Chapter 3: The Punisher

Chapter 3: The Punisher

The Punisher closed the folder labeled “Lacy Buchanan” and set it in the bookcase. There was an area for closed folders, but this was the first one. From the next shelf above, he took another folder and opened it.

The photo of the woman looked up at him, a smile on her pretty face and a purple flower in her long auburn hair. From the background and the floral print of her dress, it appeared that the photo was taken at a luau or at least a Hawaiian themed party. Maybe actually in the Islands. Her eyes were a dark shade of black.

She looked to be in late teens, a pretty girl but carrying too much weight to really look good. He could see only the tops of her breasts, but they were large and, if experience were any judge, would be soft to the touch but lacking firmness and definition. From the shade of her face and features, he pegged her as being of Italian descent. Her name just confirmed that.

Looking to another photo, one that he had taken, he could see her whole body. She was in the process of coming down steps in front of some large public building. Half a dozen other people were scattered in the background, some going up, some coming down the stairs.

He remembered that it had been drizzling that morning, the dampness showing on her coat and the concrete steps. Only the bottom of her legs showed, and from that he could see that she was not a slender girl. The wide hips also told of too much weight. The front of her coat was buttoned and bulging with the large breasts contained within.

Several sheets of computer printed pages followed a couple more surveillance photos. In brisk terms it outlined her bio, included her normal habits and her fairly fixed schedule. She was taking a course at the local community college. The class met three nights a week. It should not be too hard to make the grab.

Turning back to the first photo, he stared at her dark eyes and wavy black hair. She had taken a lot of time getting her hair to look like a model for some shampoo product. Vain, maybe, or maybe just trying to look her best to make up for being overweight.

Closing the folder and setting it on his desk, he stretched his back and rubbed his right leg. The pain was worse this morning. But it always was when the skies were gray and the air damp. He had another of those headaches that had been getting worse. Just too early to take another painkiller. The doctor had told him not to take too many of them. Only when he really needed it. He grimaced, and tried to ignore the pain.

Before he rose from the desk, he picked up a small statue he had found in a novelty store while on a trip to New York. It depicted a troll-like creature, ugly and broad shouldered. Its arms were down by its sides, but one hand had a short chain at the end of which was a small spiked ball. There was a vicious grin on his face, maybe meant to be amusing but failing. Below his feet, a label read “Punisher.”

He had bought that little figurine and taken the name for himself. It fit, he felt. He was The Punisher. The one who repaid people for their sins. The one who avenged crimes gone unavenged by a faulty system.

Tonight? he asked himself, putting down the Punisher toy and picking up the folder again. No, tomorrow. She attended no classes tonight.