Author: S.N. Bronstein
Chapter Five: Vigilante kills one victim
On January 5th of 2007, I began to drive around where Moon hung out late at night. I had a silver BMW, the stolen plate, and my handgun instead of the rifle. I could never find anyone that looked like Moon and I got a lot of stares by the local people on the street. Dumb as they are, they probably figured I was some type of white gangster, didn’t know what was up, and didn’t really want to find out.
On January 9th I was driving near the high school where he hung out and I spotted a guy walking away from the school. It was not that late. Maybe 11:30 or something like that. I took a chance. There was no one else in sight so I pulled over to the curb, pressed the button to roll down the side window and called out his name. The idiot just walked over to the car and I said something like, “Moon, I need you.” He looked at me and when he asked who I was, I was sure it was him. I leaned over and stuck the gun out the window so the interior would not get full of blood and shot him three times in the head. It was like a movie. He yelped like a dog getting hit by a car and jumped back like he was pushed. He fell down and curled up in a ball, and I took off as fast as I could.
I took the car to a gas station drive- through car wash near my apartment to wash off any mess on the side of the car, tossed the stolen plate away, and put the real one on. I drove home. I parked the car, went upstairs, and that calm feeling took me over again. I had won another battle here and he was in the street dead. Dead was where he belonged.
I felt pretty good again for a few days, the same way I felt inside after I killed the two guys on the expressway. The papers went nuts. The T.V. news went nuts. This was a big story. Here was this guy who made the big time in the newspaper. He was a big deal in the neighborhood for getting away with the drug thing and then the murder, and then he got himself killed.
The cops were not all that smart about it. Their theory was that since this guy was in so much deep shit, his gang friends figured he would make a deal to rat them all out about things to save his own skin. The cops believed they killed him to keep him from talking. Typical behavior for these people. Well, good. They never suspected that it was me or a guy like me. Bad guys were getting what was coming to them and the cops were blaming more bad guys. For the next few weeks, I really felt like I was making a difference in cleaning up my city.
Read today’s other crime story excerpt here The Phone Call.