Justin Finch-Fletchley had always believed in crime and punishment. He was a very firm believer in this from an early age when at six years old, he got caught swigging from his fathers expensive brandy collection. It had been the first and last time that he had received a smack from his father and the harsh strike across his backside had momentarily stunned him before he burst into unabashed tears. It had been a very important lesson though, and now Justin never got punished for his crimes because he made sure he never got caught. He did, however, make sure that other people learned that they couldn't treat him, or others badly or they would be punished too. Aged ten, in the park with his then best friend, Marco Moretti, both bunking off from what was their final year at primary school because they both hated it so much, they had been sitting on a bench, eating sandwiches and talking, when a duck had waddled brazenly up to them obviously scrounging for food. Justin broke off a bit of the crust of his sandwich and tossed it near his feet and as the duck neared, its craven beak darting towards it, he kicked it roughly in its wing. No reason, other than he was much bigger than it and it happened to be just a stupid animal. An appalled onlooker; a forty something plump woman in disgustingly tight jogging gear with sweat patches long ago formed under her arms came over at once, finger wagging, threats of police and parents being involved as well as accusations as to why they weren't in school. Marco, so timid, had bent his neck to stare at his expensive shoes at this, letting his shoulder length straight black hair fall over his face to cover his pretty Italian features. Justin had snatched a look at him, saw his shaking shoulders and stared back up at the woman angrily. She couldn't intimidate his friend like that. It was wrong. She needed punishing.
So he kicked her squarely in the cunt. Hard.
He remembered the look on her face so well. Eyes goggling and mouth open like a fish at the astonishment that such a young private schoolboy (from Kensington, no less) could and would ever behave in such an appalling manner. She had left them alone after that, waddling off, nursing her no doubt wounded snatch and Justin had turned to Marco, eyes bright and smile wide, ready to accept the thanks that he deserved for defending him. But it never came and instead Marco stuttered out that he shouldn't have done that, that he could have gotten them into trouble and it wouldn't have been his fault because he didn't actually do anything except sit there. Justin, desperate to keep his one and only friend at that point let his shoulders sag in false shame and said in a very small and tight voice, that Marco was indeed right and that he was very sorry and he wouldn't do anything like that ever again. They was just words, of course. Inside he was seething. And Marco needed to be punished.
He became quite obsessed in his plan for the most perfect and fitting retribution for him. He obviously didn't want to hurt Marco, he was his friend, but all the same he had to learn respect for him, he had only been trying to help and he had threw it back in his face. He had spied on Marco's house over the next few weekends, hoping to find some sort of path to revenge there. And the Gods must have been smiling down upon their little dark angel for the perfect opportunity quickly offered itself to him. The first Sunday he had started spying, Marco and his parents left the house at around nine thirty that morning and didn't get back until ten to twelve. He hadn't made a move then - he wasn't a fool, but on the Monday that followed, he asked Marco if he wanted to do something next weekend. Maybe stay at his on Saturday night and then go swimming or play tennis on the Sunday morning perhaps? But Marco said he couldn't, because he had to be up early to attend church every Sunday and right there and then Justin knew how his plan would be carried out. God bless Religion.
Next Sunday rolled around and he watched them leave at the same time as they did last week. After giving it ten minutes in case they had forgotten anything, he had walked up to their house and up to the back door and sure enough, like any other time he had been invited over and Marco had flung it open even without anybody else being in the house, it was unlocked. Maybe they didn't realise they weren't in Italy any more. There was no time to waste but all the same he had to remove his slightly muddy shoes before he entered the living room as the carpet was beige and not doing so and therefore making footprints across the carpet would be extremely rude of him, even if there was nobody there to witness it. He took the stairs two at a time, rounded the corner and took the second door on the left he knew to be Marco's bedroom. He doubted himself at this point only for a second, before he shook his fears away. He had helped Marco, had stuck up for him when that stupid woman had threatened to call the police on them and he hadn't been grateful at all. He remembered the goggle-eyed look of horror on her face after he kicked her and how it made her look like a fish. And with that, he made his way over to Marco's own fish tank and peered down into the waters where the exotic creatures lay. He had been bored to tears when Marco had invited him over for the first time and animatedly told him their different names and species and explained all about their habits and lifestyle and how they were so bloody rare, but he hadn't yawned or told him to drop it, because he was his friend and that's not what friends did.
He lifted the top of the tank off and placed it on the floor, rolled up the left sleeves of both his jacket and jumper and scooped his hand in, failing the first couple of times but managing to catch a pretty, yellow fish on his third attempt. He watched it gasping and flapping for life in the palm of his hand and got hard at the amount of power he had right there and then. Life or death, all down to him. The fish gave an extra big jump and escaped from Justin's hand but without any water it didn't get very far and remained on the carpet, pleading with Justin through unblinking and unforgiving round eyes. Justin picked it up by its tail carefully, delicately, and placed it into the palm of his hand again. Then he squeezed the life out of it, hearing and feeling the internal organs pop and crunch against his hand. A tiny river of red trickled down his wrist and it was only then that he opened his hand up and was pleased to see that despite the fish being clearly dead, it was still only half mangled enough to see the true horror of the dead creatures corpse. A completely squeezed fish wouldn't have been as effective; this one looked like it had been half eaten and then discarded, its insides showing and only one eye attached (albeit, by a thread but still attached). He had placed it in the water back with his comrades and repeated the process a further three times with a further three fish. Then he had wiped his hand and arm clean with the disinfectant wipes he had brought along in his jacket pocket, replaced the lid on the fish tank, and casually left the room, humming a happy, tuneless tune to himself as he did so.
Marco was distraught on Monday. He had no explanation as to why his fish had decided to suddenly feed on four others. Justin asked if they had ever exhibited such aggressive behaviour before and Marco shook his head tearfully. Justin felt quite sorry for him at that point and asked him if he would like to bunk off boring old school and go to the pet shop to buy some more fish. Marco hadn't wanted to, but he took Justin upon his offer of skipping school that day and threw him a genuine smile when Justin took them to a restaurant and ordered the largest pizza they had to share between the two of them.
"You're such a great friend, Justin," Marco had said. And Justin had smiled back, revelling in the glory and praise.