He had finally come to his decision as he pulled into the driveway on a late Friday afternoon in August of 1998. He’d known for months what he had wanted to do and had planned carefully for it. He parked the car well off to the left making sure not to block Steph’s car. She’d be leaving with the kids in about an hour, so he hurried in to help her finish loading the Tahoe. He would have bet his life savings that the car was certainly not loaded yet, he smiled grimly to himself. They were off to see her folks and he was off on a weekend fishing trip to Florida. She’d be back in about four days with about a week to spare before school started again. As Will had walked into the kitchen from the back door the noise of a flustered wife, a loud confused son and a complaining daughter hit his ears, like cymbals crashing. The normal noisy storm before the late and hurried departure to anywhere, let alone a four day trip two states away.
The running argument and loud jumbled conversation on that August afternoon as it trailed out of the house and into the car would be the the last time he would heard their voices. It would be the last time he would ever see them again. He waved to them as they pulled out and as usual they had been too preoccupied with who got the I-Pod first, to really notice. A brief honk down at the end of the block was done from habit with maybe a small amount of guilt for forgetting to actually say goodbye, but mostly just an afterthought. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault he said to himself, it’s just the way it is now. He watched the car turn the corner and continued to stare for a minute or two, his eyes glazed over and dull. His mind was dull as well, muddied and sluggish. Hell, he still loved her and she still loved him and they both adored the kids. So much history together, so many memories but it didn’t matter, he had made his decision and he wasn’t going to change his mind at this point.
Will Garrison finally turned back up the driveway and walked back into the kitchen, now quiet as a cemetery. He looked stoically around the familiar scene, taking one last sad mental picture of refrigerator magnets, pictures and a small plate on the counter with half of a cookie still on it. Standing there he still couldn’t believe it. He also couldn’t believe that later that evening, he would be dead. He was just sure of it.
He would die tragically in a small plane crash around 9:30 p.m. or so tonight. He would be piloting his pride and joy, the Cessna Skylane that he had bought and learned to fly about five years earlier. Sitting next to him tonight would be his life-long best friend Brett Colson. Brett, the firmly committed bachelor, whom Will lived vicariously through. They had gone on this yearly trip religiously and enjoyed it immensely. After picking Brett up and driving to the small regional airport, they would load the plane with luggage and fishing gear. As Will had filed the flight plan already, his plane would be fueled in advance and all they would have to do would be go through the standard pre-flight preparations and wait for clearance to take-off. While Brett had no license to fly and didn’t really understand all of the instrumentation and procedures he had become a helpful unofficial copilot so they would be ready to go fairly quick.
It was nearly 9:00 and they had been in that air almost an hour, and according to his calculations, Will knew he was very close to where he wanted to be. He looked down and tapped the fuel gauge with his forefinger, seemingly puzzled he switched over to auxiliary fuel and continued to stare at the gauge. Brett picked up on this and looked over at him questioningly.
Will continued to stare at the instrumentation but now had slowly unbuckled his harness and told Brett calmly, “Hold her steady for a second okay?”
“Sure Will, no problem”, Brad replied, curious but certainly not concerned. Will was capable, solid and steady as they come in virtually everything he did, in work, at home, or in life for that matter. He was a hard man, uncompromising in general, but decent and extremely confident. Brad had no doubt he had control of the situation, whatever that was.
Will turned and half stretched, half crawled between and behind them, Brett simply taking the yoke and keeping her relatively steady as he had been instructed.
“Okay, I got it” Will said twisting back around and coming back through the narrow space between them, taking the yoke again.
Expressionless, Will looked straight ahead out into the darkness and he could feel Brett looking at him expectantly for some explanation or next step. For a brief second, Will thought to himself that maybe this all didn’t have to happen, that it wasn’t really necessary. But it had broken him and it was too late for any of that, much too late, he concluded silently.
“We’re going down Brett” Will had said it as calmly and as matter of fact as if he had been commenting on the sunset earlier that evening.
“We’re go.....wha…..What did you say?” Brett asked, as he noticed in the glow of the instruments that Will was sitting a little awkwardly now.
The only answer was the changing sound of the plane as it began to steadily gain altitude. The stronger drone continued and the Cessna’s altitude needle just kept going higher.
Will looking straight out into the night suddenly said, “Before this happens Brett, do you have anything to tell me? Anything, to say to me? Anything at all? You’re my best friend, you’re like my brother”, and adding almost as an aside he finished with, “we don’t have much time left together bud.”
He didn’t look over at Brett, he just kept flying the Cessna and staring straight ahead. There was a long silence, pregnant and tense.
“Look, Will…..I don’t know what this is all about….is there something wrong with the plane or you? Brett stammered
There was no answer from his old friend.
“Will, I …..I don’t know what you’re thinking or what you’re feeling right now, tell me whats wrong“ Brett was picking his words carefully, talking low and even.
Still no answer came from the stone faced pilot. As Brett stared over at him in the darkness of the small, instrument lit cockpit, he thought he could make out a small package in the lap of his friend. He peered at it trying to distinguish it and realized seconds later what it was. A parachute.
Brett was stammering now as he began to realize that something was seriously wrong “Will, for God’s sake what’s wrong?! Whats got you….so damn….upset….is it the job, the - ”
“DON’T do this to me”, Will said cutting in. “Don’t, on top of everything else…..don’t” he said once again with quiet force. Another silence followed and Brett slowly turned to look out the side window and into the never ending darkness. The plane droned on steadily, it had leveled out just seconds earlier, reaching the desired altitude for Will. There had been no talk for at least a minute. A very long minute.
Brett, while still looking out at nothing and his mind racing finally broke the silence, “It wasn’t her fault, not her fault at all Will”, he said abruptly, “Hell man she still loves you……Steph never really cared for me….we just….we….”
“You tore my heart out pardner, just as sure as shooting me, you killed me” Will said as his voice raised and leveled out again. He continued, “You’ve got a decision to make Brett”, handing the parachute across to his friend, “You or I will survive this - but both of us will die in our own way.”
“Will?!….Jesus…..Will, what the hell are you talking about?!” Brett asked sounding very close to panic now and still not entirely believing that this was really happening.
