“So, it’s the chair then?” P.J. worked to keep his voice steady. He had never considered the possibility that Beast would not be executed by lethal injection.
“Yeah, it’s the chair. Not my first choice, brother. But all those years of drug use and then the damn diabetes, my veins are shot to hell. I’m not gonna spend the last minutes I have left being strapped to a gurney while they stick me with needles trying to find a vein good enough to kill me.” Beast hesitated then shrugged. “Might be a little tougher to watch, though. Better if we say our see ya laters now.”
“I ain’t leaving you. You can bet your life on that.” P.J.’s tone was firm and brooked no argument.
“Bet my life on that? That’s a good one!” Beast slapped his leg and laughed like he had the front seat in a comedy club. Then he called out to the warden who was standing against the wall just outside the cell. “You know what they call that, Captain? That right there is gallows humor. Safe to say though, those fucking veins are the only things that have given up on me, that’s for sure. Once a beast always a goddamn beast. Older than dirt and I can still bench press my own body weight. Haven’t lost my way with the ladies either. Female guards love me and male guards wanna be me. Ain’t it the truth, Captain?”
The warden gave Beast a small, indulgent smile. “It’s the truth, Billy Bob.”
Beast nodded with satisfaction. Then he leaned in to P.J. and said, “He’s not such a bad fucking guy. Dealt with me straight, honest, and fair all these years.”
“Glad to hear it, brother. Nothing less than you deserve.” P.J. told him and he meant it. Despite the truly brutal nature of Beast’s crime, P.J. would always hold the man in high esteem. As far as P.J. was concerned, Beast was a member of a dying breed of tough, heroic, and righteous men. Vietnam Vets whose young lives had been interrupted, their moral compasses compromised by the insanity of war. Men who had had the courage to pick up the shattered bits of their lives and move on. Marginalized by society, they had found each other and formed an unbreakable bond, a brotherhood built on a solid foundation of trust, respect, and the strength of their convictions. The thought of Beast dying in a cold, cement room, his last moments on this earth being spot lighted for all to see, sickened P.J. And the fact that Beast was gonna die by the chair? That made it all the worse.
“You were a fine little lad, P.J. McCabe.” Beast’s words rang out and echoed in the dim, dank cell. “We were all real proud of you. Just the right amount of sass, and sizzle to get you through. We talked it over quite a bit, your granddad and me. When the club took a vote to let you prospect, we all grabbed our own nuts. We knew that bringing you into the brotherhood was gonna mean hell to pay from Claire. You remember how that feisty, pain in the ass mother of yours shit a brick when she found out that you were prospecting? Damn if that woman didn’t make it hard on everyone, especially your old man.” Beast let out a soft chuckle. “Still scratch my head to think of how Reno survived all those months of Claire having a fit about it. But a mother’s wishes? That for sure is something to be respected, and we knew we were crossing a line messing with that. Prosper never would have gone up against his own daughter if he hadn’t felt in his heart that it was the right decision. As his only grandson, he considered the club to be your destiny…to the manor born he used to say. I guess it’s from some Shakespeare shit meaning birthright or some crap like that. Anyway, he got his way and here you are president of the whole damn organization.”
P.J. didn’t say anything because really there was nothing to say. In truth, he hadn’t felt to the manor born for some years now, but he was not about to tell Beast that. P.J. had no desire to shatter the illusions of a condemned man. But suddenly, Beast’s eyes blazed with fire and he grabbed on to P.J.’s arm with crushing force. His words burst forth with maniacal intensity. Beast’s face contorted into a frightening mask. “We thought we were doing right by you, son. Your grandpa and me? We thought we were doing right, but instead we done you wrong. Never should have brought you into outlaw nation… to a life lived in the shadows. Look at what we done! Look at what your goddamn birthright has got you!!” Beast cried out. “You got blood on your hands, a target on your back, and nothing but sleepless nights and trouble around every corner ahead of you. We done you wrong, Prosper and me, we done you wrong! We done you wrong!! I’m sorry, boy. I’m sorry!” Beast yelled out in frantic sorrow.
P.J. was horror struck by the sudden change in Beast. But before P.J. could respond, before he could lend an ounce of comfort, the door opened and a half dozen, muscled, uniformed men entered. The extraction team had arrived.
“What the hell just happened?” P.J. demanded. He watched on in alarm as Beast continued to babble tearfully as the team chained him up.
“Billy Bob requested a sedative. The doctor administered it right before we entered the row.
