John Hardy
I froze up. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything. I stood motionless as I watched the hammer drop on that Berretta, and watched the one I loved as she dropped to the floor. The pavement began to flood with crimson, and then I woke with a start. It was only a dream.
No, it was a nightmare. The same nightmare I had been having for three years now. Not that time even meant anything to me anymore. Days and years blurred together, and it was becoming difficult to tell when a day ended and night began. Everything was becoming difficult; I could barely even remember my name anymore.
Hardy, John Hardy is my name. But I haven’t been John Hardy for three years. Not since my beautiful Lovita was murdered in that alleyway. When they killed her they killed Hardy too. I don’t like to harp on the past, trust me I don’t, but it’s getting harder to even tell what time I’m living in. Like I said, things blur together and it gets hard to tell which way is up. I used to be a cop, and before that a soldier, so I’ve seen death before and plenty of it. So it doesn’t make sense to me why my head can’t seem to get over this one murder. So long as I can’t get past it, I’m going to do something about it. I might as well, besides it’s not like I’m doing anything better with my time.
I have a goal, I guess it’s what keeps me breathing. Its one word and I know it is going to sound cliché when I say it but here goes, revenge. A vendetta, payback, retribution, whatever name you give it doesn’t matter, it’s all the same thing. That’s my purpose, to pat someone back because they paid me first. I have to kill someone, I don’t want to, but I have to. I have to kill them because I’m getting tired of seeing their face every night. I just want this all to end. He killed Lovita, so it only makes sense that I should return the favor. Besides, it’s what she would have wanted, I think. Lovita was always very passionate about justice, and this is the best I can do. It’s not like I’m new to killing either, back in the war I had received many medals to commemorate my honorable talent of murder.
I used to dream of them too, all the men I’ve killed, but now I only dream of her. It’s okay though, because that all ends today. Today is the day I have been living my whole life for. Call it a holiday if you will. It is a very special day today, I’ll even give it a name. We’ll call it Parole Day. I have been so excited for Parole Day. Ever since I read about it in the paper I’d been planning a celebration for it. A big bang seems appropriate for such a day.
But the day pales in comparison to its guest of honor. A man named Cal Skulinski, the man who killed my Lovita. Cal was a lawyer for New York City’s mafia families, so he was very good at the criminal side of the law. My Lovita happened to be a District Attorney at the same time, and persecuted Skulinski’s friends with every fiber of her being. But Skulinski being as passionate about money as Lovita was justice, he had to try to buy her off before she started causing real problems for him. He tried offering her money at first, but she turned down every offer. Then Skulinski tried threatening her, creepy phone calls, termination of pension plans, whatever he could think of.
When that didn’t work he turned to the police to shut her up. Skulinski had paid off the right people in the department, but I was always there to make sure that nobody tried to intimidate my Lovita. So he finally decided to get rid of the problem. Skulinski approached Lovita and I as we were walking home from the bar one night. I drew my gun on him, but he had brought some of his mafia pals to make sure I didn’t try anything. They took me into the alleyway where I was beaten past the point of recognition. In between strikes I would hear Lovita scream, “Stop you bastards, leave him alone!” but it was of no use. Then I can remember Skulinski dropping Lovita to her knees, hearing her frantic plea as he lowered the Berretta to her head. I hear the shout of the gun’s barrel, and then it’s all over.
Skulinski was caught later, and they had enough evidence to try him for capital murder, but he had information on several other cases the police were working. So he struck a deal, a ten year sentence, with him up for parole in three. And they told me that was fair. They told me that was justice. But I don’t make deals. Skulinski must die. John Hardy is going to be there when that dirtbag gets out of prison, just to make sure he is delivered to a hell that is far worse.

I go over my plan while I clean my gun. It’s a Colt .45, and it has seen a lot of use since the war. She’s the only one I would trust to be my sword of justice in this matter. I finish cleaning my gun, and grab the keys to my car. On the drive to Rikers Island I go over my plan one more time. Thinking about the plan makes me smile, it’s so simplistic, yet so full of irony. Hammurabi would have been proud.
As I arrive at the prison, I check my gun to be sure it’s loaded, and get out of my car to wait. There is a blacked out car waiting in front of the prison, and I know who they are and what they’re there for. These are Skulinski’s mafia friends, and they are almost as excited about Parole Day as I am. I try to hide my smile as I think of the justice each of them will receive. One of them looks at me and asks, “Hey, what are you doing here?”
