Home… to pick a fight… with a Killer

By

Granville Johnson

Part Two

“Hello deputy, I need you to meet me at the base of Hillcrest Drive, in the pull off where the sheriff likes to set up speed traps. Yes it has been a long night but I’m afraid it is far from over. I realize your shift is over and I’ve disturbed you at home at a bad time. Please give my sincere apologies to Mary. You have been with this case from the beginning and are familiar with the circumstances. No… noone has died and made me a detective, but, with this case, am I still calling the shots or not? Good, thanks, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Please be sure to bring your cell phone. Yes…that’s right…your cell phone with a separate voice activated Dictaphone and jack connecting them. Do you have one? Very good…excellent; I appreciate that I do owe you one; thanks again. See you there.”

Marla had waited in the pull off for twenty minutes pass the appointed time.

On her way to the rendezvous she had driven pass her home. The driveway intersected with Hillcrest about 1/4 mile up the hill from its base. Parking the PT Cruiser on the street at the end of the driveway she walked up far enough to see that her husband’s Jeep Cherokee was parked in front of the garage and the den was shrouded in blue flickering light. Satisfied to see that he was just where she wanted him to be, she proceeded on to the designated meeting with the deputy.

She had time to check the area for discarded cigarette butts and gathered several in one zip-lock evidence bag and a single butt she placed in a separate evidence bag.

When the deputy arrived looking disheveled and worse for wear. “She wasn’t willing to accept ‘not now dear’ for an answer. Hell, neither was I. This had better be worth the hassle. Mary sends her regards…”

“Are you ready to step up for justice and a chance to possibly be the boss instead of the flunky for a change?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t give you any details now. It’s in your best interest that we are on a ‘need-to-know’ basis. I need you as back up.”

“Okay, can do. How so?”

“Just wait here with your eyes open and your wits sharp. There’s no traffic on this road at this time in the morning; you should have a clear vantage point. Remember whomever is driving will not be able to see you before passing. If I am driving I’ll know you are here and will not look or stop. If my husband is driving I am betting he’ll be too occupied with other things to notice or care until it’s too late. When I am ready I will call you on your cell. Leave the channel open, for insurance, so you can listen in; but do not interfere unless I call out for help. Otherwise be ready to follow and possibly interdict the first vehicle to exit from my driveway, either mine or my husband’s.”

“The sheriff’s…?”

“Deputy…!”

“Brad…my name is Brad.”

“Brad, stay with me on this and we might solve a murder. Catch a murderer and make you a town hero. Almost certainly putting you in line for an award, raise and promotion.”

“How…?”

“Saving my life.”

Marla turned to walk to her car.

The idea of making her beholding to him was a pleasant surprise, whatever risk was involved. His suggestions for expressing her gratitude, when the time comes, will certainly have little to do with monetary awards.

“Doc…where are you going?”

“Home…to pick a fight…with a killer.”

“The sheriff…?”

Sheriff Boss Staples awoke with a start. The coming roar of the big bike was just enough warning to alert Boss to the imminent danger that was developing within his squad car from a dropped cigarette, smoldering on the seat beside him. Patting out the small circle of blue flame and tossing out the cigarette; Boss had just enough time to kick his cruiser into gear as the blue-black two-wheeled comet shot pass. Flooring his big V-8, supercharged, fuel injected 4x4, Boss burnt rubber and spewed a cloud of rubble to swing out and behind the biker, moving with the gathering speed and deadly intent of a ravenous T-Rex quickly closing the distance between him and his prey, Boss had blood in his eyes.

“That’s right, run punk. Run fast as you can; the faster the better. The faster you run. The faster you die, maggot. The road is right. The weather is perfect and ticker says I can ground your pretty ass when I catch you. You are certain for a hard time tonight, faggot. So you just keep running this way. I’m going to park my Jeep up your tail pipe and absolutely ruin your day.

I know you been screwin’ my wife, you scumbag biker filth. Hell the whole fuckin’ town knows it. You’ve been seen and now you’re caught like the maggot you are, I’m goin’ to grind you under my jack boot.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” thought Rush. “That bastard going to pull me over. All I need is another ticket to lose my license…no can do. Tonight, Belize is callin’ my name loud and clear. I’ve got two months downtime to sit in the sun with all the curved firm flesh I can fondle. I’m outta here on a long overdo cruise till things cool a bit. Cannot be grounded in this armpit-of-the-universe now.

