Xavier was pleased with this chase. It had been a good run, the freckle-faced 17-year-old had dodged capture for nearly two hours thru the streets of town. Previous hunts had always ended more quickly because of interference from Kincaid and his posse.
As a distraction, several of Xavier’s goons were occupying Kincaid and his posse on the far side of town. For their service, they would be rewarded with food and women.
The thought of outsmarting the sheriff pleased Xavier. It made this kill all the more enjoyable.
The local pedestrians not wanting to become the next victims of the Bobcats, simply ignored the rough treatment of the boy and stepped aside. A basic rule of survival; don’t interfere if it doesn’t concern you.
The boy was exhausted. He couldn’t run anymore. Bruised and battered he collapsed to the ground and pleaded for his life, “Please, I’m sorry!”
Xavier and his goons laughed as they picked up the boy off the ground and dragged him over to a lamppost.
“aaaaah, he’s sorry!” Xavier smirked. “Sorry isn’t going to help you today.”
The Bobcats called this part of the game the “punching bag.” Xavier always threw the first punch. It was his right as the leader. The strength of the first hit depended on his mood. If he didn’t like you, you wouldn’t survive the beating but you would suffer greatly to the end.