“One of us will go down with this plane, which is almost out of fuel. The other will use that parachute and probably live, but face the consequences; hiding out, running away from everything and everybody we ever knew or just turning themselves in. You Brett, yeah my old buddy Brett, You will decide who does what”, Will said as he slowed the airspeed of the plane and this time he was staring evenly back at his former friend.
He was sure he knew what the decision would be as Brett contemplated the small parachute that now lay in his lap. Sure he was going to die like he’d thought he would all day.
“And Brett” Will said as a side comment almost “we don’t have much time, we’re far too high to try to bring this thing in safely and she’s gonna start coughing with no fuel in a second.
Brett finally looked up at Will from the paracute on his lap with a mixed expression of grief and a deep sadness. Mingled in that look and that face though was also a touch of honor. Yes, there was definitely a look of honor. Honor once had, lost and now regained, decided Will to himself as he looked hard at the best friend he would ever have.
Epilogue
The headlines and stories in the local Georgia papers had been tragic and sudden as they always are in plane crashes;
“Two prominent business leaders from the small town of Shackley, Georgia were killed late Friday night when their Cessna went down in the Florida Everglades. One body has been found and positively identified in the wreckage of the plane and the other has still had not been recovered”.
That second body, most likely never would be found, due to the almost impossible terrain and swamp around the wreckage. Or another reason. Regardless, an extensive search had been conducted. After the search was finally called off with no results and several weeks had passed by it was time for other tragedies, mysteries and scandals in the news. There were always plenty of those other stories to go around. Week after week and month after month the story faded, until finally it was just a vague memory for most.
Steph Garrison was never the same although she finally had to just accept what had happened and come to terms with it in a way. But that never took away the guilt, knowing what she knew, feeling the shame she felt. She had no one to confide in and no one to go to, but she had accepted that as her fate and her just reward. There was something else though, something that ate at her day and night, sometimes it was right in her face and other times it was controlled and well under the surface. It was always there though, always with her. She had already decided that this was something that would be with her until the day she died. It whispered to her on a wrong number call at night, tapped her softly on the shoulder in the grocery store, stared at her from two rows back at the movie theatre. It was in her rearview mirror as she was backing out of a mall parking place, standing and staring in the parking lot. Always with her, right behind her or around the corner, or down the street standing and staring.
She didn’t know if it was just a guilty conscience or something entirely different. She shuddered at the second reason. The body that had never been found was that of her husband, Will. She was just sure of the terrible result of the accident. Just positive they had both perished. Sure of it. On the other hand she knew Will like no one else, knew his strength and perseverance, knew how strong he was physically and in his personality. Knew his feelings towards right and wrong….
On this sunny day in early June, she sat at her daughter’s college graduation ceremony with a sense of tremendous pride and love but sadness as well. Will Jr. sat next to her looking at his sister on stage with a solemn and sincere look of his own. They had all grown closer as a result of the terrible ordeal that occurred some 7 years ago now. That was the one good thing that had come out of this nightmare, she smiled to herself and wiped a slow tear away. Meghan was walking off the stage now. Graceful and beautiful in her dark blue and gold robe, she had accepted her diploma as Steph had watched with trembling lips and big slow tears. As she recovered, smiling back at her son who looked at her with some concern, she felt it again.
Felt the eyes. Somewhere behind her. Eyes burning into her. After several minutes and another twenty or so names had been called, she couldn’t stand it anymore, simply couldn’t. As nonchalantly as possible she turned innocently around with a staged expectant look, as if looking for a relative, scanning the crowd behind her, eyebrows raised and a false grin on her face.
It was like looking for something you really don’t want to find, sweeping back and forth half heartedly, hoping not to see anyone you know. She was just about to turn around with a great deal of relief, when she saw the man. Same square shoulders, same posture, maybe a little lighter in build. Maybe. He was sitting in the very back row and was partially blocked by the seated crowd. This was an informal outside ceremony so his baseball cap and sunglasses were not unusual attire and he blended in easily with the rest of the crowd. Even with the glasses though, she could feel those eyes on her, feel them burning right through her with a hot hate. She scanned away and then did her best to casually turn back around. Steph Garrison sat frozen with fear and rooted so badly, she could hardly twist around to move her arm back around her son. She did manage to decide something though, despite all of this fear and trepidation. Afterward, before she would greet her daughter, she would follow him, get a better look and if she could really steel herself, personally confirm who he was.
As the ceremony was just about to conclude she stole one more glance to get a better bearing on where he was sitting. Her face fell though as people behind her gradually shifted and moved, giving a clearer look back to where he was. An empty chair stared back at her. Looking through the crowd afterward she had not found him either. Little did she know she would never find him, despite seeing or feeling him many more times in the years to come. Little did she know that a never opened, rotted parachute on Will Garrison’s skeleton was back in that Everglade swamp somewhere, destined never to be found, destined to forever plague her.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
The Justice Keeper
~Chapter 1~
It was times like these that he missed his other life, what he had been, who he had been and when things had been normal. The pleasant spring day was breezy, warm but not hot, fluffy white clouds were skidding across a perfect blue sky. He watched the young couple pushing the stroller around the town square at a leisurely pace. The man and woman walking with one arm loosely around each others waist. He couldn’t hear them from the park bench he sat at, but knew what they were probably talking about. Their baby, their careers, a new house someday, which elementary school, what was for dinner and I love you. They were talking of futures and kids going to college someday and even grand kids. Any of those things, and all of those things. He had been exactly in that position once and could remember it well.
But that was then and this was now, he frowned slightly and shook his head slowly, reluctantly turning his back to the young couple to concentrate on the subject at hand. He had been in town for a couple days now. Driving the streets, taking the interstate off and on ramps, getting a feel for the good and bad areas of town, looking at homes and neighborhoods like any good prospective homebuyer might. Not altogether a bad visit. He was working and concentrating on the job at hand, but he never rushed things and always made an effort to appreciate what ever town he was in, and its citizens for that matter. He would have made a terrific travel guide, he thought smiling ironically to himself.
