“You've had plenty of warnings. No more warnings – you've got to go – you've got to leave us.”
He laughed. “You'll never get rid of me.” He turned to look outside.
I put one shot into the back of his head – the clean-up crew took the body for burial.
The committee had given him warnings – warnings for not doing any work, warnings for stealing alcohol and drugs, and two warnings for molesting children. The committee had decided – he had to leave. The committee wanted him out of the group.
Everybody hated him or worse – he was a layabout, a drunkard, a druggie and a child abuser. He was a wrong'un.
It was my job as elected chief of the committee to arrange his leaving. I told him to go, he refused, I put a bullet in his head.