The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara Read Free

murdering, terrorist slut. You wouldn’t know what loyalty is, would you? That word isn’t part of any Maoist or Marxist doctrine that you learned from those two perverts upstairs waiting to die, is it? Well, is it, you little punk? Answer me!”
    “No…uh…uh…I mean…Oh, God! Please! Please don’t do this! I…”
    Ryan cut him off. “You’re pathetic. Just pathetic. You should be thanking your lucky fucking stars that I’m going to put you out of your misery, you little piece of shit. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll continue.
    “Sitting under that green tent at the cemetery was a truly horrible experience, Hugo. My grandmother fainted and had to be attended to by some of the nearby police officers, who propped up her legs and knelt by her side. When she finally came to, they helped her back to her chair and knelt down in front of her, ready to catch her should she fall again.
    “A police bagpiper—a lieutenant, I think—played ‘Amazing Grace.’ It really tore my family up. I was crying, my parents were crying, and the sobs coming from my grandma were of a sound I’d never heard before, haven’t heard since, and hope to never hear again. My confused little brother just kept asking loudly, ‘Why iseveryone crying, Mommy? Daddy, why are you crying? What’s wrong with Grandma? I’m scared. Please, Daddy, don’t cry.’ Then he and my little sister began to cry as well. It was a mess, Hugo, truly a mess. No little kid should have to experience that.
    “You know, to this day, I can’t listen to bagpipes and I sure as hell can’t tolerate that song they always play. You know, ‘Amazing Grace.’ It just rips into me like a knife. I guess when you’re a little kid, the scars you incur follow you for the rest of your life. Which brings me back to the present, Hugo. Yes, the present. I am here in the present with you because I have to collect a debt. It is a debt that your scumbag parents—you and all the other subversive, sewer-dwelling, shit-eating rats—owe my grandpa and all the other dead cops they have left in their wake. It is long overdue and I’m here to see that it’s paid.”
    Hugo blurted out a protest. “I haven’t killed anyone! I…”
    Ryan cut in, “No, but you espouse the causes of those who do. I’ve been following your activities, you whiny little son of a bitch. Look me in the eye, Hugo. Tell me that you haven’t been aiding and abetting those Marxist dictators to the south who are killing, censoring, and imprisoning their citizens as we speak. Tell me that you and those two mutants in the upstairs bedroom haven’t been down to South America pumping those communist degenerates with innovative ideas on how to carry out their Marxist revolutions.
    “Can you look me in the eye and honestly say that you and the two professors haven’t carried on the revolution they became part of when they were tutored by Castro’sagents back in 1969? I’ll answer that question for you. The answer is no. You can’t deny your culpability.”
    Hugo continued to weep as a small puddle appeared on the floor beneath him.
    “Oh, Hugo, what have you done? Did your aunty Brenda forget to change you this morning? My, my, my, imagine that. A confidant and close personal advisor to South America’s notorious Marxist strong men pissing himself. I can only imagine what they’d think if they could see their devoted little gringo now. Surely they’d be very disappointed. Now, listen closely. I’m about to come to the end of my story. You are seconds away from finding out why I’m going to send you hurling through the gates of hell.”
    Hugo began to heave again, a reaction that invited yet another fist in the gut and a momentary pause in the dialogue while Ryan waited for him to regain some semblance of control.
    “You probably want to know what all this talk about my grandpa, dead cops, bombings, and destroyed families is all about. So let’s discuss that. You see, it was a slimy Lenin’s