Enjoy the opening scene...
Spring 1994
At eight thirty Friday morning, twenty-nine-year-old Rick Solomon was dismissed from the Miami Federal Correctional Institution, a pent-up rage within him. A rage that scorched his firm body from head to toe. What he felt was no ordinary hate or anger. It was something much deeper, much darker than even he could understand. He'd just done time for a crime he didn't commit, and he was filled with such a burning lust for revenge, he could barely contain it. He was five feet eight inches tall and weighed one hundred sixty pounds, most of which was pure muscle. He had brown hair, brown eyes, a round face, and an easy smile. As he walked out of his cell, Mosby, a neighboring inmate shouted, "Hey! Another innocent man is escaping." Laughter erupted from the nearby cells.
Rick went solid, and his muscles stretched as his cold look hid his desire to cripple Mosby for life. "You wouldn't have said that if I wasn't getting out!"
Mosby opened his mouth to smile with a mishmash of gnarled yellow teeth. "Bye, sweet meat. I'll miss you."
The guard broke up the moment. "Shut up, Mosby. I'll bring you back fresh meat that's not so tough."
The other prisoners continued to laugh. Rick looked at the guard, and his fists started flexing again, wanting to hit him just one time for old time's sake. "You wouldn't have said that either."
The guard barked back, "Hey! Get your stuff. They don't let you out of prison every day."
The guard looked into the cell. A series of hand-drawn caricatures of women with various parts of their torsos missing were sketched no higher above Rick's bed, no higher than if he had drawn them when he was lying down. During his years in prison, Rick Solomon did not dream. He drew. Several of the bodies drawn on the wall looked like Rick had jabbed them many times with something sharp.
"What about your girlfriends on the ceiling?" the guard asked.
Three newspaper clippings of three women were taped to the ceiling. A faded headline alongside the pictures read, Justice Is Served. The clippings also had multiple jab marks.
Rick was impatient. "Keep the bitches. They've already given me enough wet dreams."
Rick left the prison and stepped onto the pavement. He was on the verge of tearing himself in two. His rage had built to such a high peak, he could actually feel the green dragon rise up. I'm going to find the female scum and her friends and exact my pound of flesh. But he suppressed the urge and fled because if he thought once more about the beatings and the vile degradation he'd suffered in prison, he was afraid that his anger might grow beyond containment and hysteria of a sort might grip him.
Now he realized that the clause in the Pledge of Allegiance that mentioned "and liberty and justice for all" was sheer nonsense and hogwash. If he had been falsely locked up for a crime he didn't commit, it meant the judicial system in America was undeniably wrong. In order for justice to be served, you couldn't rely on authorities. They were too damn slow, some too racist, and had too much paperwork to begin with. You had to make it personal, take justice into your own hands, bypass the screwed-up system entirely, and become an outlaw and punish harshly. You had to harshly punish any scumbag who trespassed against you.
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