William Lee Hinton had several different professional careers during a 25 year span starting back in 1975, the year he had graduated from Purdue University. He’d been an Advertising Exec, a Marketing Analyst and a VP for a major food manufacturer. Money had never been a problem. Friends had never been a problem. Finally finding a great wife and having 2 beautiful children had never been a problem. What had been a problem, for really his entire life, had been his unsuccessful search for excitement and even danger. He had acquired hobbies such as skydiving, flying his small Cessna, sheer rock and mountain climbing, scuba diving, even racing dirt track at County Fairs, and on and on. None of these had really punched his ticket or fed the hunger.
When their kids had been only 3 and 5 years old, his wife Caroline had suddenly passed away due to cancer, a cancer that had gone undetected for far too long. Four months later and she was gone from a related stroke. Ironically, the year she had died he had finally found that excitement and danger, but it was nothing like what he had been expecting or looking for.
Hinton, who had used at least ten different names in the past and was James Phillip Dixon currently, was a drifter of sorts. Constantly changing his identity and his location, he traveled the country and sometimes the world, like a modern day nomad. He was a contract killer of sorts. Completely efficient, very detached and a believer in that he was doing right, he was perfectly suited for his profession really. The people who would contract his services were usually business professionals, intellectuals, sport or entertainment celebrities, politicians and always - always from a certain level of income. He had made that a must from the beginning, not because he favored the well to do, but more from the standpoint of being able to continue this quest as long as possible. He wanted his potential 'employers' to have as much at stake as he did - as much 'skin in the game' as he did. He also demanded that they prove sincerity, a story of true personal hardship, real wrongdoing and absolute injustice. The people with money always seemed to be a little more manageable, controllable and confidential - not nearly as brazen or erratic as others who wanted people dead. He had come across this line of work unexpectedly, to say the least. Totally by accident, in fact, literally by way of an accident.
Years ago right after Caroline had died, a female department head from Marketing who reported directly to him at work, had been having marital problems. There was both physical abuse to her and to the children at home, as well as infidelity away from home. She was a very good friend of Bill’s, smart, attractive and cheerful. A woman that seemingly had everything going for her. A woman that didn’t have an enemy in the world. He had listened to the stories of deceit and viciousness being perpetrated on her family by the husband, a very prominent lawyer in town. Bill had also consoled and mentored her as best he could for at least six months. Finally, after exhausting legal wranglings had stalled, confrontations in and out of court had occured - including some hardball threats against her, taking property, seizing money and the children from her, the woman co-worker and friend of Bill’s had killed herself by jumping off a downtown luxury hotel balcony.
The news of this had saddened him greatly, along with a surprising amount of very dark anger. He felt as if he needed to do something, exact some sort of justice. What that was he wasn’t sure, but it had something to do with vengeance. At dinner several weeks later, in a local upscale steakhouse and completely by chance, he had been seated three booths away from the former husband of his coworker. Dining with a business consultant, he had hardly heard a word he’d said. Instead he listened to and watched the pompous, grinning, leering bastard with a blonde on his arm that was at least 30 years younger than him. He remembered feeling like he was 20 years old again, wanting to solve things or straighten out some jerk, the old fashioned way. He did not allow himself to be rational, to talk himself down, and the plan to seriously kick this guy’s ass was developed almost on the spot. He already knew their residence - he lived in the same lake community about two miles down the road and he felt reasonably sure he knew how and when would be a good time to meet with him and ‘discuss things’. He hadn’t been in a real fight for years but this guy needed it and Bill Hinton decided that he was the guy who was going to fill that need. It would not do her any good, it would almost definitely not stop the arrogant bastard in his ways - but it would send a message to the prick that might be hard to forget at least, and hell who knows, it might do himself a world of good.
For three early mornings and late nights he found himself down the street from this assholes house, watching the guy leave every morning and returning home at night, getting a feel for times, traffic and neighbors. He was timely if nothing else, leaving and coming home regularly, never bringing his women home for the neighbors to see. Always pulling in and evidently entering the house though the inside garage entryway door. The children were not living with him currently, custody had been contended in a civil suit by the wife’s parents. The guy had no pets, at least he had seen no sight of them.
The reason for his clandestine activity was simple, he needed to be careful of protecting and keeping his identity unknown in the situation that was about to occur. His marketing career, hell his life and kids, simply could not afford for his name to be splashed all over the newspapers by the lawyer. Bill would be painted as the guy who viciously attacked some poor husband – a poor guy whose wife had recently committed suicide.
He decided nighttime would be best. He also decided he’d keep the son of a bitch in the garage and bang him around in there. The neighborhood had huge lots, generally several acres, with generous space around all sides of the houses. Something would almost assuredly pop up unexpectedly, but he would handle that when the time came. On the night of the scheduled ‘meeting', which he had come to call it, he had gone for a jog, leaving his home dressed appropriately with head phones and sweats. Timing his run up the long driveway, to no passing cars and no one in sight at the neighboring houses, he turned in. He stood in a small shadowed alcove on the side of the garage, partially hidden by a waist high landscaped hedge and out of vision from the street, and simply waited. About ten minutes past when he should have arrived, the Mercedes’ lights swept across the front yard finally pulling into the driveway. Almost simultaneously the garage door slowly and quietly started to open. Taking the headphones slowly off his head and pulling a nylon to cover his face and golf gloves from his sweatpants pocket, he put them both on. He gripped his son’s pellet pistol in his other pocket and readied himself.
As the door completed its opening it stopped with a small clank. He heard the guy open his car door and the garage door also began its descent. As he crouched down and came around the corner of the garage , Bill quickly stepped up and over the door sensor mounted at the floor. On the passenger side now, Bill heard the guy’s door slam and he rose up at the same time.
“Hey,” Bill said almost casually just after the garage door clanked shut again.
The guy just kind of coughed and gasped. He stared at the guy and aimed the pellet gun at him, quickly, in a blur, coming around the car before the guy could catch his breath or realize it wasn’t a .45. The husband took one step back and dropped his briefcase with a thud, wide eyed, but still with a touch of belligerence in his look.
