Driving Dalton

The first hour of the drive had gone by easily enough. Gertie tried to include Dalton in conversation but he would only respond with one worded answers. What'd he do for a living? Security. Did he have a girlfriend? No. Boyfriend? No.

Gertie on the other hand was very forthcoming with information. She blathered on about her dead husband, her four loving children, her three cats, and the business she used to own. She used to be a personal shopper for disabled people that couldn't do it themselves. Or was it retired people she shopped for? Dalton hadn't paid much attention. He wasn't really interested in her ramblings. He was more focused on what he would do once they actually reached the city. The next hour couldn't pass fast enough.

Luckily he had Douglas Scavo's cell number memorized. Douglas was the son of Lorenzo Scavo, the most feared man in New Jersey. He was the man no one crossed, a real life boogeyman, a person so feared that even whispering it was guaranteed to quiet an entire room of people. Two years ago when Douglas had knocked on Dalton's door saying that Lorenzo was wanting to talk to him personally he almost shit himself. He honestly thought he was going to die. Thankfully Lorenzo wasn't offering him a fresh grave, he had been offering him a job. Since then they had taken care of him. Certainly they could help him out now.

Dalton had zoned out and not even realized it until he was nudged. He blinked and looked over at Gertie whose face was painted with concern.

"Are you alright, dear? Is it your head?"

"I'm fine," he grunted.

Gertie tried to offer Dalton a cheery smile, "Sure you are." She patted his knee reassuringly.

"I'm glad that there's only an hour left," she told him, "I'm driving up to visit my niece. She's having her first child! I can't wait to meet it."

"It?" He asked, surprised. He found it hard to believe that a woman as kind as her was referring to a child as a thing.

"Oh!" She laughed and waved her hand, "That must sound awful. Jessica wants the sex of the baby to be a surprise. You know, that whole progressive thing kids are doing now. I'm hoping she has a girl. I've got six grandkids and they're all boys. Can you believe that?"

What Dalton couldn't believe was how difficult it was to break zip ties. He was straining to break his wrists free, uncaring that it wasn't going to work and would only end in bruises. He just couldn't handle anymore of Gertie's stories or her cheery fucking smile. All he wanted was to break free of his restraints and choke her out so she would shut the fuck up.

"Oi!"

She leaned over and slapped his wrists. Her face turned from open and kind to stern.

"I was kind enough to let you out of the trunk, wasn't I? I even let you use the baby blanket that I knitted so you could have some decency!"

He looked down at the yellow blanket currently covering his naked self with an unimpressed stare. It was probably as old as the woman driving the damn car. The baby blanket was thin and tattered with holes throughout it.

Dalton scoffed, "Well excuse me for wanting to use my hands," he raised his wrists and gave them a shake for emphasis.

"Well excuse me for not wanting to get murdered!" Gertie shot back. "I watch Forensic Files. I've seen what can happen to nice ladies like myself. Let's say I untie you, what happens next? You bump me off, kick me out of the car, then drive away to do God knows what!"

Dalton had to try his absolute best not to roll his eyes at the ranting woman even though she was right. It was just his luck that she wasn't as naive as he'd been hoping. Of course the old hag watched those terrible reenactment shows in her spare time. He had the sneaking suspicion that she probably recorded re-runs on old VHS tapes because Netflix was 'too complicated'. She obviously didn't believe in modern technology considering the fact that she still had a flip phone.

Honestly, he thought to himself, who even makes those anymore? She probably still had a landline with a cord attached. A long cord so she could walk around the house and gab with some other old woman about how great Alex Trebek looks for his age.

He hadn't realized that he was pondering the life of some geriatric broad until he received a smack upside the head.

"Ow!" He stared incredulously at her smug face, "What was that one for?"

"Not paying attention!" Her brows furrowed as she watched the road, "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Dalton didn't respond. He never talked about his parents. Hadn't said a word about them in ten years.

Gertie rolled her shoulders and huffed sarcastically, "I can't imagine why anyone would leave you in the trunk of a car."

He wasn't in a place to argue when he had done more than enough to deserve being knocked out and left for dead. That didn't mean he wasn't going to find whoever did this to him and make them pay.

The only problem was: Who?

The Marchesi family weren't very fond of him since he had betrayed them and started working for the Scavos. Arthur Nolan had sworn to hang him with his intestines after he'd hooked up with his daughter and gave her Syphilis. That, in Dalton's opinion, was going a little too far. She'd gotten treatment after all! Then again Arthur may have been more upset because not only did he give her an STD but had also convinced her to leave her fiancé and then ditched her. There was also David Jones, Maria Hughes, Caitlin Harris, Antony Bellini, and Drea Rizzo. There were more than that but without something to write on he was bound to forget some.