I stop grinning as I answer him, “Oh me, I’m just waiting for a friend.”
He turns his attention to the front gate as Skulinski approaches. He looks just as I remember, the slicked back hair, oversized nose, and the smell of scum that filled your nostrils whenever he was near. He walked with an air of self righteousness about him, not losing his pompous attitude to the iron bars of a cell.
As he passes the main gate I ready my gun. The mafiosos approach him quickly, offering him a ride. I quickly break up the emotional reunion, shooting two of the Italians in the head. The other two unholster their weapons. I shoot one of them in the chest, his heart rupturing on the pavement. The other fires back at me, grazing my side, but I fill his stomach full of lead before he can do any real harm.
Prison guards sound the alarm, and clamber for their weapons. I subdue Skulinski and take him to my car before the guards can begin to fire. Skulinski begins to plead with me, so I punch him out. I’m not going to let his crying spoil my good time, and now is just when the fun really begins.
I drive for about an hour through traffic until I reach midtown. I pass through the pompous financial district and head straight for the slums. I remember exactly where we’re going, I’d seen the place many times in my dreams. If I think about it, it’s almost as if I never left this place, like I had always been waiting to return.
As I pull up next to the alleyway, I picture her again, Lovita begging for her life on her knees. I know in my heart I’m doing the right thing. I just hope that she will be proud of me. I drag Skulinski out of my backseat. He stinks of fear. I drag him to the place Lovita died. I set him up on his knees and then slap him to wake him up. I have to hold back to keep from shooting him. I remind myself that shooting him now wouldn’t mean anything. He looks up at me with pure arrogance. I look back at him with pure disgust.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks, the cockiness evident in his voice.
“Yes,” I answer unemotionally, “Do you know who I am?”
“No, I don’t. To be honest I don’t really care,” he smirked as he said this.
“Oh you will, trust me,” I say as I brandish my firearm.
“I have friends you know, friends who will hunt you down and feed you to the dogs.”
“I have no doubt that they will,” I chuckle as I say this, “but that still doesn’t help you does it.”
“Look man, I have money I can pay whatever you want just give me an amount.” His pleas were getting more desperate. The nervousness was showing on his face, and his eyes constantly kept flicking from my cold stare to my gun.
He began sweating heavily as he said, “Look my friends they can get you whatever you want. Drugs, cars, women, freedom. Hey, I’m a lawyer, do you have any legal trouble you need getting out of?”
I just sat there silently, grinning slightly. This day was becoming everything I had dreamed of. He began sweating profusely, fixating on the barrel of my gun. My silence made him uneasy.
Finally he couldn’t contain himself, and shouted clearly enraged, “What do you want with me!”
I lean in close and whisper, “I want to see you pay for all the things you’ve done. I want to serve justice to you just like you’ve served it to others. I want to see the nightmare come full circle. I’m going to end the nightmare with you.”
“You’re crazy, you’re freaking insane man!” he was crying now and the emotion intensified in his voice. “Who are you!” he shouted as I press the .45 to his forehead.
“I don’t have a name anymore,” I explained, “You took it. You took that, and everything else I ever loved in my life, away from me. I am only justice now, and I have been hunting you for a long time. This is your reckoning.”
My trigger finger suddenly gets heavy, as I become totally immersed in the moment. I let out a manic laugh as I realize the irony of everything coming full circle. I try to think of something meaningful to say, but only one thing comes to mind in the midst of this moment.
“This is from Lovita with love,” I say coldly as I pull the trigger finishing his life where mine ended. Skulinski’s blood pooled at my feet, and his face was frozen in a final expression of cowardice and fear. He lay there lifeless, smelling of scum even in death. His body had fallen exactly where she died, a grisly scene reminiscent of a horror movie.
But this was not a horror movie, this was a revenge tale. A revenge tale that was now complete, leaving only one survivor, me. I heard the sirens approaching in the distance and I grinned. There was no need for a survivor of this tragedy, somebody else could tell my tale. I had overstayed my welcome here anyways. So I put the gun up to my head and finished the story, punctuating the scene with a bullet. And so my story ends as it began, with a gunshot.