The Wrong Guy

Jon stubbed out his cigarette and took a mint out of his pocket.  The mint might have seemed odd, given the circumstance, but it was for his enjoyment rather than consideration of the man in the chair.  He rolled the mint around his tongue for a minute before he pulled it out and placed it next to his cigarette.

It was time to get started.  The leather of his imported loafers made a gentle scuff-tap sound on the aged concrete as he walked.  Jon’s cultured voiced bounced across the large room.  ”Greg.  You’ve had enough time to think about what happened yesterday.”

The man in the chair breathed unevenly through his nose.  Jon knew Greg was exhausted. Certain steps needed to be taken before things could be corrected, but Jon was ready to be free of this problem.  “I need you to think about what happened four days ago, and I don’t want you to respond until I’m ready for your input.  Do you understand?”

Greg nodded his head.  He was broken and compliant.

“Good.  Four days ago you were driving down the turnpike shortly after 8:25.  You were in a Jeep.  You cut in front of somebody in a vintage Jaguar.”

Greg’s breathing sped up.

“The individual in the Jaguar briefly flashed his lights at you.  Do you remember what you did next?”

A drop of moisture fell from Greg’s nose as a quiet whimper sounded in his throat.  Jon felt a sudden spike of heat in his chest and head.  “Answer me,” Jon screamed.

Greg sobbed through his nose and shook his head dejectedly.  Jon backed up and cleared his throat.  “I apologize.  A refined man doesn’t need to raise his voice.  Besides, I should have remembered that you are not allowed to speak yet.”  Jon straightened his shirt and toyed with the cuffs until he was calm and collected.  He opened a box of latex gloves and began to put them on.

“Back to four days ago, Greg.  You slowed down, dangerously, and then pulled behind the Jaguar.  Then you proceeded to follow the Jaguar, flashing your lights, driving erratically, and endangering other people on the toll way.”

Jon’s voice lost its refined tone and picked up an angry edge he could no longer hold back.  His heart beat heavily as adrenaline started to flow through his system.  “You followed the Jaguar into the city, stopped in front of him at a light, jumped out of your Jeep and began to scream obscenities.  I want you to tell me the last thing you said to the driver of the Jaguar before you left.”

Cold silence filled the room.

“Don’t forget what happened yesterday when we did this,” Jon warned.  “I only want to hear one thing from you.”

He turned on the industrial lights, filling the large room with their intense glow.  There was a table covered with an array of dirty surgical instruments.  The wood of Greg’s chair was sprayed with stains, old and new, in a horrific mix of colors and odors.  Greg’s right foot sat in a dark pool of coagulated blood and gore.  His left foot, ankle, and half of his lower leg had been carelessly removed.  The frightful stump was still raw and stinking from being cauterized yesterday.  Greg’s arms were secured tightly to the chair’s arms, his thighs tied down to the seat, and thick bands kept his shoulders pulled flush against the chair’s back.

Jon’s manicured hands deftly pulled a knife out of his pocket, slipped the curved blade under the dirty material tied savagely around Greg’s head, and slashed through the gag.  Much of the material had been tied in a large knot and shoved into Greg’s mouth.  Jon yanked the material and pulled the foul-smelling knot out with a dry flop. A soft mewling tumbled incoherently out of Greg’s mouth.

“Now, Greg, tell me the last thing you said to the driver of the Jaguar.  If you don’t, I will cut both of your hands off at the wrist.  It will hurt much more than what I did yesterday.”

Greg moaned pathetically.  His words passed over his dry tongue like sand over boulders.  “I told him to watch who he flashed his lights at.  I told him that one day he was going to fuck with the wrong guy.”

There it was.  Greg had admitted it.  Jon felt the fury swell, but he did nothing to hold it back.  He no longer needed to.  The way was clear.  Greg had admitted his impropriety, had exposed himself for the ignorant wretch he was, and now it was time to excise this cancerous growth.

Jon slipped the knife behind the dirty blind fold and cut it off.  The rag fell from Greg’s head.  His eyes, hidden from light for the last three days, opened and shut sporadically as he tried to see where he was.  He finally stopped squinting and looked at his captor.  It was the guy from the Jaguar.

“Please no,” Greg wailed.

Jon smiled as he felt his anger move beyond the point of no return.  He only had a few more minutes of self-control before he lost all composure.  Jon hated people like Greg, and he had known more than a few.  He viewed this as a social service he offered to educated and polite people who had to share their oxygen with human waste like this.  His vision started to grow dark around the edges.  His time for coherency was coming to an end, so Jon decided that he had better start now while he could still remember some of the cutting.  It was his favorite part.

He picked up the medical bone saw, something he was very familiar with, and turned towards Greg.

“It was you that fucked with the wrong guy.”

~ Zack Kullis

© Copyright 2014 Zack Kullis. All Rights Reserved

17 thoughts on “The Wrong Guy

  1. Zack, you were definitely not THE WRONG GUY to write this piece! Excellent story! I love the polite verbal torture and the fact that the reader knows it’s leading to some form of physical torment, but with no inkling as to why. I honestly thought it was a father exacting revenge. I was EXTREMELY pleased to see it take the (pardon the pun) turn that it did. You teased an expertly told tale out of an everyday concept, road rage, and delivered it with a chilling calm. And just to be on the safe side, what kind of car do you drive??? lol

    Very nice, TE, very, very nice! (plus, damn – I wish I had thought of this one!) ;]


    1. Thank you so much Nina! I aim to please, misdirect, lead away and then pounce!

      Ha ha ha, none of the cars mentioned in the story. 😉

      Thanks for the great compliments!


  2. Wow! I love how Jon became the villain in your story. He is well mannered, but quite a Dark, Damned bastard non-the-less. This is a Silence Of The Lambs tale with more finesse and no cannibalism. The title had me going too because I thought he was extracting revenge on the wrong guy. Loverly job, my friend! 🙂



  3. Zack, you Damned master of horror! Great story! I love the slow reveal of information that manipulate the readers perception up to the end. The gore and torture was palpable. You almost feel bad for the victim, that is until you remember back to the day’s commute… give it to him!


    1. Thanks Tyr! \m/ I think anybody that has had a secret desire to get back at a jackass on the road will find this story is a guilty pleasure.

      Thanks man!


  4. I’m glad that I’m not prone to road rage *clears throat* lol

    I really enjoyed your story, Zack! ‘THE WRONG GUY’ was written the ‘right way’ by you’ – you ratcheted the tension, took a seemingly every day occurrence (an a-hole driver, not the mutilation lol) and transformed it into one that we can all relate to with a measure of gleeful guilt. I mean, who hasn’t had dastardly thoughts after getting cut off on the road? You allowed those thoughts of ours to have power! But now I know that if you’re around, I’m taking mass transit, dammit! 😉


    1. Thank you so much Joseph! \m/

      Wait, you mean mutilation isn’t an every day experience??? 😉

      I appreciate. This story was fun to write, and it was also therapeutic. 😉


    1. Thanks Susan! Most of my commute is done on the rail systems so I don’t have to deal with nearly as many idiots.

      Be safe out there, you never know who you are sharing the road with!


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