All Due Respect Issue #1 by Mike Miner, Chris F. Holm, Todd Robinson, Renee Asher Pickup, Paul D. Brazill, Travis Richardson, Walter Conley Page A
Authors: Mike Miner, Chris F. Holm, Todd Robinson, Renee Asher Pickup, Paul D. Brazill, Travis Richardson, Walter Conley
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lumberyard. He shut off the headlights but left the car idling.
Jack would be history now, disposed of like garbage, all traces of him removed.
Isaac finished his coffee.
He shivered as the mercury fell, jammed his hands between his thighs.
A pick-up truck approached, passed the lumberyard, veered into Earl’s driveway. Isaac sat up. He watched Earl and Spig—another of Tommy’s thugs—go into the house. Light flared in the living room. Shadows played behind the curtains. The light went off. The two men exited the house, looking from side to side. They went to the truck and drove past Isaac, oblivious to him.
Isaac followed at a distance. They led him to Groton and north to Ledyard, a small farming town. At the end of the town’s main drag, they took a side road. The pick-up stopped in the front yard of a ranch house. It was surrounded by woods much denser than those in Wellesport. There was a yellow bulb on by the door. Tommy’s Lexus, a Subaru Brat, and a rust-eaten Chevelle sat in the driveway. Henry Sloan’s Galaxie 5 was missing.
He didn’t know who lived there. Another of Tommy’s new recruits? Part of his punkass vision for the future?
The gang had probably all met somewhere, established an alibi while Isaac and Jack were supposed to be killed, then split up for the night.
Isaac drove past the house to a weedy trail that looked like it was used for hunting or cutting wood. He went until it banked and crested a hill and he could park hidden from the road. He extinguished the headlights again with the motor still on. The darkness was solid here. Isaac fetched the gun from under the seat. He raised the coffee cup to his lips, forgetting he’d drank it already, lobbed it onto the floorboard.
Was he moving too fast? Shouldn’t he wait, lurk in the shadows and nail Tommy alone?
Fuck that. He’d rather do it now, while his anger was hot, his body primed for anything—before he could talk himself out of it. Tommy wouldn’t expect him to hit this soon. It would give him an edge.
Isaac tugged off the itchy cap. He walked to the road, leaving the driver’s door open. He might need to hop in with no time to spare. Even if the trail dead-ended ahead, he’d get a decent jump on them.
He skirted the ditch with the gun in his hand. Its weight caused his arm to swing in rhythm, loosening his shoulder.
A voice inside his head, Jack’s voice, said: Kill him .
“I will,” Isaac said.
He gritted his teeth as he entered the yard. Would they have someone posted outside? Isaac hoped not. He didn’t want to shoot anyone else, but would if it came to that.
He walked around the house, slowing his pace at the back. He’d go in this way, he thought, catch them off-guard.
Earl looked at him from the steps, where he sat with a stick in his leather-gloved hands. He froze for an instant—probably to convince himself that Isaac wasn’t a figment of his imagination—then tossed the stick, grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. His other hand snaked into the pocket of his coat.
“Goddammit,” Isaac said.
He hadn’t stopped and was ten feet from Earl when he pointed the gun and fired. Earl doubled over, squealing. Isaac stomped his forehead and Earl tumbled, clutching his stomach, drawing up his knees.
Isaac went up the steps, into the kitchen, sweeping the gun like a flashlight, hearing people yell from other rooms, scramble for cover. A door opened at the front of the house and the voices faded.
He locked the kitchen door, forcing whoever had gone outside to either break it down or run back to the front after they discovered Earl.
He made a quick circuit of the hallways, passing vacant bedrooms. In the living room, by the front door, a young man he’d never seen held a rifle in trembling arms. Isaac didn’t have the heart. He aimed at the kid’s knee but plugged his thigh on accident. The kid dropped the rifle and staggered, hands up defensively.
Isaac went took another hall that circled
Jack would be history now, disposed of like garbage, all traces of him removed.
Isaac finished his coffee.
He shivered as the mercury fell, jammed his hands between his thighs.
A pick-up truck approached, passed the lumberyard, veered into Earl’s driveway. Isaac sat up. He watched Earl and Spig—another of Tommy’s thugs—go into the house. Light flared in the living room. Shadows played behind the curtains. The light went off. The two men exited the house, looking from side to side. They went to the truck and drove past Isaac, oblivious to him.
Isaac followed at a distance. They led him to Groton and north to Ledyard, a small farming town. At the end of the town’s main drag, they took a side road. The pick-up stopped in the front yard of a ranch house. It was surrounded by woods much denser than those in Wellesport. There was a yellow bulb on by the door. Tommy’s Lexus, a Subaru Brat, and a rust-eaten Chevelle sat in the driveway. Henry Sloan’s Galaxie 5 was missing.
He didn’t know who lived there. Another of Tommy’s new recruits? Part of his punkass vision for the future?
The gang had probably all met somewhere, established an alibi while Isaac and Jack were supposed to be killed, then split up for the night.
Isaac drove past the house to a weedy trail that looked like it was used for hunting or cutting wood. He went until it banked and crested a hill and he could park hidden from the road. He extinguished the headlights again with the motor still on. The darkness was solid here. Isaac fetched the gun from under the seat. He raised the coffee cup to his lips, forgetting he’d drank it already, lobbed it onto the floorboard.
Was he moving too fast? Shouldn’t he wait, lurk in the shadows and nail Tommy alone?
Fuck that. He’d rather do it now, while his anger was hot, his body primed for anything—before he could talk himself out of it. Tommy wouldn’t expect him to hit this soon. It would give him an edge.
Isaac tugged off the itchy cap. He walked to the road, leaving the driver’s door open. He might need to hop in with no time to spare. Even if the trail dead-ended ahead, he’d get a decent jump on them.
He skirted the ditch with the gun in his hand. Its weight caused his arm to swing in rhythm, loosening his shoulder.
A voice inside his head, Jack’s voice, said: Kill him .
“I will,” Isaac said.
He gritted his teeth as he entered the yard. Would they have someone posted outside? Isaac hoped not. He didn’t want to shoot anyone else, but would if it came to that.
He walked around the house, slowing his pace at the back. He’d go in this way, he thought, catch them off-guard.
Earl looked at him from the steps, where he sat with a stick in his leather-gloved hands. He froze for an instant—probably to convince himself that Isaac wasn’t a figment of his imagination—then tossed the stick, grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. His other hand snaked into the pocket of his coat.
“Goddammit,” Isaac said.
He hadn’t stopped and was ten feet from Earl when he pointed the gun and fired. Earl doubled over, squealing. Isaac stomped his forehead and Earl tumbled, clutching his stomach, drawing up his knees.
Isaac went up the steps, into the kitchen, sweeping the gun like a flashlight, hearing people yell from other rooms, scramble for cover. A door opened at the front of the house and the voices faded.
He locked the kitchen door, forcing whoever had gone outside to either break it down or run back to the front after they discovered Earl.
He made a quick circuit of the hallways, passing vacant bedrooms. In the living room, by the front door, a young man he’d never seen held a rifle in trembling arms. Isaac didn’t have the heart. He aimed at the kid’s knee but plugged his thigh on accident. The kid dropped the rifle and staggered, hands up defensively.
Isaac went took another hall that circled
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