The Judge

A quick writer's note:

Tags for this story: Drama, Rescue, Stranger, and Violence.

This is my first venture into the non-Erotic category, so I hope I do it justice.

I've been a country music fan since I was a child staying in my grandparent's apartment over their restaurant/bar and listening to the steel guitar coming through the floor. One of the things I love about that genre, especially the older stuff, is that the songs often tell a story. I've written a few stories inspired by songs trying to fill in any gaps, and here is another. If interested, the others are "Austin" in the Romance section and "A Farmer's Son" in Loving Wives.

I recently heard "'Wait in the Truck" for the first time, and it had an impact. It reminded me of the old storytelling style and how not all heroes are "Angels." It was written and sung by Michael Hardy, with vocals added by Lainey Wilson. I encourage you to listen to it.

The song reminded me of something a character I'm developing would do. It fits his sense of right and wrong. That character is named Bull. We first met him in the Loving Wives category in my "Conversations" series. "Conversations 06" (-Bull) introduces him and what he is capable of. You won't necessarily need to read that to enjoy this story, but it can't hurt. My stories don't always precisely follow the songs; this story is no exception.

I want to thank my editors for their collaboration and advice. The story is a better one because of them. Charlie, John, Demosthenes384bc, Twiceretrired, KenD, and HighLuster all have contributed.

I love collaborating with people, so I'm always interested in expanding our editing team. If you are interested in being a part of the team, please send me your email address through private messaging, and I'll shoot you my stories.

It's been sixty months since I was last here. Five long years. Here was a lonely little truck stop in the middle of nowhere, USA. I ambled to the back of the neglected oasis. It had seen its best days twenty years ago, but even now, it's my mainstay whenever I have business in this neck of nowhere.

I watched a very pregnant, maybe twenty-five-year-old, average-looking redhead. She was waddling from table to table, refilling coffee cups, and delivering all-American breakfasts of fat, cholesterol, carbs, and calories in varying combinations. That's my favorite kind of breakfast, as my substantial belly attests.

She caught me watching and gave me a sly wink and a smile. Her smile warmed me. It told me that I'm not a total loser and fuck-up. It also reminded me of how evil I can be and how far I've fallen since my ex-wife, Janet, decided to fuck me over with my brother. Not sure I'll ever understand what makes a wife dishonor her husband that way. One day I'll have to have that conversation with her. For now, I just needed a reminder that occasionally I can do the right thing. As I waited for my plate of what can only be described as a cardiovascular nightmare, I thought back to the first time I saw the woman I was watching.

It was in the middle of June five years ago; I was out here doing a job for my boss. I wasn't happy because my quarry was running. I hate when the punks I'm chasing run. Whether they do or don't, the results are always the same; I catch up with them. The only difference is that it takes me longer if they run, which pisses me off even more. And therefore, when I finally catch them, the results are even messier than they would have been for offenders who had the balls to face the music.

It was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock, and I regretted not digging the hole first. Damn it, Bull! When will you ever learn?

I always gave myself more credit for being a better planner, but I'd let myself down this time. Of course, my friend wasn't complaining as he waited patiently, lying there in the mud. His caring ended hours earlier. As I rolled him into his forever home, I glimpsed a glint of silver. I paused his roll, and since I was still wearing my gloves, I extracted a heavy object from under his coat. It was an awe-inspiring weapon. It didn't surprise me that he would carry an audacious firearm, and this one was. He used to be a low-level street thug who thought that presentation and image were more important than practicality and utility. I released him into his future, then I flipped open the cylinder of his Taurus Judge. He had it loaded with five rounds of forty-five long Colt.

Usually, I would have just tossed it in the abyss with its former owner, but I was intrigued. I wasn't sure what I would do with it, but I kept it. I guess I thought maybe I'd fire off its capacity and dispose of the weapon later.

Sitting in the Yukon after completing my task, my light jacket, dress shirt, undershirt, trousers, and underwear were all drenched. Soaked to the bone is what I was. I was happy to be in my truck. A puddle formed in the leather seat. I cursed under my breath as I cranked the heat, trying to warm myself. As I drove, I realized I must have taken an odd turn. I never like to admit I'm lost. Let's say I was bewildered and had been for half an hour. Hoping I would come across the main road soon; I was missing my map, looking for landmarks in the driving rain.

It's fair to say that I was distracted. I almost missed the lump lying on the side of the road. I stopped the truck when I realized what I had seen.

"Damn it, Bull!" I was speaking out loud. "Don't stop. It's none of your business!" Keep a low-profile, dumbass! You don't need this! I was speaking to myself internally now.

Shit! "You know what's right."

I slipped the transmission into reverse and backed up, looking for movement. I backed and swerved till the headlights revealed a huddled mass inside the white line. Feminine. Pulling on my gloves, I slipped my new favorite weapon into my pocket, slid out from behind the wheel, and gingerly approached the prone figure. My hand wrapped comfortably around the grip of that Judge, just in case she leapt to her feet.

