Justifiable Homicide

by Waggoner, Robert C.

  Driving to the judge’s house, Pect suggested a quick stop at a fast food place for warm up coffee. The driver readily agreed and they stopped way in the back of the parking lot because the limo was so long. After getting the coffee Peck asked the driver to open the trunk so they could put their bags in it; as they were going to pick up some of his friends and needed the room. The driver jumped out and opened the truck and that is when Pect took him out with a sap. Past experience told him that would keep him out for at least thirty minutes before he woke up. Pect hurried to the driver’s door and with the drivers chauffeur hat they continued to the pickup point.

  Pulling up in front of the judge’s house Pect tooted the horn and stood at side of the car with a big smile on his face. It was quarter to eight. A few minutes later the judge came out with a curious look on his face. Pect told him happy birthday and the judges eyes lit up and a buck tooth smile crossed his face. With brief case in hand he carefully walked to the open back door and peered in. He saw Joy with a big smile and she quickly opened and closed her overcoat showing the judge her wares, which covered only her nipples and the thong showed red pubic hair. Joy told him happy birthday and the judge jumped in closing the door looking back at the house making sure his wife didn’t see what was going on. Pect drove off down the street and the judge said, “Wow, who did this for an old man like me. I know it was George who is always trying to surprise me.”

  “Judge how did you guess,” Joy said with a smile and a tug at his crotch as she slipped her coat off making the judge take in a deep breath, “you are so smart and now this next hour is yours.” Joy played with his crotch and even though the judge was a little on the pudgy side he quickly unzipped his pants for free access. Joy reached in a pulled out his member and was a little surprised how fast it got hard. She stroked it few time and the judge moaned with delight. Joy said, “Wait a minute judge I want to sit on that lovely tool,” as she with one hand reached into her bag and palmed the weapon of destruction.

  The judge had his eyes closed waiting for her to climb on and ride him to the court house. Joy climbed on and straddled him while both hands were on his shoulders. Then she leaned back and thrust the knife into his heart saying, “You fuck, no more will you let the criminals go free for greed.” The judge with eyes wide open looked down as he died at the stiletto sticking in his chest. Joy quickly jumped off and left the weapon in his chest so as not to leak blood all over. No doubt there was some DNA from her head hair, but no matter, it would be hard to link her to that end of an investigation.

  Pect found an underground parking garage while Joy was changing her clothes. Quickly and without drawing attention they took an elevator up into the building and walked out the front door calling a taxi. No prints were found as both Joy and Pect wore gloves. Joy had on flesh colored latex and Pect driving gloves. The taxi took them to the train station where they boarded for back east; Washington DC for lack of a better place to go. Once more a well made plan hit a high note: death to a bad guy.

  33.

  Peter the next morning early opened his mail to find his tag mate's mail. It was vague and wanted some details. Peter hadn’t slept well at all. Sandy had called and wanted a stay over, but he declined saying he had a headache and needed some time alone. She hung up with a sad voice and Peter felt a she was applying too much pressure these days. In reality, he reflected, it’s just me and the job.

  Now he sat with a reply and the icon blinking at him counting off the seconds till he entered some words. One or two early bird like him came in and nodded hello on their way to the coffee room. All of the agents had their own problems and duties. Like Peter some were gung ho and others along for the ride. He started typing and when he finished he felt like he wanted to throw up. He gave his tag mate time, place and attached a picture of his boss who would be standing outside the bar for a side shot to the head. He clicked send and left for a walk in the light snow that was still falling from two days ago. Not much accumulation, but just enough to be annoying.

  Outside he walked around the building and entered from the rear having enough of the outside fresh air. Not fifteen minutes had passed when he sat down and opened up his computer where a notice “You have mail” flashed at him.

  One sentence was all and it read: “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Peter hit reply and wrote: “Because he wants to die.” And he hit send again. Back and forth this went for an hour until Tag told him to hang on for awhile.

