Bennie's Brothers

By Willie Qwit

Bennie Street decided to help two battered women by exacting retribution against their abusers. Amy was running from Eugene Granger, who had punched her and pushed her down a flight of stairs. Monique was fleeing from Henry Morris, who had tried to rape her when she wouldn’t give him what he wanted. The crew stole Granger’s car, framed Morris for drug and firearms possession, and got Granger fired from his job. Ruining the life of Morris was a piece of cake, but Bennie’s retribution gig on Granger quickly turned into a nightmare. Granger was rich, belonged to a militia group, and was smart, obsessive, and unpredictable. In the end it all came down to what to do about Granger. Bennie figured there was a fine line between outright murder and a pre-emptive defensive kill. Making a mistake about Granger’s next moves would threaten the lives of the crew, as well as the women he had set out to help. “Bennie’s Brothers” is the sequel to “Randy’s Rubbers”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willie Qwit
• Release date: Dec 2, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458176707

Willie Qwit

Livin' the dream in Birmingham, Alabama.

Book preview

Bennie’s Brothers

Published by Willie Qwit at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Willie Qwit

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Honky Tonk Transsexual

Chapter 2 - The Idea

Chapter 3 - The Plan

Chapter 4 - The Reality

Chapter 5 - Open for Business

Chapter 6 - First Revenge

Chapter 7 - Dear Pretzel Bean

Chapter 8 - New Clients

Chapter 9 - New Cases

Chapter 10 - Getting Busy

Chapter 11 - Meet the Crew

Chapter 12 - Confronting Granger

Chapter 13 - Confronting Morris

Chapter 14 - The Militia

Chapter 15 - More Planning

Chapter 16 - Retribution Begins

Chapter 17 - Retribution Continues

Chapter 18 - Granger Picks up the Trail

Chapter 19 - Dinner Time

Chapter 20 - Disappearing Dollars

Chapter 21 - Back to the Routine

Chapter 22 - Even More Retribution

Chapter 23 - Burn the House Down

Chapter 24 - The Assault

Chapter 25 - Payback

Chapter 26 - Recovery

Chapter 27 - Retribution is Complete

# # #

Chapter 1 - Honky Tonk Transsexual

I knew letting a gay guy and a transsexual go into that honky tonk was a big mistake. Never mind that the gay guy was my boss, or that his girlfriend was the transsexual. And never mind they were both really good friends of mine. But Randy always caved in whenever Zelda whined about something long enough, and that night Zelda had her mind set on going to a damn honky tonk.

It was a Friday evening in early January of ’78. The six of us were headed down to my aunt and uncle’s place in southern Missouri. Randy was driving one of our company vans, and Zelda was riding shotgun. Mandy, Leslie, Pete and I were all in the back. We’d just exited Interstate 44 and turned south on U.S. 63 when Zelda brought it up.

Randy, we’re a couple of hours ahead of schedule. We should take the opportunity to stop off and have a drink in one of those quaint little drinking establishments that dot the rural landscape.

Randy asked, You mean a redneck bar? Why in the hell do you want to go in a place like that?

Zelda smiled. Well, I’ve never been in one. Anyway, I believe ‘honky tonk’ is the proper nomenclature for the sort of place I have in mind.

Randy groaned. A honky tonk would be even worse. Places like that aren’t exactly known for being alternative lifestyle friendly.

Zelda turned in her seat to face Randy. It was dark, but a passing car’s headlights briefly illuminated Zelda’s face. Her eyebrows were arched and she had an excited look on her face. Based on my experience being around Zelda, an excited transsexual usually means trouble.

That’s the whole point! I did some research before we left this afternoon. The term ‘honky tonk’ originally referred to lewd and lascivious variety shows in Oklahoma and Texas during the late 1800s. Even today they’re known for bar brawls and the drunks, bikers, and truckers that frequent them. Often there’s a live band playing on a stage behind chicken wire, so patrons can’t hit band members with beer bottles. Doesn’t that sound intriguing?

I thought that sounded about as intriguing as a drag queen fashion show, but I kept my mouth shut. There was no need to piss off Zelda unnecessarily. Randy was already starting to fold.

It sounds like a bad idea, honey.

Now Randy, do you really think anyone is going to give this group any trouble?

Zelda actually had a good point. All six of us had carry concealed permits, and all six of us were always packing heat. And I mean always. Randy looked over his shoulder at me. I knew he was gonna ask me to bail out his cowardly ass.

Bennie, what do you think?

I thought it was a really shitty idea. I shook my head for emphasis.