"Hey," I bellow into the thunderstorm. "Are you all right?" The rain drowned me out, and I barely heard myself or expected her to hear me even though I was only five feet away. I stepped closer, surveying the tree lines bordering this forsaken road to ensure this wasn't a trap. I pulled up two feet short.

Nothing. No movement. Is she fucking dead? I briefly wondered if I'd get blamed for this if caught. Inching closer, I saw the prostrate form visibly trembling. It was her body's natural reaction to the unforgiving environment we found ourselves in. I kicked the sole of her left foot, which resulted in a groan and a reflexive movement. I scanned the area; situational awareness is always critical in my work. I saw nothing to be concerned about.

With a hand in my coat pocket still gripping that Judge, I inched forward and stooped down. I rolled her over with a grunt. My heart broke.

The listless form turned out to be a girl, maybe nineteen or twenty. She was barely recognizable as a human, let alone as a woman. Her left eye was completely closed. Her right one wasn't much better. She forced it open to try and take me in. Her nose was bloody, obviously broken. Her naturally large lips were unnaturally swollen. They were broken and freely bleeding in the cold rain. The watery blood trickled down her chin. It was soaking into her T-shirt.

I forgot all my common sense and left the weapon tucked into its hiding place. I scooped her up in both arms, rose to my full height, and carried her to the Yukon, where I placed her onto the passenger seat. Climbing in on the driver's side, I tucked the pistol under the seat because I didn't want to frighten her. I removed my gloves and turned the cab lights on. In the yellow glow, I saw how damaged she was.

Her breathing was ragged; her teeth were freshly chipped. It looked like she'd just given up. I saw old bruising through the thin shirt she wore. The rip down the center showed more bruises and old scars. My brother abused his first wife, and now he's abusing my ex after he stole her away. Of course, you can't steal the willing, can you?

Don't do it, Bull. I watched the youngster force herself to breathe. Just put her back, asshole! The hell she has gone through. You'd be doing her a favor if you just put her out of her misery. I knew what I was thinking was best for me. I knew what I should do, and I also knew what I was going to do. I slammed the steering wheel with the palm of my right hand. And the timid girl jumped and pulled toward the door. That was the expected response of an abused, mistreated animal, but she wasn't an animal. She was a woman. A girl: a girl who would have been about the same age as the children I might have had if my miserable ex-wife had agreed to any.

"Where?" My tone was flat. I've slipped into work mode. No emotions. I know what is happening. No one else does yet.

"What?" It was a squeak. It didn't sound human.

I slipped my large SUV into gear. "Where am I going to find this guy?"

With her one good eye, she looked at me. No, she investigated me. It felt like she could see my stained soul. She nodded her acceptance and started to give me directions. Twenty minutes later, we arrived at a muddy deserted driveway. The lights shone upon an even dirtier ramshackle of a double wide. It is difficult to tell when, if ever, it had proper care.

I shifted the Yukon into Park; we looked at each other.

"Wait in the truck," I told her as I slipped my gloves on once again. Time to go to work, you worthless bastard. I reached under the seat and retrieved that beast of a handgun. She eyed the gun, then me. I expected her to reach out and say, "Please, don't," but she said nothing. She turned back to the window, stifling a sob. At that moment, she knew she would never be hit again. At least by this waste of human sperm.

I exited the truck and walked with purpose up the four stairs, and pounded on the door through the torn screen loudly, then more aggressively. Looking through the dirty, clouded window, I see him passed out in his chair in front of the TV, a wrestling show playing unnoticed. He spasmed. I stepped back on the rickety porch, and my size thirteen announced my entry. Splinters rained inward, pelting the slumbering man.

He snapped to, as much as his whiskey-deluded mind allowed. "Huh, who?" He stuttered.

"So, you like to beat women?" My tone shared my disdain for this man.

"So, you're the guy she's been fucking?" He slurred his words as he tried to focus on me. I hesitated for the briefest moment. I never even considered that she might have wronged him. Cheating was just about the worst offense I could imagine for one partner to inflict on the other. Thoughts of Janet and John flashed across my mind. Did her cheating permit him to beat her? Then I remembered the old bruises. The deep green and purple ones, the scars visible under her shirt. He beat her for sport.

His quick thinking worked; he distracted me long enough for him to mount an attack. I moaned out an "Auurgg!" as he attempted a waist tackle, which knocked the air out of me. I was able to absorb most of his momentum and anchored my right foot behind me to stop my forced retreat. I raised my horse pistol above my head. It gathered energy in its downward trajectory till it hit its mark, his left temple.

A hollow sound echoed, and he let out a muffled groan as he went down. He was obviously stunned.

Regaining his composure and understanding that he wasn't beating a little girl, he lunged sideways toward the corner. I fired. The first round's impact carried him forward till he stopped just shy of that twelve gauge.

I fired the following three rounds just because he pissed me off. I saw the petite girl's rain-soaked, ruined face with each flash. He had left her there to die. Now the threadbare carpet was sopping up his lifeforce. The weapon thudded to the floor as I turned and exited.

