Five-fold Vengeance by Tammy Qualls

Tammy Qualls

Tammy Qualls (she/her) is a bisexual author who lives in Northern California. She’s an environmental engineer by day and a genre fiction writer by night. She likes yoga, cats, and tea—simultaneously, if possible.  

Five-fold Vengeance

I learned about the candy store from my friend Julio, who lives in the apartment next to Portfolio Coffee. Julio cornered me in the back alley during my shift at the coffee house. Their bald head shone in the morning sun.

“Ru, I know how you can fix that asshole for good. Put that prick six feet under where he belongs.”

I sighed and rested the trash barrel on the ground. During a night of tequila shots on the apartment stairwell, I had told Julio everything. The liquor had exorcised the demons of my past, tearing words from my mouth. I told Julio how I had met Keith in judo class when I was thirteen. How he had spent the next few years gaining my trust as the assistant sensei, eventually having sex with me when I was a teenager. How I thought he loved me, thought he was my boyfriend. How he used me and manipulated me and then discarded me like garbage. The tequila brought out my words and Julio’s deep brown eyes listened to it all, tears flowing down their face for me. Now, at twenty-six, I can see that Keith was an asshole groomer. But back then, the wool was over my eyes, and he took every advantage. It had left me with eight years of regret and shame. I should have known better. I was an idiot. I had tried to go to Long Beach State to get my teaching degree, but I kept having panic attacks. I tried City College. I just couldn’t do it. The only thing I could do was show up for work. And get through the day one cappuccino at a time.

I found Julio’s eyes in the alley and shook my head.

“Listen, I need a therapist, not revenge. I don’t need something that would put me in prison. I don’t need that asshole to bring me to my knees again. I’ve got to get my life together, Julio. Get back to college. Rescue those kittens we keep seeing out here. But I keep freezing up. I just can’t do it.”

I shuddered, thinking about the time I had run into Keith at the Ralph’s market near the traffic circle. He floated towards me, his smile wide and blue eyes glowing. He leaned in to kiss my cheek in the cereal aisle as my body shut down. I froze, feeling his wet lips on my face. I nodded meekly through his small talk. I finally snapped out of it when a pink-haired elderly lady pushed her grocery cart into the back of my leg. The shock of pain in my Achilles was enough to bring me back to life. I dropped my basket and sprinted to the exit. Once locked inside my car, I gulped big swallows of air so I wouldn’t pass out on Los Coyotes Diagonal.

Julio reached out and touched my hand. “Listen, honey, I know you don’t want to hear this, but that asshole could be doing what he did to you to other little girls. He—” 

“He’s not. I stalked him on the internet. He’s not teaching judo anymore. He flips commercial real estate now. He’s some kind of property mogul.” 

Julio narrowed their eyes and reached into their pastel fanny pack. “Trust me on this, sweetie pie. You aren’t going to be right in your head until this fucker has moved into the Forrest Lawn Cemetery.” They pushed a business card into my hand.

Brittany’s Candies

232 E. Broadway, Long Beach

My curiosity got the best of me the next day, so I headed downtown after my shift. I parked in front of the Psychic Temple, wondering if all that old brickwork would last through the next earthquake. The modern building next door had a new neon sign that read “Candy Shop” in looping purple cursive. Although the windows were tinted, I caught a glimpse of the interior as a couple slipped out. The gleaming counters were filled with edibles of all colors. Glass jars held bright gummy bears, old-fashioned lollypops, and beautiful chocolate wrapped in golden foil. It was like See’s Candy for grown-ups, all laced with THC or CBD, or whatever combination of cannabis you desired. 

