Page 27 of Necessary Evil

“I’m more concerned with the Judge’s timetable.” Sentinel sighed.

There was only so much they could say on an unsecured line, but Evil knew he was talking about the two other jobs that had come in right on the heels of the orders for the execution of Kramer and the rapist. Shortly after Evil had retired, the Judge had contacted him with a unique opportunity for him and his friends, and they had been working with the Judge ever since, cleaning up the trash. Lately the SOBs had been very busy.

One of the two new orders had been for two gangbangers who’d shot up a school. Ryder had taken care of that in a spectacular if disturbing fashion, blowing up a meth lab with the two of them inside it. Of course, they’d already been dead when she set off the explosion—or so Evil assumed, anyway. It was hard to tell with Ryder.

The other job was Sentinel’s. He was going after a militant by the name of Barton who was making homemade bombs in his basement. The Judge didn’t want the police involved in arresting him because he was afraid of collateral damage if the takedown went bad—he’d confirmed that the place was booby-trapped to all hell and back. Sentinel had the expertise to disarm it. But so did a lot of people who were on the bomb squad. Of course, if Ryder hadn’t just blown the shit out of an RV, Sentinel could have timed a controlled implosion with the douchebag inside. Now, however, they couldn’t risk another explosion in such a short period, even though the two cases were nothing alike. It made Sentinel’s job more difficult. He’d have to sneak in. Kill the prick. Disarm everything. Make it look like an expert hadn’t been there. And then tell the Judge it was safe to send in the cops. Sentinel had bitched to Ryder about making it difficult for him. She’d shrugged and called him a pussy, then she offered to do the job herself if Ryder’s panties were in too much of a bunch to do it.

She could get away with that shit because she’d earned that right a long time ago. Ryder had smuggled Evil’s sister, Jules, into her house when things got bad with their father. She’d shared her clothes with Jules and Sentinel’s sister, Sarah. And when their heat had been turned off, Ryder stole money from her daddy’s wallet to pay the delinquent bills.

“You didn’t complete the job yet, right?” Evil asked.

“Not yet.”

“Do you need help?”

Sentinel snorted. “No, I can do it in my sleep. I just think the Judge needs to back it off a bit. Even without similar circumstances, there’s going to be some suspicion going around about all these perps taking a dirt nap.”

Evil made a chopping motion with his hand—Sentinel wasn’t being as discreet as he liked. He looked over his shoulder to see if he’d gotten the message. Sentinel flipped him the bird.

“No one is going to look too hard.” Evil knew from experience that detectives had more than enough cases to worry about than to go looking for reasons why shit stains got offed. What bothered Evil was a couple of jobs the Judge had recently sent over that hadn’t even gone to trial. Sure, Kramer the pedophile had been violating his parole left and right, and it was conceivable that by killing him Evil had also saved another kid from becoming one of Kramer’s victims. But the gangbangers? There should have been an arrest before the SOBs got called in. Not that he was going to shed any tears over those scumbags. And the militant hadn’t harmed anyone yet—although what the fuck else was he going to do with homemade bombs?

Everyone deserves a fair trial,Lucy’s voice said in his head.

In the gangbangers’ case, witnesses in the neighborhood wouldn’t talk to the police, so there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest the punks; conviction wasn’t even on the table. The Judge said he had several eyewitnesses who’d seen the punks shoot up the school but were too afraid to make an official statement. Part of the SOBs’ deal with the Judge was that they trusted him to make the call. But the fine line separating Evil from the criminals was becoming fainter with each kill they made. That ate at him.

You’ve got to strike first, boy.

Evil blinked at the sound of his father’s voice in his head. The wind slapping him in the face felt like the backhand that had come out of nowhere.

Because that’s how you trained an eight-year-old boy not to let his guard down. You waited in dark corners and attacked him from cover. His father had stopped that shit when Evil became big enough to hit back. At least Evil had saved his sister from those lessons.

While the adult Evil was never surprised because he expected the blow, he didn’t agree with throwing the first punch. He didn’t agree with killing someone based on what that person might do.

You’re an idiot,his old man slurred in his head.

Maybe he was an idiot, but at least he wasn’t a drunk.

It was a wonder any of the SOBs had survived adolescence. At least they’d had each other. It was because of that bond that Evil had learned to trust. Warden’s family had fed them when they were hungry. Sarah had mothered them all and continued to do so even after they grew up, until she’d been murdered two years ago. Her murderer was still out there, maybe even killing other people’s sisters. “You ever doubt the Judge?” Evil asked after a few miles of brooding silence.

“Shit no. I wouldn’t complete the job if I did.”

Evil grunted in agreement. He didn’t trust the Judge, but he trusted Sentinel’s judgment. Still, it didn’t feel as much like justice as like putting down a rabid dog. Evil was afraid of crossing a line so invisible he wouldn’t know he had done it until it was irrevocable.

But that shit was for philosophers and armchair warriors, neither of which Evil had any intention of becoming. He changed the subject and talked about fixing Warden’s ride and other bullshit until they crossed the Pennsylvania state line and made arrangements to meet up with Warden.

They picked him up at another diner and drove him back to where his bike was. Warden’s instincts had been good. Sure enough, a pickup truck full of good ol’ boys was waiting in the parking lot of the diner not too far from Warden’s bike.

“Did you bend the frame?” Sentinel asked, holding his bike steady while Warden swung off the back of it.

“Naw. The alignment’s off, though.”

“Got a cracked case,” Evil pointed out. He shut off his engine but remained seated. He wanted to see what the locals were going to do first.

“Yeah. You brought the epoxy, right? The stuff in my kit is all dried up.”

Sentinel made a tsk-tsk sound. “I thought you were a Boy Scout.”

“I got the clamps for the handlebars too,” Evil said. He got off his bike when the pickup truck’s doors opened and six guys came out.

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