“What the Fuuuuck….. ….Hey…..Whaat the…..Get the Fuck out of my hou-” he never finished what would be several unfinished sentences in the next few minutes. As he was huffing and puffing, Bill had closed the gap between them, tucked the pellet gun quickly away and hit him square in the nose with a straight overhand right, followed by an uppercut on the chin that probably made the guy bite part of his own tongue off. Staggering back, with blood already all over him, the guy stared at him, clearly not believing that this was happening.
“YOU……Sonnofaaa….. BITCH!” Bill heard himself say through gritted teeth.
“Fuck y….” the guy started to say back and was immediately hit with a left jab that caught him flush on eyebrow.
Bill grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him away from the car so he had a little room. The guy suddenly twisted away though and made a break for the small door leading out to the backyard. Bill got a hold of him again but the guy had too much momentum and pulled them both out into the backyard. Twirling around again the husband caught him with something hard, although it was a galancing blow. He must have snatched something of the workbench on his lunge out of the garage Bill thought and then saw the wrench.
Swinging again and missing the man was off balance momentarily and Bill had grabbed him quickly ramming him into the side of the house head first. The guy dropped the wrench and went down to one knee, bleeding from everywhere now. Bill grabbed him and slung him around, letting go like it was a hammer throw sending him skidding into a patio deck chair.
“You’re gonna need more than a wrench you lousy bastard”, Bill said, spitting the words out but almost whispering to keep the sound and his voice concealed. “You might as well have killed her yourself too, you rotten Fuck”.
“Wha……is tha….is that what this is about?” the guy weezed and sputtered. He then let loose a blood gurgling laugh through several broken teeth, "This is about tha Bitc- "
His head sounded like a melon splitting open this time, as Bill hit him with a roundhouse right.
The guy’s jaw was slack now, probably broken, but he still sneered at Bill and coughed out, “Did you have her?”…..“Did you do her?”…… “If you did, you know she wasn’t any goo-”
Bill hit him so hard this time it drove him straight backwards, stumbling and falling against a retaining wall then hitting his head on the stone edge. Staggering up, he turned away from Bill and punch drunk, stepped off the edge of the pool. The same pool, which had been drained for repairs two days ago. His fall into the deep end of the pool was brief and he had heard a sickening sound, a splattering thud, the sound of death. Bill, initially was caught off gaurd but walked quickly over and saw in the muted backyard lights the rapid spread of a huge pool of blood.
The body was sprawled in an unnatural position, with the neck and head at an impossible angle. He stared at it for a good minute, breathing rapidly and thinking hard. Looking around the backyard that was lined with an 8 foot tall privacy fence and at the house which was lighted but only with a few inside lamps, he backed away slowly at first and then picked up his pace. Walking through a side fence gate he quickly removed the nylon from his head, put that and his gloves in his pocket checked for the pellet gun still in his other pocket and raised his earphones from his neck, up onto his ears.
After that he only remembered slowly jogging back up his own driveway. The kids were staying at his mom and dad’s for a couple of days and he slipped inside his empty house. In the weeks and months that followed, no one was ever charged with the murder. The case and story died out. The investigation hit an absolute dead end, with no suspects and no evidence. No one it seems, had heard or seen a thing that night. Bill went back to leading his normal life, keeping up with the story of course, but having no real interest in it. He didn’t lose one nights sleep, or have any regrets. And that did trouble him somewhat.
There had been a shift in him that night, a stopping and starting of himself. He would never be the same and he still can’t fully understand what had driven him to take such a personal revenge on the guy. True, he didn’t mean to kill the bastard, but still….what was it that had allowed him to take it to this level? With time, he found that he had the perfect personality for this kind of thing, the right demeanor and skill sets to excel at it. Where did that come from? He had always been a physical guy and used to enjoy mixing it up - but this, this, was something that went far deeper than a campus bar fight.
Was it just the excitement factor, the danger he had always chased and not found. No, that couldn't be the complete answer. This was not jumping great heights or risking everything on a challenge, this was killing people, taking lives. Whatever the reason or mental flaw, he had finally found it, found the rush, found the danger. It was wrong and he knew it, so he didn’t think he was textbook insane. Maybe it had to do with Caroline’s death, maybe it was all the wrongdoing and pure evil in the world, people hurting the innocent - whatever the reason – wrong or not, he somehow knew couldn’t and wouldn’t stop.
~Chapter 2~
An old college buddy that he had looked up about a year later, and some subsequent weekends spent with him in Vegas, had unintentionally lead him to his second killing. The old buddy was now the security chief for one of the major Vegas casinos and he was being blackmailed by a small time hood. His family was being threatened. His buddy was clean and Bill knew it, he’d never done an illegal act in his life. He was terrified that he was going to lose it all to some notorious, badass player who was going to do whatever he had to do to ruin him or get the payoff he wanted. Bill had set his friend down one night and made him an offer. His friend couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he didn’t say no. A week later, while Bill’s friend was out of town, his house had been broken into the intruders had forced his wife to strip in front of them, but they didn’t touch her and din’t steal anything. His buddy called him that night and said yes.
About a week after returning from a Vegas stay, Bill’s friend had sent him an article clipped from a Vegas newspaper paper. The article was only a couple of paragraphs about the body of a reputed mob player who's body had been found out in the desert about 5 miles outside of town. No clues. No suspects and no leads. Executed in a very professional manner. Hardly a noteworthy or rare murder case in the dark seamy corners of Vegas, several months later it had all but been forgotten and filed away as an internal mob murder.
After that it just kept going, sometimes getting assistance or calls from his friend in Vegas, sometimes watching the newspapers and t.v. news. He would call or write anonymously and offer assistance, or ask for a phone interview and gradually or quickly, getting around to the question of unsettled justice. There was unfortunately no shortage of grieving families, with rock solid cases and almost sure guilt that had gone unfinished, or unsolved, or convictions overtuned on trivial technicalities. Some people just wanted it to be finally over - or as over as they could hope for, others wanted a vindictive revenge and others still just an eye for an eye, but to Bill it was all the same.