I put my hand on the door to push it open, glancing down again at the business card that Julio had given me. I angled it towards the neon light and noticed for the first time that someone had written “Suite C” in faint pencil. I stepped backward, scanning the building. My eyes paused on a dark alcove, thirty feet past the gleaming storefront of the Candy Shop. I stepped into the dark doorway, littered with dirty cardboard. The smell of urine was stifling. I hesitated, eyeing the grimy brass doorknob. The dust on the doorframe was so thick it looked like the door hadn’t been opened in decades. Someone had pressed one of those old-timey gold labels above the handle, a peeling, slightly off-center letter “C”. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It swung easily, as if a light breeze would have blown it open. I stepped inside, the door silently closing behind me. 

The small room inside was filled with the crumbling remnants of what must have been a party store. Piles of decaying crepe paper streamers were covered with termite droppings. Party favors were stacked haphazardly: ET, Rainbow Brite, Mickey Mouse. In the middle of the floor, a giant disco ball lay like a shattered Star Wars Death Star, the tiny mirrors crunching under my Doc Martins as I walked forward. I raised my eyebrows at the rat tail poking out from underneath the disco ball.

“It was an act of patience to get that little bugger.” A gravely, pack-a-day voice came at me from the darkness. I froze, my eyes focusing on the thin, middle-aged white woman with a badly dyed mullet. She sat on an aluminum folding chair behind the counter. Her San Francisco Lesbian Avengers t-shirt was covered in glitter and cat hair. “I sat in the dark, holding the rope for an hour. You only get one shot.” She nodded at me and pushed up out of the chair. “Alright, let’s get you what you need.”

She pushed a pile of ancient Snagglepuss napkins off the counter and carefully replaced them with a pirate’s treasure chest.

I narrowed my eyes and took a step backward.

“What?”

She looked up long enough to roll her eyes at me, her candy-apple lips pursing with displeasure. “I’ve known Julio since they were a kindergartener. They told me all about your problem. It’s related to a real estate problem of mine.”

I gritted my teeth. I was going to throttle Julio.

“Listen, girl, I don’t have time for putzing around. Your little judo asshole has a lot of strikes against him.” She held up a long finger, the black nail bitten down past the tip. “One: sexual predator.” She flicked up a second finger. “Two: preys on children, a fucking groomer.” She thrust three fingers in my face and it took everything in me not to flinch. “Three: multiple victims, at least four others before you, honey. Three strikes, he’s out, and it’s time to take out this garbage.” 

I stared down at her chipped nails, feeling heavy, too heavy to move. “Others?”

She raised her brows. “Are you surprised?”

I considered her words, finally looking up at her face, noticing that she had “FUCK” tattooed on one eyelid, paired with “YOU” on the other side.

“No, I’m not surprised.”

She held my eyes for a long moment, then sighed. “I never get these bastards early enough. There ain’t no Batman here in Long Beach, Ru, despite all the nonsense the mayor spews. We’ve got to fend for ourselves. That’s why you’re here. To set this right.”

“Yeah, I really don’t know why I’m here—”

“You will, sweet-ums.”

I drove slowly home along Ocean Boulevard, watching the lights flicker on the oil islands. Brittany—if that was her real name—seemed only marginally sane. I mean, she had done her homework on Keith, I had to give her that. She knew his history and all the girls he had abused. She had spreadsheets on him on the laptop she pulled out of the plastic treasure chest. She knew his schedule and routines. I’m sure she knew what he had for breakfast. Brittany reeked of ex-CIA or ex-FBI. I hadn’t grown up watching Tom Clancy spy movies to miss that. She had a large team as well: surveillance, muscle, the whole nine yards. She served up vigilante justice hot for dinner, free of charge.

The problem was that she was too excited about killing. She was obsessed with it. To be honest, I didn’t mind if Keith died. I had been looking forward to it for years. I had even made plans to visit his grave and burn “RAPIST” into the grass with weed killer. But Brittany, with the efficiency of an executive assistant, was going to kill him on Friday. This Friday. Everything was planned, set up, and ready to go. She wanted me to know everything about it, to take joy in the planning. Like she was a wedding planner and this was my special day.

She had handed me the list with the face of a grandmother giving her favorite child a Christmas present.

