Brutus Johnson's Last Chance

Brutus Johnson sat waiting, as they would be coming for him soon. He faced the wall away from the cell door, and licked his lips, tasting the remnants of the steak on his lips, bringing a smile to his face. Even so, the appearance of a tall man leaning against the wall near the door, dressed all in black, complete with a black fedora tilted to one side and the brim brought low to cover his eyes, surprised Brutus.

Brutus stammered for a moment, “How you get in here man?”

The stranger’s voice purred softly like velvet, “In a way, I have always been here. Brutus, I am here for you, I have an offer for you.”

Brutus sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes and cracking his knuckles, “Really? Well I never had no offer from a cracker before. I better like it though, otherwise they are going to add another cracker to my tally.”

The stranger softly chuckled. “I believe you would try. But lets not trade barbs. You have done great work in my service…”

Brutus cut him off, “I ain’t never been working for no cracker. My temper is really growing short, pimp.”

“Indeed. Well, regardless of why you did what you did, it pleased me.”

“Do you know what I did? Ain’t pleased no one but myself.”

The stranger smiled, “Of course I know. You crept into countless bedrooms, strangled countless throats, violated countless children. There haven’t been hands so red in many years. They called you the Silvertown Strangler, the Bogeyman, and the 41^st Ave Butcher.”

Brutus chuckled, and leaned back in his chair. He stroked his chin with his right hand, “None of them know all those who I have had. Hell, they only sending me to sparky for Silvertown. You must have been following my work for some time. I never thought I would have a white pimp as a fan.”

“Oh, I am definitely a fan. And I want to help you continue your work.”

“What, you gonna walk me outta here?”

“No. Such a vulgar display of my power would hurt me in the long term. But I believe that your honorable governor Michael F. Rivers Sr, has the ability to let you go.”

Brutus’s shitty good for nothing lawyer had said that he sent multiple requests for clemency up to Columbia. Nothing but silence from the Governor's Mansion, even though Brutus voted for that prick. “I doubt it. That brother is too good for us here in the streets. So if you ain’t getting me out, what are you offering?”

“I offer power, wealth, an easy life. You can do what you want, in fact I encourage it. You can act as you see fit, and you will be rewarded.”

Brutus cocked his head, “That sounds nice, but considering that I am going to die in a few hours, I’ll pass man.”

The stranger shifted his position, but stayed leaning against the wall, “Well it goes without saying that you won’t die if you agree. All you must do for this is to say that you will serve me, for a few days. And after you do that, there would need to be just a minor change to your process.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means too many of your… “victims” are turning to man upstairs as you work. That doesn’t work for me. You need to work harder at spreading despair, and to crush their faith.”

“What the fuck man? You telling me how to I do what I do? I ain’t taking no guff from a cracker in a smooth suit. I’m done listening to this bullshit. Now do I have to call the guard, or am I going to have a bit of fun today?”

The stranger stood up straight, and straightened his tie, “That’s too bad. You already belong to me, but I was hoping you would have some pride in your work. You aren’t going to get a better offer from Him. If you change your mind, well, you know how to reach me.” With that, the stranger pulled a coin out of his pants pocket, and flipped it in the air to Brutus.

He couldn’t catch it, and the coin fell to the floor. Brutus bent over to pick it up, and looked at it in his hand. It was some strange coin, with words he couldn’t read. It looked to be made of gold. He sat up and bit it. Instead of the stranger by the door, Guard Bishop stood on the other side, tapping his nightstick against the bars.

“Visitor for you. Father Coughlin wants to speak to you.”

“Whatever. I don’t suppose that fact that I have nothing to say to that old white man means anything to you?”

Bishop’s eyes softened, “He is about the only friend you got in this place. The only one wanting you to miss your appointment. And the warden lets him talk to all of you on the row the day of, regardless of how you feel. Now you behave yourself.”

Brutus stood up. He didn’t need a shiner right now. It would just be a few moments, and then the annoying priest would go away. Bishop unlocked the door, and in shuffled Coughlin, his thinning brown hair creased with gray cleanly parted on his scalp. He had kind blue eyes, which twisted Brutus’s stomach. Nobody that old should have that little pain in there.

