by W.H. Harrod
Four months? It’s been four months since Whitney’s funeral. Howard shook his head in disbelief as he sat alone on his patio with his personal grief tearing at his insides. Numerous times daily since the horrible event, he resolved that life wasn’t worth living any longer. Yet his determination to exact retribution from those he held responsible for Whitney’s death banished such thoughts from his consciousness.
“Not until all of them have paid for what they did,” Howard said to himself.
The cool evening air made scant impression on Howard as he recalled the events following the funeral. After meeting with the stranger, Howard had traveled to the Ozarks in search of a new identity and to establish a base of operations from where he would execute his plan of retribution. Having completed those parts of his scheme, he then devoted the last three months to secretly implementing the multitude of details involved. While doing this, he gave every impression to Richard he had gotten past the tragedy and was continuing on with his life.
At no time did he let on that he knew anything about Richard’s involvement. This surprised him more than anything else—being in the same room with the man, hate boiling within him, and not letting on that he intended to kill him in the most violent way imaginable. But before he experienced the satisfaction of seeing the expression on Richard’s face as he fired all the bullets his handgun would hold into his sick brain, additional tasks awaited completion.
Reminded of his mission, Howard rose from his chair and went through the patio doors heading for his private office. He could still work on a number of things tonight. For certain, none of them involved his job with the company that fronted for the Mexican cartel. As far as that job, he only went through the motions. Other employees observed a man going full speed ahead, keeping his many and varied tasks in good order. But they were wrong, and if his plan of revenge couldn’t be fulfilled in the near future, his almost complete inattention to his normal duties would soon be discovered. Though by then, it would be too late for anyone to save this doomed ship from Hades.
Sitting down at his desk, Howard took out a small key from his pocket and unlocked a heavily reinforced desk drawer. Opening it, he retrieved a leather bound portfolio containing an outline of his complete plan of attack. Howard reviewed the lengthy list, gratified to see most of the major items were completed. He had established a phony construction company with Richard listed unknowingly as the owner of record. This new company regularly submitted phony invoices for work and materials furnished on all the projects under way that Howard oversaw. Revenue coming into this sham company, ultimately, made its way into several off shore bank accounts owned by shell corporations also set up by Howard. Once deposited there, these funds escaped the oversight of practically everyone in the world.
Sizable amounts of cash generated from Howard’s skimming from the numerous businesses used for laundering cash from the cartel’s other illegal operations also accumulated in these off shore banks. Add to that the sizable amounts of dollars Howard stole through the use of bogus land option payments, the grand total residing in the off shore banks located in the southern hemisphere amounted to well over a million dollars.
Satisfied with the progress of his scheme, Howard reviewed his overall plan. When would he be able to pull the plug? When would every item on the list be completed and ready? Looking at his calendar, he chose September 30, 1981. “Two more weeks,” he decided. “Everything can be finished by the end of September.” Taking a red magic marker, he circled a day. October 1, 1981. Sitting back, he allowed the date to settle into his mind. Henceforth, this would be a special date for him. This would be the date that Howard Douglas ceased to exist. But more importantly, it would be the date that Richard Whiting would die a violent death.
CHAPTER NINETEEN