I know who you are, shit-for-brains, and I’m pretty damn sure you know who I am. If you want my ass this night you are going to have to catch it. C’mon baby lets give those new valves a workout, its time to fly.”

Rush hunkered down as he down shifted and kicked Death Angel into overdrive. She answered his call with a roar and a grease lighting leap forward. Fighting the urge to pop his front end and sacrifice valuable momentum, Rush dug in becoming one with Death Angel singing in the gale as her high performance rear bit hard, her headers screaming into the wind. The sparse road lights blurred briefly then disappeared altogether. Full throttle and hell-for-leather, he led the race along the gently winding tree-lined scenic road. Once upon a time being the only road out of town, sparsely populated with few homes and fewer intersections, it rose to the crest of the hill that was its namesake then all-too-quickly wound down toward the old wooden bridge and the cold brutal embrace of Dead Man’s Curve.

Boss Staples, or Frank to his wife (Frances being no name for a law man.), was snoring loudly and mumbling in his sleep. The nearly empty fifth of Jack Daniels, no glass, was on the cocktail table next to one of his empty porno tape cases featuring big-breasted schoolgirls in garish high-definition color when Marla entered their home. Stocking feet stretched out on the couch in the den in front of the in-home theatre was his favorite position in his favorite place asleep after playing with his favorite toy. The television screen was a blizzard of blue-white static. She went directly to the refrigerator and removed two ice trays from the freezer. Filling two pitchers with cold tap water and the all the ice cubes from both trays. She then placed them by the door to the den in easy reach. Next she went to her office and pulled out her video camera, put in a new tape and checked the battery pack, which was fully charged and would last the length of the 90minute LP tape recording setting. Presetting the focus to wide angle and recording setting to remote start, she hid the camera in an inconspicuous place on the top shelf among his books with an excellent vantage point. Placing the ‘evidence’ bags on his desk, she retrieved one of the pitchers of cold water and a towel. She went back into the kitchen and dialed Brad’s number, “Are you ready? Is it recording?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Yes it is. Do you know what your doing?”

“We’ll soon find out. I’m placing the phone on a bookshelf and starting a concealed video camera. It’s going to be rough; remember, be ready and only interfere if I call you for help.”

“Damn is Boss sawing down an old growth forest or what?”

“Tell me about it…and Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“My duty; see you on the other side.”

“Mine as well; I’ll be there.”

“Damn straight you will,” thought Brad.

Marla went back to the den: hid the phone on another high shelf opposite from the camera, turned on a bright floor to ceiling lamp behind the camera; slowly turned the volume on the television down to mute, then off. She started the camera, checked its focus and field of vision. Pausing to take a deep steadied breath, Marla emptied the entire 2-litre pitcher of ice water on Frank’s head and open mouth. She then crunched his exposed semi-erect penis and balls with the base of the heavy thick glass container.

Marla quickly stepped back against the desk, careful to remain centered in the camera’s field of vision. This was the easy part of her plan, the fun part. The rest would not be so nice for she had rudely awakened a junkyard dog.

Frank screamed awake choking then screamed anew before landing face first on the hardwood floor. He had no time or consciousness to break his dive and one point collision. His nose burst into a bright red blood fountain, to add colour to the flood and would remain a bulbous, crooked path between his crossed eyes for the rest of his life. Coughing, crying and groaning, his world had exploded and bit him in the ass.

Marla waited, leaning against the desk. The glass weapon rested on the desktop, held in a loose grip.

Frank roared fully awake and rolled to his feet in full charge to meet his attacker. Unfortunately, his reflexes were not quite coordinated and his charge only gained him a badly bruised sternum from the pitcher that had met his chest before he could stop or block the blow.

Wielding her weapon with both hands, she had leaned into his charge; striking with an overhead hammer blow, his momentum did the rest. He collapsed like a popped balloon.

Now down on his knees in front of Marla who had retreated out of range, Frank tried hard to remember how to breathe. Perhaps cunning was the better part of revenge in this situation.

“You’re one dead whore, bitch.”

He had craved the ultimate destruction of his high n mighty whore-of-a-wife since he had first heard the adulterous rumors; though he couldn’t actually act on his blood lust without proof and provocation. Following them to the woods on one of their outings had been easy enough. Raised in this town, he knew all the forest for miles around. Following the Harley racket from a discreet distance and aided by the tree cover and their own arrogance, he was able to watch them first hand while off channel. His gun hand had itched badly as he filmed them, for future legal proceedings. He would cut her off without a cent. Hell, she’d be paying him alimony. The punk…well…he was simply dead meat that was too stupid to know it…yet.

