“Abigail, you know darn well the police can’t do anything about those petulant young men,” Martha May said. At seventy-six years old, she was still strong-willed and bossy.
“I just think given time the-”
“Gertrude, sixty-nine years old and relatively outspoken interrupted Abigail. “ Oh and just how long do you think we should wait for the law to clean this mess up?” Abigail just shook her head.
Beatrice frowned. At sixty-seven Beatrice was younger than Abigail was by two minutes and after all these years, they stilled
looked identical. “I agree with Martha May, it is time to stop these young hoodlums before they start killing these girls. What do you think, Sadie?”
At fifty-seven and the youngest in the group, I was the last to give my opinion. “The police arrest the creeps, and then the judges let them off with a slap on their hands. I think it is disgusting,” I replied.
“Then it is time to vote,” Martha May said. ‘All those in favor, say I.” The vote was unanimous with a small hesitation on Abigail’s part.
The discussion, about what we were going to do, turned out to be rather boisterous. I decided that it was time for me to take
control of the situation. Abigail and Beatrice were talking about wringing the boy’s neck and or castrating them. Martha May was of a mind to just break their necks, and Gertrude wanted to break their legs with her mom’s old ironwood walking cane.
“Ladies, ladies, if I could interrupt you just for a few minutes, I think I have the perfect solution,” I said, rather loudly. We were in our sewing circle in the living room, our sewing forgotten for the day. “I realize I am the youngest one here and Martha May, being the oldest, is usually in charge, but…murder simply will not do. We need to stop them, by hurting them, in the best way possible,” I told everyone.
Abigail, speaking in her most proper voice, said, “Sadie, I did say castration was the best thing to do to those hoodlums.”
“And you are probably right… These pieces of garbage deserve everything you came up with and more,” I said.
So, what do you have in mind?” Martha May asked me.
“Well, every one of the twelve girls who were raped had just left the theater in town around eleven at night. Therefore, I think we should go reconnoiter the area this afternoon. There is only one alley around there and I believe that is our best bet. These boys
always beat the girls into unconsciousness, take them somewhere to rape them, and then dump them in front of the theater. The girls are always nude when they awake or when someone finds them.” I replied
Abigail asked, “Do you truly believe they take them around to the alley? The newspapers say that the police believe these scumbag’s are taking the girls into the country to commit their heinous acts.”
“Yes I do. I cannot see them taking the time to haul them across town, and then back again.”
“Well, I for one think Sadie may be right. I vote we go see if we can find something to confirm this scenario,” Beatrice said.
We all climbed into my minivan and headed for town. We parked two blocks away and walked down the alley looking for any signs of a struggle.
“Look here on the ground. It looks like something happened here,” Martha May said. There were clumps of hair and dark
spots in the area indicated.
“All right, tonight is Saturday night and the attacks usually take place on Friday and Saturday. Let’s get ready for tonight,” I said.
By ten-thirty that night, we were in place in the alley. Everyone was dressed in black. The only light was a sliver of moonlight, which reflected off the dumpster with Abigail and Gertrude hidden behind it. Martha May and Beatrice were down the alley, concealed behind boxes. Everyone had her weapons of choice. I hid in the door relief of the shop closest to the attack area. Remember, do not move, people see movement before they see objects I had told them earlier. No one moved.
A little after eleven, we heard muffled sounds of people scuffling. Four men came into the alley carrying two unconscious girls. The creeps were laughing.
“Wow, these bitches never knew what hit ‘em,” One man said. “Dave and I will be out front. Come get us when it’s our turn,” He
said as they walked away.
I was furious as I watched them tearing at the girls’ clothes. Abigail, Gertrude and I quietly walked up behind them. Gertrude
used her walking stick and I used my rolling-pin on the men’s heads. They fell to the ground, unconscious. Abigail, using duct tape, hog-tied them and taped their mouths. We pulled them behind the dumpster, their uncovered parts dragging the ground, and we went back into hiding.
Soon their accomplices came around the corner, complaining, wanting their turns. I heard what resembled muffled gongs, and both men fell to the ground, out cold. Martha May and Beatrice stood there, grins on their faces and cast iron frying pans in their hands.
After securely taping the two accomplices, we pulled their pants down around their knees. We dragged the four men to the front of the theater, covered the girls with their torn clothes and carried them gently out of the alley. We got into the minivan, made two phone calls and left when we heard the sirens.
Sunday after lunch, we were once again in our sewing circle. I read the Sunday Times’ lead story aloud. The photo had four men’s bottoms covered with a caption that read, “The Bare Truth.” Now that we have that sewn up, let’s see what is next. This story says,” Elderly people on the south side of town tell police of being attacked and robbed after leaving the bank…“ “All those in
favor, say I.”