Coughlin sat down on Brutus’s bed, and opened his worn Bible, to a page marked with the cloth marker. “I would like to start with a verse, one that should demonstrate God’s mercy, if you don’t mind. It is a faithful saying: that if we have died with him, we will also live with him, Second Timothy, Chapter 2, Verse 11. Please sit down Brutus.”

He sat in his chair and spit on the floor, “What does the bullshit mean?”

Coughlin smiled, “It says that God will remain faithful to us, and will not deny those who believe in him. God loves you Brutus, even though you have done horrible things. I’ve come to offer you God’s forgiveness and mercy. All you must do is to ask for it.”

Brutus wanted to laugh, but it came out as a snort, “You never told me or any of the other brothers you could get us outta here! If we knew that, some of us might have listened to you babble on instead of cutting you up behind your back.”

Coughlin weakly smiled, “The mercy I offer is of God, not the state. I cannot get you out of this prison, or off of death row. God’s love doesn’t work that way.”

“What good are you then, cracker? A waste of space and air you are. No wonder you offer your ass to real men. You are just to waste my time.”

Coughlin didn’t respond to the jab. Brutus was surprised, figuring that all priests did that and felt guilty about it. Real men didn’t take it that way. “My son, God’s love is for you and your immortal soul. He asks that you repent, and ask for his mercy. Kneel, and take my hand, offering a prayer to the Lord. We will walk together to the chair, and I will be by your side when you go to face judgment before the Lord. You will not be alone in your most desperate of hours, as Jesus will give your strength.”

Brutus grabbed his crotch in a lewd manner, “That's what I say to you and Jesus. If he were here, I would wrap my hands around his neck and take him from behind. I don’t believe in him, cracker, and nor should you. If he existed, I bet he would have tried to stop me. He didn’t. There’s that god for you.”

Coughlin blanched, “My son, you are filled with anger. You say what you said in ignorance. Many of your fellow prisoners know God, and each day repent their sins before Him. Even at this late hour, it is not too late for you to save yourself. God offers his hand to you, all you must do is to take it.”

Brutus smacked away Coughlin’s extended hand. “I don’t want it. I didn’t want you to come bother me, and I don’t need your god. What’s gonna happen has nothing to do with your fake god. You offer me nothing, and think you are doing me a favor. At least the other cracker offered something. You need to just go away.”

Coughlin looked puzzled, “I didn’t know you had another visitor. Of course the choice is yours, to choose to accept God’s mercy, or to reject him. His hand is always offered, and I will pray for you until your last moment. Do you wish for me to perform the Anointing of the Sick?”

Brutus’s voice rose in timbre, “I’m not sick you dolt.”

Coughlin only nodded, “Sometimes it is called Last Rites.”

Brutus stood and clenched his fists, “You are just trying to con me into accepting your god with some bullshit. This is one trick you gonna miss. Its time for you to leave Coughlin. I’m tired of fucking around with you.”

Coughlin rose, and only for a moment looked dejected, “I am sorry my son. I wish I was a bit more persuasive or charming in the service of the Lord. I very much wanted to help you, and it is my failure that I am unable to do so. I will ask God for forgiveness. If you despair in the moments leading up to the end, look for me. I will be there, praying for you. Guard Bishop!”

Bishop appeared, and unlocked the door. Father Coughlin shuffled out, and Bishop scowled at Brutus, “You really should have listened to him. The Father only wants whats best for you, a rarity in this place. Maybe you could have found some peace before the end.”

Brutus waved his hand, “Bah, fuckers. I don’t need anything from any of you. I am better than all of you. None of you will ever know all that I did, and if you aren’t careful, I’ll keep doing it.”

Bishop closed the cell door. “It will be a few hours before they are ready Brutus. You should really spend the time thinking about what the Father said. I’ve seen a lot of men like you take that walk, and they all break down when the weight hits them. It just hasn’t hit you yet.”

“Bishop, they ain’t no men like me. I’m one of a kind.”

**********

At 9:47 pm, the guards were strapping Brutus Johnson into the chair. He hadn’t thought about the offers provided to him, he took a nap instead. He walked tall and with purpose to the chair, as he knew he was the hardest mother fucker there, and he felt no fear. Nobody who took what he wanted as he had felt that feeling.