"Well, how about some music?" Gertie flashed her dentures at him for a sweet smile and turned on the radio. "Lucky for me I brought my favorite tape!"

The urge to roll his eyes over the fact that she had a cassette tape was overwhelming.

An older guitar accompanied by an easy, steady drum lulled through the speakers.

"Tonight you're mine, completely."

Dalton froze completely in his seat. He knew this song.

A thick lump formed in his throat. He didn't notice Gertie rocking her shoulders and singing along. He was cold all over. His hands were clenching the baby blanket in his lap to the point his knuckles were turning white.

"You give me your love so sweetly."

His jaw clenched hard enough his teeth were in fear of cracking. Memories forced themselves to the forefront of his mind.

He's six and giggly. His blue eyes are watching his mother being spun around the kitchen by his father and laughing in delight. His mother sings along to her stereo loudly, joy written all over her face, her laughter filling the entire house. The sun hits her hair and it glows like an angel's. His father grins at him and pulls him up to spin him around too. He feels loved.

He's eleven and fuming. It's Christmas Eve and his dad is working overnight at the hospital which is code for fucking the nurses. The Shirelles play softly on the radio while his mom makes the two of them cocoa and tells him that his father wishes he could be here, he really does, but sometimes life gets in the way. He knows his mother is aware of his father's infidelity but she ignores it. Her hand holding the mug is trembling, her drink is a mixture of hot chocolate and Bailey's Irish Cream. He ignores her and runs to his room to scream into his pillow. He feels enraged.

He's twenty-one and anxious. His parents are asleep as he stands at the end of their bed with his very first gun in his hand. Edward Marchesi had given it to him. Told him that if he wants to be a part of the new family he has to get rid of his old one. His mother hadn't turned off her stereo, the innocent voices of her favorite girl group play as he lifts the gun. He watches them sleep peacefully and thinks about how pathetic they are. A cheating father and a lush of a mother. They hold him back. He hesitates, hand shaking so hard he's terrified he'll drop it. Quickly, before he can change his mind, he fires and shoots his father in the head. The bang wakes his mother up. Her startled blue eyes stare straight into his. He aims it at her and pulls the trigger. He feels free.

He's twenty-one and trying to act sad. His parent's funeral is a sad turn out. There's a handful of people standing around two tombstones. Walter J. Quin, loving father and husband. Gwenyth Bishop-Quin, loving mother and wife. Someone had brought a boom box to play his mother's favorite song. A hand squeezes his shoulder, looking up he sees it's Edward Marchesi. He nods at the man who leans down and whispers in his ear, "Not bad, kid." He feels proud.

"Turn it off."

She hadn't heard him over the music, "What's that?"

Dalton refused to look at her. "Turn the fucking music off."

"You don't like-"

He snarled, still not meeting her eyes, "Turn the fucking music off!"

Gertie jumped in her seat and accidentally swerved onto the next lane on the empty road. She gripped on tighter to the wheel and straightened the car out. Her shaking hand quickly turned the radio off.

Dalton let out a breath of relief when the music was cut short.

It was quiet in the car for a long time. Dalton glanced at Gertie and saw her face had turned pale with fear. Both of her hands were back on the steering wheel and holding on for dear life. He could see how scared she really was, it settled something in him that he couldn't explain. He always felt a sick sense of satisfaction when someone was scared of him. Maybe she had realized just how dangerous of a situation she was in; all alone in a car with a complete stranger without a way of contacting anybody for help.

The old woman slowly loosened her grip on the wheel, "I guess you're not a fan of old music," she laughed but it was empty, full of more panic than mirth. "I'll keep that in mind."

Dalton didn't regret lashing out at her. He was hoping that the fear would be enough to scare her into a heart attack so he could kick her out and steal the car. Maybe then he'd be going faster than fifty miles an hour.

"How much longer?" He asked impatiently.

"Is my bumper buddy ready to leave me already?"

He glared at her, tired of trying to keep a friendly face.

"You're no fun," she grumbled. "It's looking like it'll only be another half an hour. Roads are empty, lucky us."

It really was lucky for him. He couldn't wait to be free of his ties and possibly find a pair of pants. Then again he was pretty pleased that he may have ruined the baby blanket by letting it rest on his bare dick and balls. Unless the parents wanted it to have a very specific rash he'd advise against using it without bleaching first. Maybe some ammonia too.

"Why are you so private?"

Dalton wasn't sure he heard correctly. He looked over at Gertie but her eyes were focused on the road. For once her face wasn't so sweet, it was solemn, it unnerved him. He shrugged, "Dunno. Broken home? Some other bullshit sob story?"