  Well, looks like I’m committed, Peter thought. He leaned back in his chair as his phone buzzed on his line to the boss in question. He picked up the phone and listened while his boss wanted to know how IT was going. Peter said, “It’s in the works and I’ll have a report on your desk in a few hours,” as he let out a long breathe of air. His boss told him that would be fine and disconnected.

  Peter sat there for the next hour working on the latest news of a judge in Chicago found dead in a rented limo under a building parking garage. First report he was stabbed in the heart and what wasn’t public information, FBI report only, his penis was out with his hand still on it. Apparently the limo was hired by a thirty something stocky man with a beard and then a woman and same man the next morning told him a surprise for a politician was in the works. They had stopped for coffee when the driver told him to put a bag in the trunk and that is when his lights went out. When he woke up he pounded and yelled until someone came and set him free. His description of the two perps was sketchy at best. Pete thought a disguise was used and asked about any DNA samples. That report said that man hairs were vacuumed up and it would be difficult to tell which hairs matched the perps or other rental customers from before. Peter didn’t ask about prints as he knew they were dealing with real professionals here. He closed out the window on the computer and decided on an early lunch. The last thing before he left was to call Sandy and see if she wanted lunch. He smiled when she agreed to meet him and told him she had a little surprise for him.

  Sandy was jumping around like she ants in her pants as she placed a small gift wrapped box in front of Peter at the restaurant. He had a shocked look and while they ordered he carefully un-wrapped the package. Inside was a new watch. He looked at his old one and noticed it did look a little worn and outdated. This one was sleek and had all the bells and whistles one could ever need. He took off his old one and put on the new one as Sandy sat watching with her mouth hanging open and eyes of love pouring forth to his reaction. Peter told her how nice this was and he meant it. Sandy lowered her eyes in shyness and the little love scene was interrupted by lunch arriving.

  After lunch a short walk as it had quit snowing for a change. The sidewalks were clear while they strolled down the street holding hands. Her hand felt nice and warm; soft too. Peter liked Sandy, but wasn’t sure about the love thing. Love was as emotion he couldn’t identify with. Sherlock had the same problem. Maybe it is because of logic or reasoning, Peter thought as they crossed the street as it appeared Sandy was leading him somewhere. It didn’t matter as he was lost in thought about his boss and his tag mail mate. Peter glanced up and saw they were in a small shop area and quite nice. He’d never noticed it before, but apparently Sandy knew it well as she pulled him to a window that even on a grey cloudy day dazzled with jewels back lit with special lights to reflect into your eyes.

  It really didn’t need a Sherlock Holmes to deduce what and why they were standing in front of a jewelry shop for. Peter’s heart skipped beat and a hollow feeling in his stomach, even after lunch gripped his being. Sandy was pointing at a set of rings and jabbering a mile a minute. Peter never heard a word as like on a freeway with the windows down, only a roaring sound could be heard. Slowly he came back to reality and heard Sandy say a friend of hers was getting married in June and this is where they bought their rings. Peter felt a little better now and tried to concentrate on what she was saying and looking at the glistening stones. As the crisis passed Sandy told him she needed to get back to work so off they went hand in hand with
Peter walking a little taller than usual.

  34.

  Peter knew without a doubt a mail was waiting for him from his tag mate. And sure enough an indicator told him he had mail. It was short and sweet: “Next Monday at five pm at the bar you suggested. In addition you will be with him, but suggest not too close. Two teams will be on this operation: One to take out your boss; and the other to keep a watch on you if in case it is a trap.”

  Peter erased the mail and called his boss who just got back from lunch. Ten minutes later he sat in front of a very stressful looking guy. Peter felt sorry for him and gave him the news. His boss nodded his head and said, “Okay Peter let’s make it so. And thanks by the way.” Peter told him he was sorry about the whole thing and left the office with his head down.