At 9:55, the final strap around his jaw got tightened, and the warden stood before him. A weaselly white man with thin rimmed glasses, Brutus has no respect for the man. “Brutus Condannto Johnson, you are condemned to death by a jury of your peers for the capital crime of murder in the 1^st degree. You have been found guilty of the crimes of rape, criminal sexual contact with a minor, criminal sexual battery and even more numerous crimes that we will not mention here for the sake of time. You are a felonious and evil man. Do you have any last words?”

Brutus then noticed that the curtains around him were drawn, and there was an audience watching him. He could see that damned Father Coughlin, a pleading look in his eyes. He could also see that pimped out stranger, in the back leaning against the wall by the door. He recognized many of the other faces in the room. They were of parents, siblings, spouses and loved ones of those people he had done things to. Many of them looked angry, others crying, and some to his consternation appeared to be praying.

“Yeah, I got something to say. It gave me pleasure to no end to take those people, and many more than you don’t even know about. I want you to know that they ain't ever coming back, and that they begged for me to let them go. I never did. I would do it all again, but next time I wouldn’t get caught. Ain’t nobody like Brutus Johnson, nobody. Lets get this over with you fucker.”

With that the warden moved away, behind Brutus. He sat, waiting for it. Did they think he would ask for forgiveness? He wasn’t sorry. I enjoyed every minute of it. Their screams, their cries, their pleadings all made him hard. In fact, he was getting hard just thinking about it in this chair. Imagine that, dying with a hard on. He started to chuckle.

Brutus heard a power surge behind him. It wouldn’t be long now. The clock ticked and tocked, counting down the seconds until the end. As he waited, a phone rang behind him. He didn’t see anyone in the gallery answer their phone, but he heard muffled talking. C'mon, C'mon, lets get this over with.

The warden came back around, and faced the crowd. “I’m sure that you all heard the phone ring. That was our Governor Rivers. He has elected to use his constitutional power to provide clemency in this case of Brutus Johnson. His sentence is commuted to life in prison.”

The gallery erupted in chaos. It took for the guards to begin removing the straps that held Brutus to the chair for it to dawn on him what had happened. That brother had come through for him! He wasn’t going to die today!

When the last strap was loosened, Brutus leaped up and pumped his fists in the air. “You sonsofbitches! You can’t get me down. You better watch yourselves. I’m gonna get outta here and then I’m going to come for each of you. You don’t get to come here and gloat at me. I’m gonna get you!”

A man in the gallery came forward, a white man with a bad comb over, overalls and a weak chin. Brutus knew him, Chris Kilgore. He testified against Brutus at his trial. Brutus had his way with Chris’s wife and two daughters. He swore that one day he would make Kilgore pay for that if he every got the chance.

Kilgore reached into his overalls, and pulled something out. He pointed it at Brutus, and as Brutus realized that it was a revolver, he found himself standing over his body, a neat hole in his forehead and a red pool spreading quickly. He watched the guards rush Kilgore, knocking him to the ground. He saw women screaming, and Father Coughlin rushed to his side, opening his worn Bible and doing the sign of the Cross over his corpse.

“What an asshole. I told him I don’t want that.”

A soft silky voice pricked his ear from behind. “You really shouldn’t argue at this point. There is nothing you can do. But you are right, it isn’t going to help. And no, it doesn’t have to do with the Father’s faith. You are just too rotten to be saved. Beyond direct intervention.”

“What the hell are you talking about cracker?”

The stranger glided around to Brutus’s front. “Saving your soul. You gave that to me a long time ago, but you had at anytime taken the good Father’s offer, you might have had a chance. He always reserves the right to claim you, the bastard. Now though, its too late. Especially since you were not repentant in the slightest at the end.”

Brutus wanted to punch him, but couldn’t move his arms. “What are you doing to me? What is next?”

The stranger grinned, showing his perfectly white teeth. “Now you come with me. I would ask if you are ready, but I don’t care. You should have taken my offer. You wouldn’t be dead right now if you had. Oh well. Down you go.”

The stranger pushed Brutus, and he fell backwards. Instead of hitting the floor, he continued, and continued, and continued, the smiling face of the stranger receding far above him in a circular hole. It was an inky blackness around him. Despair filled him, surprising him. In that moment, he looked for Father Coughlin, but couldn’t find him. And then there was nothing. Brutus Johnson finally felt fear.