She chuckled softly, "Life isn't always daisies but it doesn't hurt to look at the bright side every once in a while."

He openly rolled his eyes at that. Gertie saw that and nodded seriously, "Honestly, dear. I've had my fair share of hard times too. But do I let it get me down? Absolutely not."

"Yeah, the great depression must've been awful," he retorted.

Gertie laughed loudly and shook her head. "Just missed it, actually." She glanced at him and smiled sadly, "You know, you remind me of one of my kids. Mean as Hell. Pretty as the devil himself."

"Thanks?"

She winked at him, "Anytime, dear."

Dalton allowed the smallest of smiles on his face. If he had to be honest with himself he was glad that he was stranded with her of all people. Sure, a busty just turned eighteen year old girl would have been nice, but Gertie was decent enough. He still wasn't sure how exactly he came to be in the trunk of her car. It was so random.

That's what made it so genius. He cursed himself for not coming up with it first. What better way to piss someone off? It was cruel, unnecessary, but not truly life threatening. Except for the part where he got hit on the head. That part really did hurt. All in all someone had found their own way to exact revenge on him. It was brilliant. He was impressed, impressed enough that he thought about bringing the idea up to Douglas. He couldn't wait for the next time somebody owed them money. Except instead of leaving them in the trunk of an old woman's car maybe he'd leave them in the trunk of a soccer mom's car.

The rest of the ride was quiet which Dalton was immensely grateful for. It allowed him the time to think of what he would do to the bastard that did this to him. He'd thank them for the new idea then rip out their teeth one by one. Maybe some mutilation too. It would depend on how nice he was feeling that day.

In the distance he could see a road sign. As they drove closer he could see that it was notifying that there was an exit only three miles away. "Finally," he groaned.

Gertie smiled at him, "Are you gonna miss me, bumper buddy?"

Dalton rolled his eyes but he couldn't keep the small smirk off his face, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Further down the road there was another sign. He frowned when he realized it was a detour. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He asked, temper growing yet again. He was so fucking close.

"Don't worry, dear," Gertie waved a wrinkled hand at him, "I'm sure it wont take long."

She turned onto the secluded path. It was even darker than before, all Dalton could see was the road before them. Even the trees had blended together to create one dark blur.

Gertie clicked her tongue and shook her head, "It's amazing anyone can see a thing down here," she muttered. Her hand flipped to turn on the high beams. In the near distance was a parked white van.

"The fuck?" Dalton asked, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Gertie rolled straight up to the van and parked. There was about fifty feet between the vehicles.

"What are you doing?" Dalton asked Gertie. He turned to look at her. Her face was completely blank, stripped of any emotion. "Gertie?"

The door of the van slid open with a loud bang. Dalton jumped, looking towards the vehicle to see someone coming out. All he could see was a large body dressed in all black, their face covered by a black bandana. After them five more bodies came out, three from the backseat, one from the driver side, and one came from around the side. They all were dressed in black with the same bandana covering their faces.

"Gertie!" Dalton turned to her, he hoped his voice was coming out angry instead of scared, "What the fuck is this?!"

The woman didn't even bother to look in his direction. "It's all part of the plan, dear," she answered.

The first body that came out of the van stalked over to the passenger door. Dalton tried to move quickly, unsure of what to do. He wriggled but couldn't go far thanks to his bonds and the seat belt. The door was ripped open, he tried to curl away from them when he heard a click. His seat belt. Gertie had just unbuckled him. The stranger nodded at her before grabbing Dalton and yanking him out of the seat by his hair.

White hot pain started in Dalton's head. The stranger gripped even harder, their knuckles pushing into the tender lump on his temple, and dragged him to the feet of all the strangers.

One of the bodies cocked their foot back and kicked him straight in the mouth. "Fuck!" He cried loudly, dripping blood onto the dirt. He was kicked in the stomach by one of them, then in the ribs by another, then they were all taking turns. One foot caught his nose, breaking it. He cried out, more blood falling, when they all at once stopped. He heard footsteps behind him drawing near. One of the bodies rolled him over with their foot. He laid on a cracked rib and choked in pain.

Dalton looked up and sobbed, betrayed. There bathed in the light from the cars was Gertie. She held the worn baby blanket in her hands and smiled fondly at it. "You came home in this," she told him, "It's only fair that you're buried in it too."

"G-Gertie," he wheezed, "Wh-What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?"

She was as still as a statue. A face that he had associated with warmth was colder than anything he could have imagined. She tilted her head down at him and raised a brow. "You really don't know?"

