Druid Justice by M D Massey

Author:M D Massey
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9781980359197
Publisher: Independently published
Published: 2018-02-20T22:00:00+00:00

Carver beat me mercilessly after I told him the Bag was gone, convinced that I’d somehow double-crossed him. Now, I was being dragged by Bubba and Dicky through the woods behind their compound as daylight faded into dusk. Each man held a shovel in one hand as they pulled me by my ankles with the other. At least I knew I’d have a brief respite while they dug the hole.

When they’d dragged me away, Carver had been questioning the remainder of his crew, trying to figure out whether one of them had snagged the Bag. I’d told him I hadn’t seen what had happened to it, that it was there one moment and gone the next. Which was sort of true, although I’d actually seen it vanish. I hadn’t needed to lie much to plant a seed of doubt in Carver’s mind, which showed how little these low-lives trusted one another.

Bubba and Dicky discussed the situation back at the compound while they hauled me to my intended eternal resting place. “Bubba, did you take that bag? Be honest now, I won’t snitch. I just want my share. Heck, we can even start our own crew and get the hell out from under Carver’s thumb.”

Bubba scowled. “Dicky, I didn’t steal no damn bag—and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you. You think I’m stupid? First thing you’d do is go run back to Carver and rat me out.”

Dicky stood a little straighter as he replied. “I sure in the hell wouldn’t. Uh-uh, no sir. Dicky Schumacher ain’t no snitch.”

“How many times I gotta tell you not to speak of yourself in the third person? It makes you sound like an asshole.”

Dicky visibly shrank at Bubba’s criticism. “That’s harsh, man. Why you gotta be such a dick all the time?”

Bubba ignored his protests. “And what the hell kinda name is Schumacher, anyway? Sounds Jewish or sumthin’.”

“It’s German, asshole. And I ain’t no Jew. My grandpa was with the Luftwaffe in World War II.”

“What the fuck is a lift-waffle? I think you’re just talking out your ass.”

Dicky looked like he was about to blow a gasket, but apparently he thought better of picking a fight with the much larger man. “Never you mind. Anyway, we’re here. So, how you wanna do this? Do we kill him now, or later?”

Bubba scratched his ass through his pants. “Supposed to bury him alive. Carver was pissed about that bag going missing, so I guess he wants this asshole to suffer. Sounds cruel to me—if he’s a shifter it’ll take him days to die. But I ain’t the one in charge.”

“I could give a shit one way or the other.” Dicky looked around the proposed grave site. “Let’s talk division of labor—do we take turns digging, or what?”

“Division of what? What kind of commie bullshit talk is that?” Bubba farted, waving his hand behind his ass. “Oh man, that Mexican food is coming back to haunt me. Naw, if we take turns we’ll be out here all night.

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