No way. For starters, I’d need to go in with an advance team for three or four weekends in a row. Run background checks on the owners and workers. Run the license plates on the parking lot and see how many convicted felons frequent the place. Test the water for lead, mercury, and other toxins. Make sure the furnace, water heater, and stove aren’t leaking dangerous levels of CO2. Prepare detailed maps showing points of access and egress…

Bennie! That was Zelda. We get the idea!

Well anyway, for sure we’ll be marked as outsiders. It’s gonna be bad news if somebody makes Randy as gay. And if some asshole picks up on Zelda’s thing, then it could get real ugly real fast.

Zelda gave me her patented, skull penetrating look. She always got annoyed whenever anyone alluded to the fact that she was a transsexual. Even when it was a friend pointing out that a bunch of shit stomping badasses might want to hurt her because of it.

Did you say ‘Zelda’s thing’? What are you insinuating, Bennie?

I exploited Zelda’s vanity, her greatest weakness. Um, what I meant is that you’re far too beautiful and classy to demean yourself by going into some honky tonk redneck joint.

Randy grinned. Leslie poked me in the ribs. Mandy covered her mouth and Pete stifled a laugh. Zelda was so taken by my compliment she missed all that. She was vain beyond belief, and she fell for it every time I laid a line of flattering bullshit on her. She turned off her death ray eyeball look and smiled.

Bennie Street, that was very sweet of you. Thank you so much. But that won’t distract me from the topic at hand. I remember there’s some sort of rural entertainment establishment just a few miles ahead. Let’s stop there, shall we? These are my last few hours of freedom before picking up the yoke of mommyhood again, and I want a taste of something new, exciting, and different.

I thought, the yoke of mommyhood? Where the hell did she dig up that sort of claptrap? I figured maybe tucked between her silicone boobies, but I kept that thought to myself.

Zelda had been a full time mom since she and Randy picked up their adopted daughter, Connie, around two months earlier. The rest of our friends had gone down to my aunt and uncle’s place the day before, and one of the couples had taken Connie with them so Randy and Zelda could have some time alone.

Zelda told us how she and Randy had gone to some high end restaurant the previous evening, and then later had enjoyed what she called a sumptuous romantic interlude. She started to elaborate, but I begged her to stop. I figured we didn’t need to hear about the sexual triumphs of a tawdry, turned on tranny. She glared at me, but spared us the sordid details.

A gay man and a transsexual adopting a baby was a very big deal, especially back in ’77. Tina Goldberg, our company’s public relations guru, had bribed every Missouri state official that had anything to do with adoptions. That’s what it had taken to make the adoption happen. But she’d gotten it done, and Randy and Zelda were Connie’s legal adoptive parents.

I recommended we skip the honky tonk and hit a family style restaurant, but Zelda wouldn’t hear of it. I pointed out Mandy was five months pregnant, but Mandy said she’d be fine and would do whatever the group wanted to do. Zelda got out of her seat, reached over to kiss Randy’s cheek, put her head on his shoulder, and rubbed his thigh. I knew we’d be stopping soon. Randy looked at the four of us in the rear view mirror.

Um, I guess maybe we could stop for one drink. Is that okay with everybody?

I glanced at Leslie, Mandy, and Pete. They all shrugged. I could tell it was a lost cause, so I tried to negotiate some middle ground.

Alright, Pete and I will go in first to check the place out. If it looks okay I’ll come outside and give the all-clear sign.

Pete was my go-to guy whenever the possibility of physical violence existed. I was six foot two, fairly muscular, and, I liked to believe, an all around tough guy. Even so, compared to Pete I was a skinny weakling. Pete topped out at six foot five, and he packed 250 pounds of solid muscle. He was also a genius, and his English was impeccable when he concentrated. But for reasons nobody could explain, including Pete himself, whenever he talked casually he sounded like a backwoods hick. I figured if the locals got hostile I’d hide behind Pete. He must have read my mind.

I ain’t never been in no honky tonks, so this could be a highly entertainin’ experience. Assumin’ of course we don’t get our ownselves arrested, beat, or shot. Come to think of it, the law around here might do all three, so maybe we might wanna be real careful not to piss nobody off none. But Bennie, if the turds hit them rotatin’ blades, you’re gonna have to carry your fair share of the fightin’ load.

Leslie took my hand. I don’t think we need to worry about barroom brawls if we keep a low profile. And it’ll look a lot more natural if Mandy and I go in with you two. I know you’re trying to protect us, but we can take care of ourselves.

I realized Leslie was right. With everybody packing heat we could handle anything up to, and including, a small scale war. Plus, we had a couple of fully automatic M16A1 military rifles stowed in the hidden compartments under the floor of the van.