He was seldom seen in person and if so not without some sort of physical change, a beard, moustache, long hair, short hair, dyed hair, a fake limp or a cosmetic scar that had been added. He didn’t consider himself some bloodthirsty killer, or even a stone cold murderer. He was a killer though, there was no way to clean it up any further. He eradicated people who needed to be, disposed of people who absolutely deserved it. He did it quick and did not enjoy or celebrate his deeds. At least that was his answer, his reasoning and his explanation to himself. He had basically gotten to the point of having no conscience, no feelings of guilt and surely not pity for the victim. But the overriding fact of the matter was that he was hooked on it, like some drug addict with an empty syringe.
He’d continue these vigilante acts, these acts of righting wrongs until he was caught – of that he was sure. How he would ultimately be judged would almost certainly be similar to his victims. He would surely reside in hell, as he knew he probably should. Lately, he had considered that the reason he did this, killed people to put it bluntly, maybe was not so much him being some avenging doer of right or soldier of real justice, as much as it was him fulfilling his own needs. He almost got the feeling anymore that even if the need for his services to hand out deserved justice had stopped coming, he would keep going. And that was something he didn't like to think about or consider - but the thought was there and it wouldn't go away.
Until then though, it was back to work and he filed all of that away to consider later. The young couple had left the town square by now, seemingly taking all the pure decency and love left in the world with them as they left. An average looking middle aged man with glasses and thinning hair, by the name of Howard Crossman, was now two benches over from him and he was talking casually to a young boy of 7 or 8. Crossman who had just recently moved to this town from Ohio and he looked like any other guy having lunch in the town square, on a bright and sunny spring day.
What he didn't look like,was a guy who had fondled, abused and finally raped his own younger sister, something that no one knew and something she had never admitted. What he didn't look like, was a child rapist who had avoided convinction twice now in the past six years. He had been charged, but not convicted, both times due to a highly paid attorney, iron clad alibis and 'expert' psychologists who were called in. What he didn't look like, was a man who was capable of kidnapping and killing two young girls last year, two twins in fact. One block from home, it had been surmised, they had been abducted by grabbing one and then luring/baiting the other to obey her nature as a twin and to go with her sister. Whatever the ruse had been, or whatever the means to get both of them had been, it had unfortunately worked.
They were searched for, pleaded for and prayed for. The hunt had gone national and the fear of tragedy grew each day and each week they were not found. On a chilly grey fall day, they were found, in a very remote wooded ravine by two hunters. The hunters had noticed a purple piece of cloth sticking out of the leaves and as they got closer they realized it was an arm, a thin heavily bruised child's arm reaching up from the elbow as if waving. The girls had been hastily buried, then sometime later unearthed and partly scavenged by wild animals. Otherwise they probably would have never been found until years later, if ever. It almost would have been better for the parents of the twins if they hadn't been found because the resulting autopsy would reveal so many horrific details about their captivity, extended torture and ultimate deaths that they could not go on with their lives. They had committed suicide together on an overcast and chilly Sunday afternoon, not unlike the day their two girls had been found.
Unlike the child rape cases and charges that had been filed against Crossman, he had never been offically charged in these deaths because of lack of evidence and once again, a solid alibi. Crossman was a dentist by profession and all the victims had been patients or former patients. Crossman was single, but a department store witness swearing absolutely initially, but later wavering in another interview, that she had checked out a man who had purchased with cash, young girls clothing. Identical clothes, in sets of two. A month before the twins had disappeared. The D.A.'s office had nothing else and could do no more at this point. The case dragged and sputtered to a stop. No more killings or abductions and no more leads.
Crossman had dutifully notified the police of a new job opportunity he had, they had been powerless and grim faced watching him leave town several months later. Bill had seen the newspaper articles from the beginning and followed it as closely as possible. The grandparents had been adamant in their belief that Crossman had done it when Bill had contacted them by phone and later met with them posing as a freelance reporter. Diligent and detailed investigation on Crossman had turned up the rest for Bill and his partner in Vegas. It had taken him three weeks to hunt him down and another week to get organized, but now the job was nearing it's final phase.
This job was different in that his services had not been officially requested, at least not in the normal way. The request for justice had been in the crushed and grieving faces of the grandparents on T.V. and the silent screams he heard while reading the details of the case in newspaper articles. Was he absolutley sure of his targets guilt? No. Was he ever absolutely sure of guilt? No. But in his mind, he had never taken a job that he had one ounce of doubt in and not one case in which he had second guessed himself. What he was doing was wrong, but he was right.
As Bill watched over the top of a book he wasn’t reading, Crossman said something and the young boy giggled, looking around nervously. Crossman said something else and then laughed warmly. The mild mannered dentist never took his eyes off of the boy and Bill never took his eyes of Crossman. All of his earlier self examination and self analyzing questions of why he did this and what did it all mean had vanished. Yes, he thought to himself, Crossman would probably be legally caught and convicted someday. Probably. Someday. Maybe.
The young boy in a sweatshirt and jeans suddenly gave Crossman a high five about something who was now standing up and laughing again. They were both enjoying the discussion. Crossman was no doubt going to go get something to eat, some pizza maybe. Then again, he might be going to the arcade a block away, he still loved playing video games even at his age. He would go wherever the kid wanted to go, or do whatever the kid wanted to do. Bill had already suspected this is where it would lead and had been prepared to blunder into this scene and innocently spook Crossman off, so this is one kid who would make it back home today. In the case of Crossman though, he would not be going home tonight, or any night in the future. No, Howard Crossman was only going one place tonight, he had a one way ticket and Bill was going to deliver it to him.
~Chapter 3~
TO BE CONTINUED.........
It was times like these that he missed his other life, what he had been, who he had been and when things had been normal. The pleasant spring day was breezy, warm but not hot, fluffy white clouds were skidding across a perfect blue sky. He watched the young couple pushing the stroller around the town square at a leisurely pace. The man and woman walking with one arm loosely around each others waist. He couldn’t hear them from the park bench he sat at, but knew what they were probably talking about. Their baby, their careers, a new house someday, which elementary school, what was for dinner and I love you. They were talking of futures and kids going to college someday and even grand kids. Any of those things, and all of those things. He had been exactly in that position once and could remember it well.
