Lordee took out a pack of Benson cigarettes and a purple lighter from his pockets. He lit up one smoothly, rolling up his sleeves and steadying his oversized hoody. Inked images of ferocious looking cats graced the back of his arms, up his biceps to his shoulders though it was mostly hidden by the thick fabric. His eyes were bloodshot, hovering over his victims with the preciseness of a cat. He squatted down, exhaling softly, the smoke whirling in fine circles into the face of one of the boys who was now sobbing quietly, dreading the verdict. The guy gasped and choked on a cough, tears streaming down his cheeks as he wheezed hard but didn't dare move an inch. It looked like a public execution and I knew I couldn't let things escalate past this point. The police chief was Lordee's uncle so involving the cops would have gotten me nowhere. Besides I had a personal beef with George Adams years back when he'd tried to talk me into drugs and I reported his fat arse to the Sheriff. Threatening Lordee with his uncle was folly, but I couldn't just stand back and watch this happen, right?