After collecting his proof he waited for the opportunity to strike.

“Hey Joe, how’s it hangin?’

“Fine Sheriff Staples, what’s new with you these days?’

“Not much, I’m afraid. Just trying to keep the town riffraff free. That’s about it.”

“Well I have to commend you on the job you have done to date in that regard. Things have been pretty quiet.”

“Thank you kindly. Yep, quiet is good. Guess the noisiest things around here have been your customers on their test drives.”

“Ah…the sweet sound of success.”

“So your sales have been pretty good this winter?’

“You know how it is after Christmas, sales disappear with the snow all together. But thankfully that’s changed a bit for the better this year.”

“What’s new?”

“Sheriff, you know the answer to that…”

“Joe…?”

“Sheriff it’s Doc. You know your wife’s been taking test drives around town regularly for a while now. Taken a real shine to the new Harley high performance line. She’s having a beautiful custom job built from the ground up. Rush is doing a great job on her order. Got all the bells and whistles.”

“Heard he was a pretty fair wrench-jockey.”

“Yep. Damn glad the man’s working for me, rather than the competition.”

“So, getting lots of new business?”

“Yep. Between Rush’s magic touch with the machines and Doc cruising around town and hells half acre on the display bikes, I couldn’t buy a better real-life ad for Harley style and quality. Don’t get me wrong Sheriff; but they’ve been a dynamic-duo for my sales in what normally is the annual slump. Now that spring has sprung, I’m looking to break a few sales records for my franchise.”

“Maybe you should hire her as a sales rep…”

“Thought about it, believe me… but then her bike is just about done, she’s too busy and Rush is talking about hitting the road to get some spring riding in before the RV crowd clogs everything up and you can’t move anywhere at speed.”

“Tough, when is he planning on leaving?”

“Any day now. When he finishes Doc’s bike and she’s had a bit of time to break it in. You know, after our standard post purchase road check-up and adjustment that we offer to all customers during the first thousand kilometers.”

It was only a matter of two weeks following his filming the lovers in the woods that Frank had managed to catch the mechanic’s bike without rider parked in the lot behind the Tex-Mex Restaurant on the edge of town. Perched on a hill above the river with a great view, food to match and a price tag that made it a special place for special occasions.

It had seemed to be another one of their favorite spots.

Under the pretence of checking the out of town tourist plates in the lot that represented the majority of the restaurant’s clientele, using the darkness and his Jeep for cover, he had carefully cut the bike’s front tire partially through along the rim.

“So you like to eat alone in style, do you, maggot. There…maybe this will be your last meal. Every condemned road scum deserves a decent last meal. That’s why it is the last; there won’t be another. ”

The pain slowly subsided, finally catching his breath, Frank waited, knowing she would make sense of these last minutes if he were patient enough. In deadly calm he straightened his attire, soaked his handkerchief in ice cubes retrieved from the floor and tended to his nose, which had clotted and ceased to bleed.

Marla, sensing the calm eye of the storm, lifted the evidence bags from the desk. Holding them out one at a time, “These were found at the site of last night’s single vehicle “accident” off the bridge at the curve. They happen to be your brand, were exposed to the elements, with a distinct burn pattern and your fingerprints. This cigarette butt,” holding up the second bag with its single occupant, “is also your brand with the same burn pattern and fingerprints.”

“So what, I was first responder and had a few smokes while waiting for my thick-as-a-brick deputy to arrive with the emergency vehicles…”

Brad cursed his revenge upon hearing his boss’s sneering reference. His headphones virtually placed him in the war room. He had cheered and groaned listening to the screams of the sheriff’s evident agony. “Sooner than he thinks, the bastard would pay…”

“I saw, you had pressing personal business to tend to, off channel.”

“None of your fucking business…”

“True enough, but this evidence is very much my business and my call. This butt, your brand, identical burn pattern, fingerprints and probably DNA, was found dry, encased in a ball of clay and sand unexposed to the weather. It was well protected in the death-grip of the “accident” victim. Do you know what that means Frank. The dead don’t lie Frank. This and your footprints are proof that you were there before Rush died and made no effort to save him. The matter of fact and evidence clearly shows that you couldn’t wait or take the chance that he may somehow have lived in spite of his condition. He would have been able to testify that it was not an accident after all, but an attempt by you to run him down or force him off Dead Man’s Curve.