“Open it, Ru. I made a copy for you, sweet-ums. To keep and bring you happiness in the future.” She beamed at me and I could see all of her tea-stained teeth. I saw three Lipton tea bags in a single mug on the counter. She must drink it like water.

I pushed my hair out of my eyes and unfolded the paper, wondering if she was expecting me to smile and thank her. The list was typed out in Courier font, the light purple color betraying that it had been mimeographed. Who even owned one of those machines anymore?

1. Doublemint gum, double your death (with arsenic)

2. Drive his last drive

3. Surprise! Brittany’s choice

4. He’s so clumsy he fell down the stairs!

5. Oleander smoothies keep the doctor away

   
   

Brittany was so out of her mind that she was going to murder Keith five times. Or rather, attempt to murder him five times.

“A girl has gotta have Plan B.” She had rasped at me while inhaling a Peachy-O’s scented E-cig. “And Plan C, Plan D, and so on, dolly.”

The most infuriating thing about it was that she absolutely did not care if anyone knew that he was murdered. She was making no effort to cover her tracks. In fact, she was excited about it. Which made my logical brain explode like a volcano.

“The forensics team is going to have so much fun with this. So. Much. Fun.” She grinned at me, shaking her head. “They get so tired of through-and-throughs. They’re going to have an absolute ball with this one.”

Brittany may have had a few screws loose, but I didn’t doubt her ability to pull this off.

Which is why I was sneaking into Keith’s at four in the morning on Friday. The same house where he had statutorily raped me years ago. A house I promised myself I could burn down someday.

Brittany, for all her perfectly executed plans of murder--which she had wrapped up in a gilded present for me—had missed something.

Me. She hadn’t thought about me. She hadn’t asked me what I wanted. Or understood what I needed. She didn’t consider that I didn’t want justice served to me. I wanted to serve it up myself. I wanted to do my own dirty work. Myself. I didn’t want her elaborate plans, her team of buff ex-military people. I didn’t want her help, period. I wanted to do this myself. I wanted his blood soaking my hands. I wanted the smell of gasoline to infuse my boots, so that for weeks after I would get a hint of it. Like a perfume that reminded me of a glorious day.

So here I was, my gloved hands shaking so much that it was hard to pop the screen off Keith’s kitchen window. The one he always left open. I pushed my way in, belly down on the tiled counter. I had no doubt that Brittany’s team knew I was in the house, but I also didn’t think they would stop me. Brittany had told me that they were planning to chloroform Keith before setting up everything. I had no idea how long the chloroform would last, but it made it bearable to be in his house. Knowing that he was at least half-drugged.

I started with #5 on Brittany’s list, pulling open the freezer. I grabbed the bag of smoothie ingredients and peeked in. The chopped-up oleander leaves would have been invisible next to the spinach if I hadn’t known to look for them. I took the bag and dumped it into the trashcan. I had heard oleander tasted terrible. Did Brittany expect him not to realize there were poisonous plants in his smoothie?

From there, I moved quickly to the garage, carefully propping the door open as I leaned inside the car door to turn off the engine. I didn’t bother detaching the hose from the tailpipe. I opened the small door to vent out the garage. That took care of #2. Another obvious attempt that I don’t think Keith would have fallen for.

#1 was quick and easy. I took the pack of Wrigley’s Doublemint gum from the side table by the front door. Keith was a chronic gum-chewer. He only chewed one brand of gum. It was honestly surprising he had any teeth left from all the sugar. The bastard must have some Dorian Gray painting in the attic somewhere with nasty teeth. His true rotting devil-self certainly didn’t show up on his face. Brittany had meticulously soaked each piece of gum in arsenic, adding extra mint oil to mask the bitterness. Then she carefully folded the wrapper on each stick of gum. The pack looked perfect. I threw the gum away, hiding it under a banana peel so it wouldn’t be found in the trash can. I wondered if Brittany had done the calculation of how much arsenic it would take to kill him. Or if she just loaded up the gum with as much as it would take.

