Merc sent him a calming wave of energy. “They will not harm anyone anymore.” He looked over at the thugs who had gathered behind him. Their faces were twisted with shock, anger, and hatred. He looked at the homeowner again. “Do you have a spare chair? Preferably one with a high back?”
“No.”
“Then go find one and bring it here.”
The man frowned and looked from Merc to the men he’d have to walk through to run that errand. The thugs separated, clearing the way for him. With a last worried look, the man went on his way.
Merc resumed painting, his back to the men bristling behind him. Mothers called their children home, but Pablo and the girl continued their work. No one besides thugs came out on the street, but Merc could feel the locals watching furtively from their windows and doorways.
He looked up at the wall, which rose some twelve feet from the street. He was going to need a ladder. He turned to the gang watching him in a state of stasis. Pointing at one of the men, he sent him for a ladder.
His passive behavior enraged the gang members. They charged toward him, only to stop when they encountered the shield he’d placed around himself and the kids. Merc continued his work, unconcerned. Someone threw a rock toward them, but Merc mentally reversed its trajectory, throwing it back where it originated. Following that, a hail of rocks pelted toward him, only to fly back to hit the guys who threw them. They cried out in fear and pain. Villagers timidly gathered at street corners, peeking over each other’s shoulders to watch the unusual happenings. They began to whisper among themselves.
A few gang members came forward, boldly raising their fists as they neared him, but instead of hitting Merc, they pounded down on each other. Enraged, they doubled their furious attacks on each other until one of the other men broke them apart. “Why are we fighting ourselves? It’s him we have to strike.”
Merc faced the large group of angry fighters. “You cannot fight me.”
“We can fight any man,” the leader said.
Merc locked eyes with him. “I’m not a man.”
A gasp whispered through the onlookers. From the corner of his eye, Merc saw a few make the sign of the cross over their chests. The gang leader sent a narrow-eyed glare around at them, silencing them.
The homeowner came back with an old ladder-backed chair. Merc had him set it against the opposite wall in the alley, then looked over the group of men, his gaze settling on their leader. Pointing to the chair, Merc said, “Please, have a seat.”
The leader complied, moving stiffly, as if he wasn’t in control of his own body, which he wasn’t. Merc shifted his gaze to the rest of his men. “The rest of you can finish painting this wall. You with the machete, clear away the weeds so that the whole wall can be covered.”
Merc handed over his paintbrush to one of the gangbangers, then went over to stand next to their leader. “Do you know why I chose pink?”
“I don’t care. As soon as it dries, we will paint over it. We will honor the men we’ve lost.”
“What about the children you’ve abandoned or forced to serve you? What about the women—the ones you and your men have raped? Don’t they deserve to be memorialized?”
“They’re women. They were made to be used by men.”
Merc watched the pink paint cover up the ugly gravestones. “I chose pink for them.” The gang leader didn’t need to know it had been his only choice. “You have a good vantage point from your chair here. Perhaps one day, an artist will come and cover the pink with a mural full of color and hope.” He smiled at the man sitting next to him. “And you will get to see it happen.”
“I will not be here.”
“No? Where you will go?”
“Back into the jungle. Until you leave. I don’t know how you’re doing what you’re doing, but we will figure it out. You will regret the games you’re playing.”
“Perhaps. But one thing I do know—you won’t be going anywhere. You’ll die in that chair. You’ll sit there until the flesh falls from your bones and feeds hungry dogs. It’ll be a peaceful death, yeah. Slow, but peaceful. I’m tired of violence. When the village has peace again, they can decide what to do with your body.”
Merc felt the burst of energy the man summoned as he tried to jump up from his seat, but he couldn’t move, not to lift a hand or even to scream. He could only make strange grunts from his now-clamped jaw.
When that wall was fully painted, Merc took the gangbangers to the next wall that needed painting. He parked another of the lead gangbangers in a new chair facing the wall they were about to paint. He sent Pablo to fetch the rest of his paint from his room so the work could continue unabated.
At the third and last wall they went to, they ran out of pink paint. Merc sent Pablo and the girl for more paint. They came back with an orange color, which they used to finish covering the wall. A third man was given a chair and sat to watch over the wall.
When that was done, Merc had the men wash the brushes and set them out to dry. More villagers had come out of their homes to watch the walls get painted. They observed the whole thing nervously, unsure of Merc’s intent. He knew they believed he was some shot caller from the mine, since he was able to get the thugs to comply with so little effort.
When the day was almost over and the afternoon shadows were long, Merc walked into the jungle, using the eastern trail. Following him were the remaining thugs who’d spent the day painting over the murals commemorating their violent deeds and revered members. Men from the town followed at a greater distance.
A mile into the jungle, they came upon the big pits that had been used as mass graves. Merc stood at the edge of the first pit. The man whose balls he’d injured yesterday limped forward, shoving his way through the men.
Before the guy could speak, Merc looked into his eyes and said, “Tell me your soul wants to change. Tell me your heart can heal.”
The man didn’t answer because Merc didn’t want a verbal response—he wanted to hear how the man’s spirit answered without the cover of ego and lies. The man held no remorse for his past actions and had every intent of continuing on the same path, not only because it was the one most familiar to him, but because it was what brought him joy.
Merc held a hand out and indicated the pit. The man limped down to the bottom of it and lay down.
Merc repeated this with each man. Only one showed any remorse at all, but that one craved change. Merc let him go. When it was over, ten men lay shoulder to shoulder in the mud. Merc shut his eyes and set a circle of energy over the pit with the intention that only people with dastardly hearts be allowed to enter. And once inside, those very same people must stay until they die.
When he was finished, it was dark outside. Some of the townsfolk carried flashlights or rough torches. They parted so he could leave, but they stayed behind to peek over the edge of the first pit and look down at the members of the gang who’d caused such harm to their village.
The man from yesterday, the father of the girl Merc had saved, came up to him. “That isn’t all of them. They rotate in from the jungle all the time.”
Merc nodded. “The pit will take care of them. You no longer need to live in fear.”
The man stopped walking, his shock and confusion palpable.