I said, Okay. Then it’s the four of us. But I want to do a weapons check before we go in. Randy and Zelda, you still need to wait for my all-clear signal before you come in.

Mandy groaned. Bennie, you did a weapons check before we left Kirkwood. That wasn’t even three hours ago.

Oh yeah, good point. Well, has anybody discharged their firearm since we hit the road?

Leslie poked me. All we’ve done is stop for gas and a bio break. And don’t you think you would have heard a gunshot?

Not if the shooter used a silencer.

I thought about it. Zelda and I were the only ones packing pieces fitted for silencers. I was reasonably sure I hadn’t plugged anybody in the last three hours. But that didn’t rule out Zelda.

Hey Zelda, did you shoot anybody when we stopped for gas a while back?

Zelda glared at me. Again. No. But I’m going to shoot YOU if you don’t quit asking such idiotic security freak questions.

I gave up on the weapons check. A few minutes later Randy turned onto the gravel parking lot of Ralph’s Rockin’ Rebel Bar. At least that’s what the battered wooden sign advertised. I wondered if Ralph had heard about the south losing the Civil War. It was around eight in the evening by then, and unseasonably warm for January. The lot was filled with an assortment of motorcycles, cars, and pickup trucks. I guess to be precise I should refer to the latter as pick-me-up-trucks. Some of them actually sported rebel flag stickers.

When I got out of the van I heard Patsy Cline belting out I Fall To Pieces on a juke box. I was encouraged. I figured a geriatric crowd would be disinclined to gut us and run our corpses through a wood chipper.

I studied the outside of the place. The honky tonk was an old converted barn. The siding was so badly weathered that most of the exposed surfaces were worn down to bare wood.

Randy and Zelda promised to wait for my all-clear signal. Zelda asked what the signal would be. I said I’d give her the finger.

She said, If you do that, I swear I’ll hold you down while the locals beat the shit out of you. I might even take a few swings myself.

I grinned. I’ll use the classic thumbs up sign.

Mandy, Pete, Leslie, and I went in. Several people turned to check us out. I scanned the place. I didn’t see any immediate threats, but I did spot several potentials. I started making mental notes. The drunk sitting at the bar, the dude with an attitude already trying to stare me down, the biker gawking at Leslie and Mandy, the fat guy hitting on a waitress.

There were two open stools at the near end of the bar. They provided an unobstructed view of the whole place. Better yet, if we had to make a quick retreat, they were near the front door. I suggested the gals grab the stools.

I didn’t see Willie Nelson in the joint, and I didn’t see any Lone Star longnecks, both positive indicators. But I did see a strange assortment of crew cuts and ponytails, bib overalls and black leather, Cat hats and Stetsons and biker doo-rags. And hell, that was just the guys.

Then I saw Randy and Zelda come waltzing in. Zelda spotted us and led Randy to the bar.

I growled, You didn’t wait for my signal.

Randy gave me a sheepish grin. You know Zelda. She wouldn’t wait.

Zelda stuck her tongue out at me and proceeded to take in the wonders of her first bona fide honky tonk. She looked like a little kid staring at the presents on Christmas morning. I’d seen the inside of plenty of dives by then. To me, Ralph’s rabble rousing renegade rebel rathskeller was just one more cesspool. I was ready to leave already.

To make matters worse, the women in our group were gorgeous. Mandy and Leslie were both blessed with a natural beauty. I guess that means Zelda had an unnatural beauty. She was actually quite lovely once you got past her large hands, husky voice, and prominent Adam’s apple. I saw several cowboys, bikers, and other degenerates sizing up the fresh meat that had just walked in. I nudged Randy and Pete, and they both nodded. They’d already picked up on the alpha male testosterone bar scene. Randy found another stool for Zelda, and then we surrounded our gals to stake our claim.

The inside of the place looked like, well, the inside of an old beat-to-shit barn. There was a long bar that ran the length of the building on the right, and above that a balcony about half way up the wall. On the left side it was open all the way to the roof, and a small stage surrounded by chicken wire had been built against the wall. Tables were scattered around a small dance floor, and in the back of the building I could see a few pool tables and pinball machines. There was a band setting up their gear on the stage.

The barmaid took our drink order. She was wearing a low cut blouse, a short dress, and garish makeup that made her look like a clown. I made her out to be around 40, and that included her age, her bust size, and the number of inches from the floor to her dress hemline. Her outfit didn’t cover much, which in her case was truly unfortunate. As they say in the honky tonk world, she was rode hard and put away wet.