So cock sure of yourself that you made no attempt to hide your contempt for him or me. You damn well did it, snuffed out his life and my future, certain of that badge’s power and protection. Killing him, for you was like crushing bug.

The sheriff serves justice within the law; the sheriff is not above the law; the sheriff will be judged and condemned by his own hand…by the law.”

Marla saw naked fear blossom in Frank’s eyes for the first time ever in her memory.

When they first met she had been impressed with his clear life choices and caring life style. Fresh out of training Frank presented a cosmopolitan consciousness wrapped in a country charm and down home common sense approach to life that she found enthralling. He had seemed to care about all the issues facing a Black female medical professional having to be ten times better in her field than her male, usually White, counterparts to be considered their equal. The consummate politician, he had worked tirelessly to support his ‘family’ as he called the townspeople he had grown up with. Marla had known him as being tall, handsome and athletic, lean but never mean, generous to a fault but never condescending or arrogant. She had loved him and within her growing medical practice and demanding career as the towns only MD, she had loved their life together.

Yet the power and status of being elected sheriff was a new and powerfully corrupting drug for Frank. Suddenly he was the man who could make or break other men. Women, who before considered him as a ‘Nice’ guy but never ‘THE’ guy, were now drawn toward him as the ‘MAN’. Sheriff Frank Staples became Sheriff “Boss” Staples or just Sheriff. His newfound importance revealed a dark side of Frank’s nature, a repressed alter ego driven by greed for power punctuated by avarice.

Sheriff ‘Boss’ Staples liked them pretty young, preferably small but sometimes tall, with big tits. Similar in appearance to the trophy wife that he had at home, Dr. Marla Staples MD. He also needed to dominate these young women and girls and thus sublimate his dark obsessions upon them. Dissimilar in attitude to the strong willed independent woman whose home he shared. The victims of Sheriff ‘Boss’ Staples more violent abuses sometimes became his wife’s patients. The violent patterns, with the victim’s statements and medical evidence, all ignored and covered up by the “Boss” lawman, did not go unnoticed or uninvestigated by the brilliant young physician. In time she came to realize with absolute sickening certainly that within the bright young lawman she had married, there dwelled a monster. And it was hungry.

His marriage to Marla had been no accident. As a young deputy, he had courted her earnestly from the day she arrived in the community, determined to make this exotic beautiful high status professional, his prize bride. Yet the more self-important he became the more intimidated he felt by his wife’s responsibility and popularity within the community. A popularity that competed with his own and a desirability that made him vulnerable to jealousy and suspicion of every man, and some women, that vied for her attention and control of her life. Eventually, as Marla rebelled against Frank’s escalating incursive attempts to control her professional as well as social life and direction, his ire turned to resentment, fear, rage, and hate then cold distain.

Her serial heartbreak became terminal suspicion fed by rage, disgust, loathing and an overwhelming need for justice, revenge and escape.

Their intimacy shriveled and died a cold repulsive death.

Facing this demon that once was her man, partner and beloved husband, Marla readied herself as the matador does before the wounded bull’s final charge. Yet this was no bullring; and Frank, though similar in size and shape, was much more dangerous than any bull.

Frank’s upper lip rolled up in an ugly snarl, “Fucking punk deserved to suck shit in Hell. I saw you fucking him. Even filmed you doing it, bitch…sucking his cock like your fucking life depended on it. Screaming your fucking Nigga’ brains out as he fucked you in the ass! And I got it all on tape! Kill the bastard? Hell…yes! I drowned that maggot, ground his fucking face under my boot till he sucked water and shit! You hear me…I killed the son-ova-bitch…just like I’m gonna kill you, whore then fuckin’ FUCK your corpse…!” Frank’s face contorted into a silent scream; his body twisted away clutching at his chest to collapse on the floor, twitched then was still.

Marla’s reflexive response instantly moved her around the desk and to Frank’s side. Bending over his form to check for breathing and the presence of pulse at the carotid artery of his neck she saw the twitch, but not the blow that ended all conscious awareness.

Brad, slumped in his seat, twitched upright as he heard the silence descend within the cell phone connection. He had heard the confession and the threat and knew them both to be real. His instincts said, move in; yet her instructions clearly demanded that he stay put until she called him. He waited, figuring that she could handle the Boss. One way or another the Boss’ days were done and the job and all that went it with was his. He would just have to be patient, relax, bide his time; he had waited this long, he could wait a little longer. His time would come. Slumping back into the seat, the long night of sleep depravation began to exact its toll. His soft snores began to echo throughout his police cruiser.