She didn't even flinch as I closed the truck's door and reversed out of her driveway.

"Now what?" Her voice was more human than before. Stronger. Her body was relaxed as all the tension dissipated.

I shook my head; I had never thought this far ahead. I just knew that that worthless man had to die. Good grief, Bull, now what, indeed? I knew I should take her to the hospital but wasn't sure how she would handle the myriad of questions. What story would she tell? I had a second choice; I knew where to find an experienced nurse I could trust. One who had made many mistakes in her past and one who had healed me many times.

"Route 9." I responded, "How do I get there?" Ten minutes later, we were on nine headed east. I drove through the night, and five hours later, we arrived. The truck stop's flashing lights welcomed us in the early morning hour. Pulling up to the rear, I parked the Yukon, scooped my young ward up, and took her into the warmth of Clyde and Carla's cabin.

Carla is a blast from my past. Once a competent emergency room nurse, she attached herself to a no-good lying man. After being discharged for stealing narcotics from the hospital, she became a dancer and then a hooker. That was until she asked me to help her escape.

That's how she ended up here, married to an old friend of mine, running this rundown truck stop with him.

"My God, Bull, what have you done?" Carla was exasperated as I laid the young woman down on her couch.

"What do you mean, 'What have I done'?" I thought Carla knew me better than that. Though I have assisted a few women in meeting their maker, I would never beat one for the joy or for the sake of beating them. "I found her on the side of the road. Some asshole left her to die in the rain."

I could see the fear and worry in Carla's eyes. She was once a very attractive woman, but the years of hard living and good ole-fashion aging have worked against her physical attributes. But she was still the most caring and empathetic person I'd ever known. She turned the young girl's face towards her and gave a quick inspection. She got up, gathered her tools of compassion, and returned to the defeated mess lying on her couch.

While cleaning and inspecting her wounds, Carla offered words of comfort and care. "What's your name, child?"

The battered waif looked up at her, "Lanie." I smiled at the two as I pulled dry clothes from the bag I had stashed with Carla the day before.

"Who did this to you, Lanie?" Carla's kindness was on full display.

"My boyfriend, Donnie. He was mad because I didn't have any food stamps left." She winced as Carla wiped her wounds with antiseptic.

"Damn it, Bull. Why didn't you take her to a hospital?"

"I was working, Carla," I paused, "and I kind of did a stupid thing." I let that last statement fade. Carla paused her ministrations and gave me a knowing but quizzical look. "Please tell me you didn't?"

"I wish I could. At the hospital, she would have been asked questions no one wants answers to." It felt good to slide on dry clothes. Warmth was tingling my numb skin. Shaking her head, Carla went back to caring for Lanie. I stepped out of the room, and the girls thought I was out of earshot.

Lanie must have given Carla a questioning look, "He's my guardian angel, sweetie."

"I don't know if he's an angel," I heard Lanie's shaky voice, "cause angels don't do what he did. I'd turned Donnie into the police more than once, but they never cared. They always ignored the whiskey-fueled beatings." There was sadness in her voice.

"Judges don't care about you when you're poor. They figure you're not worth the time," Lanie continued, "I never thought my day of justice would come from a Judge under a seat." Her voice, small and weak, continued, "or from a guy hellbent on making Donnie responsible for his evil."

I walked back in to see a tear roll down Carla's cheek. "Don't cry. I'll never shed another tear for that bastard as long as I live." Lanie's voice was strong again. She was finding her strength in Carla.

I was pulled back to the present when Carla set my plate of wholesome goodness in front of me. I looked over at Lanie, and she smiled.

"Lanie's come a long way, Bull. After you left, she stayed with Clyde and me while she healed. She started working in the café for her meals and rent." I could see sadness return to Carla as she remembered and spoke, "After Clyde got sick, she stepped up and helped me run this place. She took over the café while I cared for Clyde and managed the pumps. When he passed, she stayed on." I could tell she saw the obvious question on my face.

"She married a young trucker about three years ago. They live in that single-wide out back. He makes this his home base and returns to her every few days. She's having a baby girl, and they are as happy as any couple I've seen." I gave Carla my dirtiest look as she stole a broken piece of bacon from my plate.

"No one ever came looking for her. We heard that a drunk was killed a few counties over by a known felon. Apparently, he left his gun at the scene, but they've never been able to find the killer." Her eyes sparkled as she filled in the details from five years ago. "She's a good girl Bull, you did a good thing, and she'll never forget it. She considers you her guardian angel as much as I do." Carla was smiling. She knows how much I hate that reference.

"I'm no angel Carla; you know that." Finishing the last bites on my plate, I got up and smiled at Lanie, who had kept track of me the whole time I'd been in her place. "I've got work to do, woman. Is the truck still out back?" She nodded as I made my way out.

Life is funny. Things happen for no reason sometimes. Other times, they happen because fate demands it.