𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐥𝐢𝐱. ✭ 𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐀

DECEMBER, 1981; MICHAEL (THE UNCLE) 3:41-3:47 p.m.

"Holy shit, what in the hell do we have here?" I hissed, feeling my body lurch as our police cruiser ran over a speed bump. The call from Kenji, the manager of the local Circle K, had been urgent. He wanted us there pronto, and for a good reason.

Thomas turned into the convenience store's parking lot, audibly sighing at the sight that lay before us. There they were. Kenji with a furious expression on his face yelled at that no-good kid Eddie Munson through the establishment's window.

Eddie paid no mind to him, giving the guy the bird and continuing to desecrate the store's brick walls with lime green spray paint. Genitalia was peppered around a crude message that read.

REAGAN'S A FASCIST RACIST
THAT SUCKS HIS OWN DICK
AT NITE

The kid couldn't even spell night right. What a pathetic little punk. Steam was pouring from my ears and I could feel how hot my face had gotten. I was gonna kill this fucking delinquent.

"Easy. Let me talk to him." My brother said firmly, his features hardening in my direction. "I know him."

"You're fucking with me." I snarled, jabbing a finger at that snot-nosed criminal."Oh, that's it! That is it, Tom! I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna kill that little fucker!" Eddie had started spraying another message along the siding after seeing our parked cruiser.

ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

This was the last straw. Time after time we caught this kid. He had done it all. All of the batshit teenage boy crimes, the petty ones. Whether it was that he was playing with lighters, messing with fireworks, or stealing cigarettes and porno mags and bottles of beer from the liquor store. Eddie had done it all.

At that point, he belonged in a home. He needed to be put away. Possibly, right with his father.

I was elated with anger on that December afternoon because finally, I was going to make that happen. I was going to scrub out the shit stain that was Eddie fucking Munson.

"Mikey, no!" Thomas ordered, a fringe of warning edging his voice. I didn't listen. Christ, I couldn't listen. No. I refused. In three quick motions, I unclicked my seat belt, swung open the door, and charged over to the kid with my hand smacking onto my taser. "Mikey, you get back here!"

I wanted to electrify the little hair the boy had, completely fry him until his eyeballs liquified. Then I would be content.

"YOU! LITTLE! SHIT!" I took hold of the kid's worn-out shirt, yanking him back from the Circle K. The spray paint bounced from his hand, landing with a metallic clatter on the pavement. Spinning him around, I pawed a hand onto his chest, pinning him against the bricks. "Get ready to feel your teeth vibrate inside your mouth, you little punk!"

"Fuck you!" Shouted Eddie, showing no sign of cowardice. There was only one emotion present and it was stretching itself thin. A special, bitter kind of anger had clawed itself into the angry lines pressed into his face. His young face. "Fucking Pig!" He sneered, hacking a string of spit up into the air and onto my face.

It landed on my cheek. Hot. Slimy. Warm. Oozing with contempt.

Thoughts, I had none. Just rage. Just the urge to maim. Just. The. Urge. To. Wring. His. Fucking. Neck.