But that was then and this was now, he frowned slightly and shook his head slowly, reluctantly turning his back to the young couple to concentrate on the subject at hand. He had been in town for a couple days now. Driving the streets, taking the interstate off and on ramps, getting a feel for the good and bad areas of town, looking at homes and neighborhoods like any good prospective homebuyer might. Not altogether a bad visit. He was working and concentrating on the job at hand, but he never rushed things and always made an effort to appreciate what ever town he was in, and its citizens for that matter. He would have made a terrific travel guide, he thought smiling ironically to himself.
William Lee Hinton had several different professional careers during a 25 year span starting back in 1975, the year he had graduated from Purdue University. He’d been an Advertising Exec, a Marketing Analyst and a VP for a major food manufacturer. Money had never been a problem. Friends had never been a problem. Finally finding a great wife and having 2 beautiful children had never been a problem. What had been a problem, for really his entire life, had been his unsuccessful search for excitement and even danger. He had acquired hobbies such as skydiving, flying his small Cessna, sheer rock and mountain climbing, scuba diving, even racing dirt track at County Fairs, and on and on. None of these had really punched his ticket or fed the hunger.
When their kids had been only 3 and 5 years old, his wife Caroline had suddenly passed away due to cancer, a cancer that had gone undetected for far too long. Four months later and she was gone from a related stroke. Ironically, the year she had died he had finally found that excitement and danger, but it was nothing like what he had been expecting or looking for.
Hinton, who had used at least ten different names in the past and was James Phillip Dixon currently, was a drifter of sorts. Constantly changing his identity and his location, he traveled the country and sometimes the world, like a modern day nomad. He was a contract killer of sorts. Completely efficient, very detached and a believer in that he was doing right, he was perfectly suited for his profession really. The people who would contract his services were usually business professionals, intellectuals, sport or entertainment celebrities, politicians and always - always from a certain level of income. He had made that a must from the beginning, not because he favored the well to do, but more from the standpoint of being able to continue this quest as long as possible. He wanted his potential 'employers' to have as much at stake as he did - as much 'skin in the game' as he did. He also demanded that they prove sincerity, a story of true personal hardship, real wrongdoing and absolute injustice. The people with money always seemed to be a little more manageable, controllable and confidential - not nearly as brazen or erratic as others who wanted people dead. He had come across this line of work unexpectedly, to say the least. Totally by accident, in fact, literally by way of an accident.
Years ago right after Caroline had died, a female department head from Marketing who reported directly to him at work, had been having marital problems. There was both physical abuse to her and to the children at home, as well as infidelity away from home. She was a very good friend of Bill’s, smart, attractive and cheerful. A woman that seemingly had everything going for her. A woman that didn’t have an enemy in the world. He had listened to the stories of deceit and viciousness being perpetrated on her family by the husband, a very prominent lawyer in town. Bill had also consoled and mentored her as best he could for at least six months. Finally, after exhausting legal wranglings had stalled, confrontations in and out of court had occured - including some hardball threats against her, taking property, seizing money and the children from her, the woman co-worker and friend of Bill’s had killed herself by jumping off a downtown luxury hotel balcony.
The news of this had saddened him greatly, along with a surprising amount of very dark anger. He felt as if he needed to do something, exact some sort of justice. What that was he wasn’t sure, but it had something to do with vengeance. At dinner several weeks later, in a local upscale steakhouse and completely by chance, he had been seated three booths away from the former husband of his coworker. Dining with a business consultant, he had hardly heard a word he’d said. Instead he listened to and watched the pompous, grinning, leering bastard with a blonde on his arm that was at least 30 years younger than him. He remembered feeling like he was 20 years old again, wanting to solve things or straighten out some jerk, the old fashioned way. He did not allow himself to be rational, to talk himself down, and the plan to seriously kick this guy’s ass was developed almost on the spot. He already knew their residence - he lived in the same lake community about two miles down the road and he felt reasonably sure he knew how and when would be a good time to meet with him and ‘discuss things’. He hadn’t been in a real fight for years but this guy needed it and Bill Hinton decided that he was the guy who was going to fill that need. It would not do her any good, it would almost definitely not stop the arrogant bastard in his ways - but it would send a message to the prick that might be hard to forget at least, and hell who knows, it might do himself a world of good.
For three early mornings and late nights he found himself down the street from this assholes house, watching the guy leave every morning and returning home at night, getting a feel for times, traffic and neighbors. He was timely if nothing else, leaving and coming home regularly, never bringing his women home for the neighbors to see. Always pulling in and evidently entering the house though the inside garage entryway door. The children were not living with him currently, custody had been contended in a civil suit by the wife’s parents. The guy had no pets, at least he had seen no sight of them.
The reason for his clandestine activity was simple, he needed to be careful of protecting and keeping his identity unknown in the situation that was about to occur. His marketing career, hell his life and kids, simply could not afford for his name to be splashed all over the newspapers by the lawyer. Bill would be painted as the guy who viciously attacked some poor husband – a poor guy whose wife had recently committed suicide.
He decided nighttime would be best. He also decided he’d keep the son of a bitch in the garage and bang him around in there. The neighborhood had huge lots, generally several acres, with generous space around all sides of the houses. Something would almost assuredly pop up unexpectedly, but he would handle that when the time came. On the night of the scheduled ‘meeting', which he had come to call it, he had gone for a jog, leaving his home dressed appropriately with head phones and sweats. Timing his run up the long driveway, to no passing cars and no one in sight at the neighboring houses, he turned in. He stood in a small shadowed alcove on the side of the garage, partially hidden by a waist high landscaped hedge and out of vision from the street, and simply waited. About ten minutes past when he should have arrived, the Mercedes’ lights swept across the front yard finally pulling into the driveway. Almost simultaneously the garage door slowly and quietly started to open. Taking the headphones slowly off his head and pulling a nylon to cover his face and golf gloves from his sweatpants pocket, he put them both on. He gripped his son’s pellet pistol in his other pocket and readied himself.