She gave us a quick read, no doubt assessing if we were going to be good tippers, trouble makers, or both. Her eyes lingered on Randy a second too long. When she got to Zelda she stared. Zelda was dressed in her usual and unique style that I referred to as chic suburban slutty.

Mandy got a coke since she was pregnant. The rest of us ordered beers. By the time the barmaid brought our drinks Zelda, Mandy, and Leslie were already laughing, talking, and having a good time. Randy looked nervous as hell. Pete was Pete, looking around, cracking jokes, and going with the flow. He started talking to some cowboy dude sitting at the bar.

After a few minutes the band opened with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ’73 classic Free Bird. The band was decent, and the crowd was enthusiastic. I thought, well okay, so far so good.

They followed up with Jim Dandy, a ’73 Black Oak Arkansas classic. The beer was flowing, and the crowd was really getting into the music. I saw two guys get into a shoving match, but three other dudes broke it up. Not so good, I thought.

I was having a rotten time. I kept scanning the place for threats. By then both Randy and Pete were talking to the cowboy dude, and Randy looked a bit more relaxed. Mandy and Leslie were busy chatting away. Some guy in biker black started hitting on Zelda, and she flirted right back.

The band’s third song was The South’s Gonna Do It Again, by Charlie Daniels. The crowd went bonkers. Some drunk started stumbling around the dance floor carrying a Rebel flag. A fight broke out in the back by the pool tables. Somebody threw a longneck at the band. The bottle broke on the chicken wire, spraying beer and broken glass across the dance floor. I told Randy and Pete we needed to get the hell out of there.

I glanced over and saw the barmaid talking to the biker. She kept pointing at Zelda. The guy got a really weird look on his face. Then he made a big mistake.

He turned to Zelda and asked, So what are you, some sort of queer bait cross dressin’ fag?

Zelda’s smile evaporated faster than a water droplet near the surface of the sun. She had an amazing ability to quickly lose her ladylike demeanor when she got pissed off. Zelda stood up, yelled Fuck you, asshole!, and punched the guy in the nose. Zelda’s got a pretty good right hook for a transsexual. Not like I know much about trouncing training for transsexuals. But I do know something about noses, and that dude’s schnoz was toast. His face was a bloody mess, and he screamed bloody murder. Zelda sized up the damage she had inflicted on the biker, seemed satisfied with her work, and turned to us.

With a grin she said, Well, this has been fun, but I guess it’s time to leave now.

We headed for the front door. I walked backwards, keeping an eye on things. The biker was distracted by his broken nose. Several people watched us, but I didn’t see any imminent threats. Zelda, Mandy, and Leslie went outside. I figured we might make it out of the joint in one piece. Randy and Pete took one final look around. I was behind them. I touched under my left arm, and found comfort in the soft leather of my shoulder holster, and the outline of my Glock.

I heard some people yell and turned to see what was going on. It looked like a boyfriend-girlfriend fight, honky tonk style. They were shoving each other and trading profanities. He was about my height, maybe six foot two, but he had a big beer gut hanging over his belt. The gal couldn’t have been more than five foot three and a hundred pounds. All of a sudden the guy punched the woman in her face. She cried out and fell to the floor. The asshole stood over her like some macho cave man.

The band finished up their first set. The gal was sprawled out on the floor, sobbing. Blood was running down her cheek. Not a single person stepped in to help her. I felt my blood boil, then decided it wasn’t quite time to leave yet. I walked over and crouched down next to her. She had a deep gash an inch below her left eye. I spotted a big ring on the guy’s right hand, no doubt the source of her wound. Right then and there I decided I was gonna take him out.

I helped her to her feet, led her to a bar stool, and asked the barmaid to get her a damp washcloth. Randy and Pete saw the thing go down. They walked over as the abusive boyfriend tapped me on the shoulder.

The dude said, You need to mind your own damn business, mister.

I glanced at him and said, Go fuck yourself.

What’d you say?

I turned to face the guy. There must have been fifty people standing around watching. I looked at the front door and saw Zelda, Mandy, and Leslie come back in.

To the guy I said, Hold on a second, bubba. I’ll be right with you.

I whispered to Randy and Pete to have the gals pull our van around, slip on some fake plates, open the side door, pull out the automatic weapons, and wait for us with the engine running and the tranny in gear. Tranny as in transmission, not Zelda. Randy passed along the message. I waited until our gals were safely back outside before I shifted my attention to the prick.

I said you should go fuck yourself. You want me to write down instructions for you?

Rather than wait for his answer I buried my foot in his crotch. He howled and doubled over, so I kneed him in the face. Then all hell broke loose. I turned around just as some dude punched me. He cut my lip and I tasted my own blood. That’s a taste I generally don’t like very much. He took another swing, but I ducked under it. I gave him three hard jabs to the bottom of his jaw, and a couple of his teeth popped out. I slammed my fist into his neck and he went down, gasping for air.