Moving up the stairs, I paused at the top to listen. The house was silent except for the noisy tick-tock of the mantle clock. I bent down, feeling blindly for the trip wire. Brittany’s people had secured some type of fishing line tightly on the top of the stairs. It cut into my hand when I tried to pull it out. I sliced through the line with my boot knife. That took care of #4.

Which left #3, the mystery item. Brittany had been all smiles about this one, refusing to tell me anything. When I turned the corner to the hallway, I saw why. Proof that Brittany was as mad as a hatter. There--in all of its shining glory next to Keith’s bedroom door--was a full suit of armor. The armor bore one of those long-handled axes. There was a trip wire strung across the door. An actual trip wire that was attached to an actual medieval axe! Like this was a bad Scooby Doo episode from the 1980’s. Did she think that any of these things would actually kill Keith? I had seen haunted houses for children set up with more dangerous pranks than this. This was an elaborate and very expensive joke. I grabbed the axe by the handle and lowered it to the thick white carpet.

I took a few steps into the room. I was suddenly in front of him. Next to the bed. In this horrible room where I had been tricked. Betrayed. Manipulated. I felt the bile rise up from my stomach as I looked down at his face, at peace in sleep. He was still handsome after all these years. The salt and pepper in his hair somehow added to his elegance. I clutched my boot knife, glancing down at my white knuckles. I had bought this knife eight years ago when I had finally come to my senses and escaped him. Back when I was a scared girl, running from everything.

But instead of panic, I felt adrenaline running through my blood. The good kind of adrenaline. I licked my lips. This had been my deep, dark fantasy for years now. Except in my dreams, I had been holding a doctor’s scalpel. A beautiful blade designed to carve. A blade so sharp it would just take the slightest pressure to gracefully cut through his thin skin. A curved crimson line would appear. Like a pretty necklace. Until—yes, like that—it pierced the carotid artery. Now the beautiful line was a spraying fountain. Blood all over, dripping down my face. Sticky. Not warm, but not cold. Just right, like Goldilocks. I smiled into the spray, feeling like a summer child in the sprinklers. I pushed my glasses to the top of my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Licking my lips. Savoring the delicious iron taste. Remembering that I still needed to get my ferritin tested at the doctor’s office. But I didn’t need to worry about that today, not with Keith’s iron-rich blood running down my face.

The spray was over sooner than I expected. I held in the disappointment. That something I had waited for so long was over so quickly. In the blink of an eye, leaving me bereft.

Julio sauntered up to the front register, their hands on their hips. “Brittany is so pissed at you, bitch.” I raised my eyebrows. “She says you’re going to need to take her out to Lola’s or one of those expensive-ass places downtown. Something big to make up for throwing that giant axe through her shop window.”

I pushed a Tres Leches muffin at them. I knew their weakness and was not afraid to exploit it. 

“I’ll text her and set something up. Hey, do you want to try to rescue the kittens today?”

They leaned in towards me and lowered their sunglasses to the tip of their nose.

“I was so fucking worried about you, Ru.” Tears welled up in their eyes.

I came around the counter and wrapped Julio in my arms.

I had stood over Keith’s sleeping body for a long time. Feeling the hot metal in my hand. Tasting blood that wasn’t there. Looking for the revenge I craved. My hand shaking. I couldn’t tell if I was holding myself back or pushing myself forward. To cut him. To kill him. Standing there for what seemed like hours but was probably minutes. Finally shoving my knife back into its sheath in my boot. Pushing myself up to walk away. My hand accidentally brushed against Keith’s arm. His cold arm. His cold, dead arm. I pulled back the blankets and saw the blood soaking the bed. I stared at the bullet wound that had precisely pierced his heart. And I walked away.

I looked up, finding Julio’s eyes in the empty coffee shop. “I’m ok. I’m finally ok.”