  ***

  Joy and Pect arrived in DC about the same time as Peter had his meeting with his boss. They taxied to a middle class hotel and checked in paying with cash for two nights. It was Thursday and after looking their room over, a worn out beige rug with trails from the bed to a stark yellow bathroom, freshly painted, Joy sat at a little round table with wobbly legs and check her computer. Instructions awaited her on a hit next Monday at five pm. The details were to take this guy out from long range as he would be aware of the hit coming. Joy was a little nervous when she read the guys bio saying he was high level FBI and wanted to die for the insurance money. Joy was confused and sat back looking at the nicotine stained ceiling with an equal stained light that gave off only shadows around the area. “Pect, check this out,” she said to him while he was bouncing on the bed to see what kind of noise it would make later on when he had fantasies of plunging into Joy’s red bush.

  Pect read the mail and frowned saying, “I don’t like this very much. If I read this right they want the old guy taken out, and he will be with a younger man standing with him. If it is a setup, which I think it might be, we are to take out the young one too.”

  “Let’s see if I can get some info on this hit,” as she started typing in a response. Meanwhile they needed to go shopping for clothes and weapons if they were going to be here until Monday and do the job. Pect told her he had an old friend here somewhere and an old hangout where he usually was if he was in town and he hoped he was.

  At five the two of them were sitting in a one step higher than a dive talking to Pect’s friend. Joy listened while they talked about old times and noticed this dude was not young, but in better than average shape for guy over fifty. He had grey crew cut hair like an ex Marine and a nose like an over the hill boxer: pug and slight bent to one side. Eyes like the killer he was and Popeye arms carpeted with grey hair. His soft voice belied his bulk and looks pulling you in to his confidence. Joy relaxed as she quickly came to like the guy.

  Ben Franks said, “I can get what you need, but it is going to lighten your cash load.”

  “How soon can you lay your hands on it Ben?”

  “Pect, I can have it by Saturday night no problem.”

  “Fine and what say we find a place to eat and while we are on the way I can slip you the cash.”

  “How about some Mexican food,” Frank suggested. Both Pect and Joy nodded their heads and out the door they went. A ten minute taxi ride and they were sitting in a Mexican joint that a sweet brown body Latin American girl led them to a table way back in the corner as the place was full of Spanish speaking customers not paying any attention to the three white amigos. To Joy, she had never tasted such fine Mexican food in her life, and thanked Ben for the great experience.

  After dinner they found a quiet bar and had some coffee spiked with a little Drambue with more exploits around the globe. Ben told them he was married to a Mexican lady who was home taking care of his two children. They agreed to meet back at the same Mexican place on Saturday along with his wife.

  Taking a taxi back to their hotel, Pect and Joy laughed knowing when Ben opened the package and found an extra ten large, he would be very surprised. Later that night, after midnight a phone call came in. Pect listened and grunted and fell back to sleep. Later he told Joy it was Ben and things looked good. Joy through a sleepy voice mumbled something and drifted back off to sleep.

  35.

  Over on the West Coast of the nation, Robin Eggar sat in his room at the No Name Motel just south of San Francisco. He’s drove up in his pickup with his new bike in the back of it. He’d grown to like the bike as getting around was easier and finding a place to park was not a problem. He’d been there for three days now and knew all there was to know about his operation to take out a CEO of a corporation he’d never heard of before. However, judging from his home his salary depicted his position.

  One more time he went over the bio on the CEO whose name was Franklin Adams. Adams was fifty two and guy who liked kids way too much. He used a high price service to provide him with underage kids, both male and female for fun in a rented apartment where no one cared what their neighbors did. The service brought the kids when he wanted them. Most were street kids and or foreigners peddling the kids for money. On two occasions he almost had to go to court as complaints were filed by a church group who took in one of his victims and on another occasion by a homeless woman who wouldn’t shut up until she disappeared. The church group made a media splash and of course our Franklin denied everything as was let go without a serious investigation. Now it was time for this guy to cease playing with kids once and for all.