Pete picked up a guy and tossed him over the bar. Randy fought two guys at once, and drew a crowd. By the time I got to Randy two more guys were on him. I kicked one guy’s knee and smashed another one’s face into the top of the bar. Randy picked up a bar stool and took out the other two with one swing. I sorted through the bodies that were starting to pile up on the floor, and found the asshole that had punched his girlfriend in the first place. I kicked him between his legs as hard as I could. He howled and grabbed his crotch. I stomped on his face, and he shrieked as blood gushed from his nose. I saw the girlfriend, standing off to the side and holding the washcloth to her cheek. She gave me a terse smile and nodded. I grinned and winked at her.

By then Pete looked like a human wrecking ball. He leveled anybody that came near us. Randy pulled his .357 and fired two shots in the air. Pete and I drew down, everybody backed off, and it got quiet in a hurry. I knew some of the assholes in that place had to be packing. I said as much to Randy and Pete. We swept our pieces back and forth as we headed for the exit. Randy propped the door open as the van pulled up.

I screamed, Everybody on the floor, face down! Now!

Only one guy ignored me. He stood there glaring at me, a pool cue clenched in his right hand. There was no way I was gonna play that game, so I fired two shots next to his feet. He dropped the cue and got on the floor.

Over my shoulder I told Randy and Pete, You guys hop in. I’ll distract these assholes.

When I saw everybody was in the van I fired four more rounds in the air, sprinted to the van, and dove through the side door as Zelda floored it. Randy slammed the door shut. Mandy and Leslie were in the back of the van and had removed the detachable rear windows. Zelda pulled onto northbound U.S. 63.

Mandy called out, Two pickups pulling out behind us! No. Make that four. Shit, five!

Leslie flipped an overhead switch and the twin rear-facing spotlights lit up. Leslie and Mandy laid the pair of M-16s on the rear window frames. Leslie winked at me as she set her selector switch for three round bursts. She aimed low and started squeezing off shots. She nailed a front tire on the lead pickup, causing it to lose control and skid off the highway. Then Mandy used three round bursts on the second pickup. She shot out its headlights, the driver missed a curve, and the pickup flew over the edge of an embankment.

There’s something extremely alluring about a pregnant woman adeptly handling a fully automatic weapon. I thought Mandy looked absolutely radiant. I almost mentioned that to Leslie. Then I figured I better get my maturity level past the ninth grade level before I started thinking about becoming a daddy.

Meanwhile the three remaining pickups accelerated. Some asshole standing in the bed of the lead pickup fired a shotgun at us. Most of the pellets bounced off our armor plated van, but a couple of pellets passed through the open rear windows and cracked our windshield.

I called out, Anybody hit?

Nobody was hurt, but everybody was pissed. Leslie and Mandy set their selectors to full automatic and opened up. They shredded the front end of the third pickup, and it skidded sideways to a stop in the middle of the road. The last two assholes plowed into the third pickup, the dude with the shotgun went flying head first onto the pavement, and the chase was over.

Leslie and Mandy loaded fresh magazines in their weapons before stashing them in the compartment built under the floor of the van. Leslie killed the rear-facing spotlights. Zelda slowed down to the speed limit. Zelda, Randy, Pete, and I complimented Leslie and Mandy on their superb marksmanship.

I said, Right about now the sheriff is dispatching his boys to look for us. They’re gonna saturate U.S. 63, so we need to find another way to Jasper and Mildred’s place.

I pulled out a map, studied it with a penlight, and mapped out a route. We made a quick stop at a gas station, where I used a pay phone to call the law. I said I followed those bastards that shot up Ralph’s place and saw them head northeast on the interstate. Then Randy got behind the wheel, pulled onto the interstate, and headed southwest for several miles before picking up an alternate route to my aunt and uncle’s place. Zelda got annoyed when she noticed she broke a nail when she punched the guy. She fussed about it for a while before deciding it was a small price to pay for such wholesome fun.

At one point Zelda smiled and said, See? I told you a honky tonk would be intriguing.

Chapter 2 - The Idea

We got to Jasper and Mildred’s place without any more hassles. We parked, took our bags into their main house, and said our hellos. Connie was already down for the night, so Zelda went to check on her. She came back after a few minutes and was positively beaming. She found Randy and gave him a big hug and a kiss.

Our little angel is sleeping so peacefully, Randy.

Randy looked confused. Why wouldn’t she be?

"Well, with all the excitement this evening, and…oh,