He shook his head desperately. She sighed impatiently and looked at the band of bodies in black. "Go on, then," she told them, "Show him."

Dalton craned his neck to look at them. One by one they pulled down their hoods and unmasked themselves.

First there was Maria Hughes. She took off her bandana and displayed what he had called 'his finest piece of artwork'. There were three long, jagged scars marring her porcelain skin. They started at her eyebrow, traced across her nose, and ended at her chin.

Next to her was David Jones. David stared at him with fire in his eyes, his body shaking and ready to start attacking him again. It wasn't even comparable to what Dalton had done to David's brother; got him hooked on the drugs Marchesi was selling, he had OD'ed only a year after that.

Beside David was Antony Bellini. His handsome face looked relaxed, like he had nothing better to do with his day. He wasn't leaning on his left leg, probably because Dalton had shot him in that knee.

Standing beside him was the ball of unbridled rage Caitlin Harris. The girl he had raped for two years straight. Her mother was one of the nurses his father had an affair with. At the time he had thought of it as some sort of sick revenge. A way to tear apart her family the way she did his own.

The man that had grabbed him, the largest of the group, was none other than Arthur Nolan. He had sworn to strangle Dalton with his own intestines. The look on his face promised he would do just that.

Last person standing was Drea Rizzo. She looked tough enough with her nose ring and shaved head, the snarl on her face wasn't helping any. It was only last week he had shot a bartender in the face: Max Rizzo, Drea's father.

Everyone standing before Dalton had reason to kill him but one still didn't make sense.

"Gertie," he gasped. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, "Why?"

She looked down at Dalton and pursed her lips. "When people asked me about my daughter Gwenyth I always told them the same thing. She's mean as hell and pretty as the devil himself." Her blue eyes were cold as ice, they pierced him harder than any blade, "You look like her too. You've got her eyes. My eyes."

Dalton sobbed loudly. Gertie reached into her pocket and pulled out the flip phone. She flipped it open and feigned a surprised gasp, "Would you look at that? A full battery!"

She snapped a picture of his broken, bloodied face. "Lorenzo will be glad to know I made it here safely."

"L-Lorenzo-"

"Yes," Gertie snapped, "Lorenzo Scavo. He's a good friend of mine. I used to shop for his wife when the Alzheimer's got bad. Did you think he recruited you for your skill?" She laughed cruelly, "I asked him to. I knew that one day I'd have the chance to take care of my darling grandson properly. Just had to be patient. Lucky for me there were plenty of people willing to help."

The crowd of the broken all grinned wickedly at Dalton.

Gertie stood up to her full height and looked at everyone standing before her, anxiously waiting for her next command. They looked like starving beasts waiting to feed.

"Arthur, be a dear and grab my bag."

He nodded and walked past everyone to reach into the '93 Honda Civic. He grabbed a duffel bag and brought it before Gertie.

"Those are your toys," she told him pleasantly, "Make sure you share," she warned with a pointed finger.

Dalton watched the exchange with wide eyes. Arthur dropped the bag next to Dalton, he flinched and whimpered. The older man crouched down to unzip the bag. He grinned down at the 'toys'. Knives, brass knuckles, hammers, axes, all varying sizes and shapes. Arthur reached in and grabbed a large, serrated hunting knife.

"Think this could do same damage?" He asked Dalton, his voice hoarse and full of giddiness.

More tears slid down Dalton's cheek.

The rest of the group took their turns picking their tool of choice from the bag. They kneeled around Dalton in a circle, each of them shaking, ready to strike when commanded.

"Please," Dalton begged, "Please don't do this."

Caitlin leaned over him, her face was hard, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, "I remember saying those exact words to you when I was thirteen. Do you remember what you said to me?" She didn't wait for an answer, she reached out and tightly squeezed his broken nose in her hand. Dalton screamed in pain, trying to wriggle away from her. She let go of his nose and bent down to whisper in his ear.

"You said I looked pretty when I cried." She pulled back, slipping on the brass knuckles, then cocked her fist back and hit his nose. Blood spurted out, his head swung to the side, his scream echoed through the trees.

"You don't look very pretty when you cry," she hissed.

"Well done, Caitlin!" Gertie cheered.

The old woman smiled down at everyone before her. She dropped the blanket beside Dalton, "When you bury him, drop this in with him."

She turned from them all and climbed back into the car. She turned the radio on and turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

"Tonight the light of love is in your eyes. But will you love me tomorrow?"

Gertie rolled down the windows and stuck her head out, "Have fun!"

All at once they started on Dalton. His screams ripped through the air.

Gertie backed out of the spot and turned onto the road, leaving behind her grandson and the broken people he had damaged.