As the door completed its opening it stopped with a small clank. He heard the guy open his car door and the garage door also began its descent. As he crouched down and came around the corner of the garage , Bill quickly stepped up and over the door sensor mounted at the floor. On the passenger side now, Bill heard the guy’s door slam and he rose up at the same time.
“Hey,” Bill said almost casually just after the garage door clanked shut again.
The guy just kind of coughed and gasped. He stared at the guy and aimed the pellet gun at him, quickly, in a blur, coming around the car before the guy could catch his breath or realize it wasn’t a .45. The husband took one step back and dropped his briefcase with a thud, wide eyed, but still with a touch of belligerence in his look.
“What the Fuuuuck….. ….Hey…..Whaat the…..Get the Fuck out of my hou-” he never finished what would be several unfinished sentences in the next few minutes. As he was huffing and puffing, Bill had closed the gap between them, tucked the pellet gun quickly away and hit him square in the nose with a straight overhand right, followed by an uppercut on the chin that probably made the guy bite part of his own tongue off. Staggering back, with blood already all over him, the guy stared at him, clearly not believing that this was happening.
“YOU……Sonnofaaa….. BITCH!” Bill heard himself say through gritted teeth.
“Fuck y….” the guy started to say back and was immediately hit with a left jab that caught him flush on eyebrow.
Bill grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him away from the car so he had a little room. The guy suddenly twisted away though and made a break for the small door leading out to the backyard. Bill got a hold of him again but the guy had too much momentum and pulled them both out into the backyard. Twirling around again the husband caught him with something hard, although it was a galancing blow. He must have snatched something of the workbench on his lunge out of the garage Bill thought and then saw the wrench.
Swinging again and missing the man was off balance momentarily and Bill had grabbed him quickly ramming him into the side of the house head first. The guy dropped the wrench and went down to one knee, bleeding from everywhere now. Bill grabbed him and slung him around, letting go like it was a hammer throw sending him skidding into a patio deck chair.
“You’re gonna need more than a wrench you lousy bastard”, Bill said, spitting the words out but almost whispering to keep the sound and his voice concealed. “You might as well have killed her yourself too, you rotten Fuck”.
“Wha……is tha….is that what this is about?” the guy weezed and sputtered. He then let loose a blood gurgling laugh through several broken teeth, "This is about tha Bitc- "
His head sounded like a melon splitting open this time, as Bill hit him with a roundhouse right.
The guy’s jaw was slack now, probably broken, but he still sneered at Bill and coughed out, “Did you have her?”…..“Did you do her?”…… “If you did, you know she wasn’t any goo-”
Bill hit him so hard this time it drove him straight backwards, stumbling and falling against a retaining wall then hitting his head on the stone edge. Staggering up, he turned away from Bill and punch drunk, stepped off the edge of the pool. The same pool, which had been drained for repairs two days ago. His fall into the deep end of the pool was brief and he had heard a sickening sound, a splattering thud, the sound of death. Bill, initially was caught off gaurd but walked quickly over and saw in the muted backyard lights the rapid spread of a huge pool of blood.
The body was sprawled in an unnatural position, with the neck and head at an impossible angle. He stared at it for a good minute, breathing rapidly and thinking hard. Looking around the backyard that was lined with an 8 foot tall privacy fence and at the house which was lighted but only with a few inside lamps, he backed away slowly at first and then picked up his pace. Walking through a side fence gate he quickly removed the nylon from his head, put that and his gloves in his pocket checked for the pellet gun still in his other pocket and raised his earphones from his neck, up onto his ears.
After that he only remembered slowly jogging back up his own driveway. The kids were staying at his mom and dad’s for a couple of days and he slipped inside his empty house. In the weeks and months that followed, no one was ever charged with the murder. The case and story died out. The investigation hit an absolute dead end, with no suspects and no evidence. No one it seems, had heard or seen a thing that night. Bill went back to leading his normal life, keeping up with the story of course, but having no real interest in it. He didn’t lose one nights sleep, or have any regrets. And that did trouble him somewhat.
There had been a shift in him that night, a stopping and starting of himself. He would never be the same and he still can’t fully understand what had driven him to take such a personal revenge on the guy. True, he didn’t mean to kill the bastard, but still….what was it that had allowed him to take it to this level? With time, he found that he had the perfect personality for this kind of thing, the right demeanor and skill sets to excel at it. Where did that come from? He had always been a physical guy and used to enjoy mixing it up - but this, this, was something that went far deeper than a campus bar fight.
Was it just the excitement factor, the danger he had always chased and not found. No, that couldn't be the complete answer. This was not jumping great heights or risking everything on a challenge, this was killing people, taking lives. Whatever the reason or mental flaw, he had finally found it, found the rush, found the danger. It was wrong and he knew it, so he didn’t think he was textbook insane. Maybe it had to do with Caroline’s death, maybe it was all the wrongdoing and pure evil in the world, people hurting the innocent - whatever the reason – wrong or not, he somehow knew couldn’t and wouldn’t stop.
~Chapter 2~
An old college buddy that he had looked up about a year later, and some subsequent weekends spent with him in Vegas, had unintentionally lead him to his second killing. The old buddy was now the security chief for one of the major Vegas casinos and he was being blackmailed by a small time hood. His family was being threatened. His buddy was clean and Bill knew it, he’d never done an illegal act in his life. He was terrified that he was going to lose it all to some notorious, badass player who was going to do whatever he had to do to ruin him or get the payoff he wanted. Bill had set his friend down one night and made him an offer. His friend couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he didn’t say no. A week later, while Bill’s friend was out of town, his house had been broken into the intruders had forced his wife to strip in front of them, but they didn’t touch her and din’t steal anything. His buddy called him that night and said yes.
About a week after returning from a Vegas stay, Bill’s friend had sent him an article clipped from a Vegas newspaper paper. The article was only a couple of paragraphs about the body of a reputed mob player who's body had been found out in the desert about 5 miles outside of town. No clues. No suspects and no leads. Executed in a very professional manner. Hardly a noteworthy or rare murder case in the dark seamy corners of Vegas, several months later it had all but been forgotten and filed away as an internal mob murder.