  Robin took a big sigh and lay back on his motel bed and thought how best to take this guy out. The safest would be to wait until he made an appointment for a night’s delight and then break into the room with a silencer. A hooded black mask would do the job so the kids couldn’t identify him. Robin had watched the apartment building and saw one guy who might just give him the information he needed. He was an old timer who walked every morning and night with a cane up and down the street for exercise and market shopping. Robin befriended the guy and before long he spilled the beans on the child molester. Seems like every Sunday night he came and stayed till midnight and left. His friend knew what was going on, but kept his nose out of it like most of the neighbors.

  Tomorrow night was Saturday and it was time to set the stage for the curtain call on Franklin Adams.

  36.

  Sunday night in DC in their hotel room, Joy and Pect spread out their weapons once again to check and double check each one. Saturday night, true to his word, Ben Frank shad delivered as promised. He took the back stairs down and like the pro he was, slipped away into the night. Now Joy put the sniper rifle together for the umpteenth time. This model was way different than the Russian one she used in Seattle. This was a custom made, built on a Winchester frame .243 caliber silence rifle. Pect had the twin to it and now both could assemble and take apart in seconds the rifles. Ben said he had test fired both on Saturday and guaranteed they were sound and accurate.

  Having scouted the area the best place to take the shot was from across the street about fifty yards from the bar’s door. A large yellow no parking zone sat in front of the bar so a clear shot would not be a problem. Ben Franks had rented a van and it would be parked in place late Saturday night assuring a parking place would be available at the time needed. The van’s back two windows flipped up about three inches so a rife could poke its nose out the window giving the shooter a visual clear shot.

  It was decided Pect would take the shot and Joy would drive keeping her eye out for a trap. They would be on site by noon and watch carefully for anything unusual. For their dress on Saturday they went to a uniform store and dressed like painter’s hats and all. The stage was set and about to play out on the morrow.

  Peter was a nervous wreck on Monday morning, but he kept his cool the best he could. He went about his work half heartedly and by noon he found some excuse to leave the building for good and meet his boss at four pm at the bar. First he thought of his tag mate and then he went to Sandy and back again. He was sure it was a girl and by her tone of writing, excitement traveled through his body ending
up dead center just below the belly button. Come on Peter, he thought, Sherlock never had an emotion in his life until he showed up at Watson’s house after everyone thought he died at the hands of his nemesis professor Moriarity. Get real, he thought, your boss is about to die and I’m in a quandary trying to decide what is right from wrong. Is it wrong for these vigilantes to take out proven criminals who have destroyed people’s lives? If so, why are we pulling out the all the stops to prevent more killings? A better question hit his brain: is our system is really that flawed? No one really knew the answer to that and other questions.

  Peter continued walking aimlessly down the sidewalk on a grey afternoon without much foot traffic. He thought back when a former president had some embarrassing moments with a girlfriend. He remembered the guy saying as he tried to twist the conversation and the use of the English language with the question to the reporters: “It’s a matter of defining the word “If.” That is totally absurd, he thought. Lawyers twist and turn for escaping out of any given situation just to put a mark on the wall for win and lose. Lose, you'd best hang your shingle on the wall of some jerk water town and write wills for a living. Win and you can move into a gated community or a nice brownstone.

  Peter came upon a park and he had no idea where he was, nor did he care. His new watch told him it was two thirty and lots of time yet to arrive early at the intended meeting place. He found a park bench and sat down at a place where the last visitor had left a newspaper that was pretty much dry from the dripping trees still laden with snow form the earlier storm that passed through. Pete took out his cell and stared at it thinking he might call the boss of his boss and tell him what was going on. Logic took over as he decided that if he did that, he’d be raked over the coals for not reporting it earlier. Oh god, he thought, when will this ever end? Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell went off in his hand. Without looking at the number he answered with his usual voice saying, “Peter here, how can I help you?”