand to rouse the occupants. He could hear noises from within and while he waited for the door to be opened he picked at a stray hair on his sleeve. In a few moments he heard the rattle of the security chain being hitched and braced his hand against the door in readiness. As soon as the door opened to the latch Rene shoved it forward. The wood surround splintered noisily as the chain broke free and he pushed himself forward, past the woman who stood back cluelessly and into the main part of the house.
“Where is he?” Santini demanded.
The woman’s face looked blankly back but no words came forth.
“You know why I’m here, Cheryl. WHERE IS HE?”
The woman’s eyes flickered slightly in the direction of a door and Rene acted immediately. Another frame splintered as the big man barged through the door and he found himself in what he guessed was the downstairs guest’s bedroom. He was aware of Cheryl standing wordlessly behind him as his eyes rested on a small, weasely looking man sitting on the edge of the bed. Rene knew Cheryl and Tony Mason well – at least by Tony Mason’s reputation – and was struck for the first time at the contrast in the couple. Tony was a small man in stature and mind, his long mousy coloured hair seemed to be in permanent need of a wash and his clothes looked as if they had been slept in. But Cheryl was the complete antithesis of her husband. A little younger than him, she stood tall and confident. Her long black hair complimented an attractive heart-shaped face that was in little need of makeup and the loose fitting black dress that she wore bore promises of a shapely body beneath.
“You’re a thief and a liar!” Santini burst out as he quickly brought his mind back to the job in hand.
“No Mr. Santini. I never…not me…”
“You make me angrier as you lie further, Mason.” Rene interrupted. “You steal from those who cannot defend or protect themselves. Well, I am here to protect them. And to see that justice is done.”
Tony Mason’s eyes widened as Santini drew a long cosh from under his jacket and slapped it menacingly into his open palm. He whimpered pathetically and withdrew further back onto the bed.
“No Mr. Santini, please.” Rene’s head turned as he heard Cheryl Mason speak in her husbands’ defence. “He knows what he has done already. I gave him something to think about.”
Santini returned his piercing eyes to Mason and for the first time saw the large dark coloured bruise that covered the left side of his face.
“You did this?”
“I did.” Cheryl averred emphatically. “Perhaps he has been punished enough, Mr Santini?”
Rene snorted derisively and took a step towards the cowering Mason shaking his head.
“No, Cheryl. I understand and appreciate your involvement, but justice must be done.”
“Or seen to be done, perhaps?” Cheryl asked.
Santini turned back to the dark haired woman again and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“What if everyone knew that Tony Mason allowed his wife to be taken by another man? He would be humiliated in front of the whole town, wouldn’t he? In front of all his so-called friends. He would be finished. A broken man.”
Santini’s eyebrow lifted further in enquiry. “You would do this thing? For this useless piece of shit?”
“He may be useless, but my husband he still is. Yes I would do this thing.”
