It was about 8 O'clock in the morning, when he came over. Swaggering through the doorway, his gun not even concealed by the bulge in his pants. He was so tall he had to lower his head a few inches when he came over. Standing upright would send his head bursting through the floor of Ms. Ditimr's living room as she ate her yogurt watching Oprah, or Dr. Phil, or what ever daytime crap she watched at full volume each day. I offered him a seat and a cup of coffee. He declined which was a good thing since I had no coffee. Just having him in my home was a honor. He was a legend out here in the flats. We didn't see many like him, where I grew up either. Guys like him were a product of New York or Chicago, (maybe Detroit but I heard those guys were all talk). I stood there staring at this awe inspiring creature. His thick bronze arms barely contained under his tight white T-shirt, and his sleeveless army shirt. I imagined him as some Native American lumber-jack with his thick black hair in his face, his jaw chiseled and covered in a permanent five-o'clock shadow. Then I pictured him as some grizzled young biker. Alone against the world haven forsaken gang life for his own way. A beautiful lone wolf against the harsh elements. But that was some other time after he could no longer chop down trees, and the only place for bikers was the wastelands out West. Now he was who he was , this man in my house on this day, with that gun. How did he come to this position in his life. He was proud once and his jaw was strong. Perhaps his father was a biker too I thought. Perhaps his grandfather had been a lumber-jack. This would explain his noble face hidden behind that ebony mane. The quite beauty underneath the tragic scars on his chin. The lines beneath his eyes spoke of years under the boot of our mighty government. I smiled as I thought of all this. He stared at me coldly and read me my rights. Rights? What rights did any of us have. Who was this dark giant to inform me of my rights. I had committed no true crime. Late on my rent, fallen behind on my taxes. Nothing in lesser times.
“Franklin D. Jacoby...”He said with this voice like thunder. I was calm, I was relaxed. I knew he was.
“You have been found guilty of crimes against the state.” I steadied my self and tried to focus in on his eyes. He just looked right through me. He'd come to do a job and nothing more.
“By the power invested in me I here-by sentence you to death.” With that it was over. I didn't even here the shots. Who was he you ask~he was my neighbor.