After that it just kept going, sometimes getting assistance or calls from his friend in Vegas, sometimes watching the newspapers and t.v. news. He would call or write anonymously and offer assistance, or ask for a phone interview and gradually or quickly, getting around to the question of unsettled justice. There was unfortunately no shortage of grieving families, with rock solid cases and almost sure guilt that had gone unfinished, or unsolved, or convictions overtuned on trivial technicalities. Some people just wanted it to be finally over - or as over as they could hope for, others wanted a vindictive revenge and others still just an eye for an eye, but to Bill it was all the same.
He was seldom seen in person and if so not without some sort of physical change, a beard, moustache, long hair, short hair, dyed hair, a fake limp or a cosmetic scar that had been added. He didn’t consider himself some bloodthirsty killer, or even a stone cold murderer. He was a killer though, there was no way to clean it up any further. He eradicated people who needed to be, disposed of people who absolutely deserved it. He did it quick and did not enjoy or celebrate his deeds. At least that was his answer, his reasoning and his explanation to himself. He had basically gotten to the point of having no conscience, no feelings of guilt and surely not pity for the victim. But the overriding fact of the matter was that he was hooked on it, like some drug addict with an empty syringe.
He’d continue these vigilante acts, these acts of righting wrongs until he was caught – of that he was sure. How he would ultimately be judged would almost certainly be similar to his victims. He would surely reside in hell, as he knew he probably should. Lately, he had considered that the reason he did this, killed people to put it bluntly, maybe was not so much him being some avenging doer of right or soldier of real justice, as much as it was him fulfilling his own needs. He almost got the feeling anymore that even if the need for his services to hand out deserved justice had stopped coming, he would keep going. And that was something he didn't like to think about or consider - but the thought was there and it wouldn't go away.
Until then though, it was back to work and he filed all of that away to consider later. The young couple had left the town square by now, seemingly taking all the pure decency and love left in the world with them as they left. An average looking middle aged man with glasses and thinning hair, by the name of Howard Crossman, was now two benches over from him and he was talking casually to a young boy of 7 or 8. Crossman who had just recently moved to this town from Ohio and he looked like any other guy having lunch in the town square, on a bright and sunny spring day.
What he didn't look like,was a guy who had fondled, abused and finally raped his own younger sister, something that no one knew and something she had never admitted. What he didn't look like, was a child rapist who had avoided convinction twice now in the past six years. He had been charged, but not convicted, both times due to a highly paid attorney, iron clad alibis and 'expert' psychologists who were called in. What he didn't look like, was a man who was capable of kidnapping and killing two young girls last year, two twins in fact. One block from home, it had been surmised, they had been abducted by grabbing one and then luring/baiting the other to obey her nature as a twin and to go with her sister. Whatever the ruse had been, or whatever the means to get both of them had been, it had unfortunately worked.
They were searched for, pleaded for and prayed for. The hunt had gone national and the fear of tragedy grew each day and each week they were not found. On a chilly grey fall day, they were found, in a very remote wooded ravine by two hunters. The hunters had noticed a purple piece of cloth sticking out of the leaves and as they got closer they realized it was an arm, a thin heavily bruised child's arm reaching up from the elbow as if waving. The girls had been hastily buried, then sometime later unearthed and partly scavenged by wild animals. Otherwise they probably would have never been found until years later, if ever. It almost would have been better for the parents of the twins if they hadn't been found because the resulting autopsy would reveal so many horrific details about their captivity, extended torture and ultimate deaths that they could not go on with their lives. They had committed suicide together on an overcast and chilly Sunday afternoon, not unlike the day their two girls had been found.
Unlike the child rape cases and charges that had been filed against Crossman, he had never been offically charged in these deaths because of lack of evidence and once again, a solid alibi. Crossman was a dentist by profession and all the victims had been patients or former patients. Crossman was single, but a department store witness swearing absolutely initially, but later wavering in another interview, that she had checked out a man who had purchased with cash, young girls clothing. Identical clothes, in sets of two. A month before the twins had disappeared. The D.A.'s office had nothing else and could do no more at this point. The case dragged and sputtered to a stop. No more killings or abductions and no more leads.
Crossman had dutifully notified the police of a new job opportunity he had, they had been powerless and grim faced watching him leave town several months later. Bill had seen the newspaper articles from the beginning and followed it as closely as possible. The grandparents had been adamant in their belief that Crossman had done it when Bill had contacted them by phone and later met with them posing as a freelance reporter. Diligent and detailed investigation on Crossman had turned up the rest for Bill and his partner in Vegas. It had taken him three weeks to hunt him down and another week to get organized, but now the job was nearing it's final phase.
This job was different in that his services had not been officially requested, at least not in the normal way. The request for justice had been in the crushed and grieving faces of the grandparents on T.V. and the silent screams he heard while reading the details of the case in newspaper articles. Was he absolutley sure of his targets guilt? No. Was he ever absolutely sure of guilt? No. But in his mind, he had never taken a job that he had one ounce of doubt in and not one case in which he had second guessed himself. What he was doing was wrong, but he was right.
As Bill watched over the top of a book he wasn’t reading, Crossman said something and the young boy giggled, looking around nervously. Crossman said something else and then laughed warmly. The mild mannered dentist never took his eyes off of the boy and Bill never took his eyes of Crossman. All of his earlier self examination and self analyzing questions of why he did this and what did it all mean had vanished. Yes, he thought to himself, Crossman would probably be legally caught and convicted someday. Probably. Someday. Maybe.
The young boy in a sweatshirt and jeans suddenly gave Crossman a high five about something who was now standing up and laughing again. They were both enjoying the discussion. Crossman was no doubt going to go get something to eat, some pizza maybe. Then again, he might be going to the arcade a block away, he still loved playing video games even at his age. He would go wherever the kid wanted to go, or do whatever the kid wanted to do. Bill had already suspected this is where it would lead and had been prepared to blunder into this scene and innocently spook Crossman off, so this is one kid who would make it back home today. In the case of Crossman though, he would not be going home tonight, or any night in the future. No, Howard Crossman was only going one place tonight, he had a one way ticket and Bill was going to deliver it to him.
~Chapter 3~
TO BE CONTINUED.........