Twisted Retribution

by Donna Arp Weitzman

  Later after the casket was lowered into the grave at the cemetery, Sarah reached for Olivia’s hand, but she brushed it aside. When they had paid their final respects, Sarah offered Olivia a ride back to school.

  “No, I want to go pray with Reverend Thomas,” Olivia said in a harsh tone. Sarah was surprised the pastor would schedule a prayer session so soon after the funeral.

  “Okay, honey, I’ll see you tonight.”

  Olivia walked toward the preacher, each step taking her farther away from her mother.

  On the way back to her car, Sarah happened to catch a glimpse of a thirty-something man who looked out of place. His vehicle was parked away from the others, and he was leaning against it, looking directly at Reverend Thomas. He saw Sarah staring at him and immediately got in his dark blue Chevy sedan.

  Sarah suddenly realized this man might be important in her hunt for the dealer. She hurried to his car to get his license number but was unable to make out the plate before he drove away. However, Montague County was so small that a certain vehicle could be found fairly quickly.

  ***

  Henry decided he’d keep his old blue car around the back of the shack. No reason to alert anyone about his presence until he was settled in. Mrs. Mooney okayed the parking spot.

  He was working outside the next day when a news delivery boy threw a rolled-up copy of the Nocona News in Mrs. Mooney’s yard. Henry quickly retrieved it. Resting a few minutes on the front porch, he flipped through the pages. He noticed a story about a lady investigator who worked for the sheriff’s department. There was a picture of Sarah Sears standing beside an unmarked car wearing a holster. Henry looked closely at the photo, quickly determining this woman needed a good fucking and he’d do it. He particularly liked the intrigue of overpowering a female policeman.

  He’d follow this woman, stake out her office, and catch her off guard one day. Henry was getting antsy for blood, and what a good story killing this woman would provide. Catch her, gag her, rape her, and kill her. Henry Lee Lucas looked forward to his prospects. He shoved the paper into a large, black plastic yard bag he’d been collecting trash in all morning.

  It was a hot and humid day in Montague County. Henry much preferred robbing and killing to physical work, but spending a few days with Old Lady Mooney would allow him cover until the cops got distracted by another crime.

  Becky, however, was too chatty with the old woman. Henry would need to slap her a few times and get her attention. Becky was young, but not dumb. She’d shut up if he threatened her.

  ***

  The next day the plastic blinds covering the office windows were closed when Sarah arrived early. She pulled the string to open them and immediately recognized a blue car parked nearby. It was the same car she’d seen parked nearby during the funeral. Sarah felt a strange stirring, her body sensing danger.

  Should she walk to the car and question the driver? She was a law woman now, and Sarah would not allow fear to be her companion. She stood up and walked toward the front door with the intent of at least getting the license of the car. Gun in her holster, she fingered the trigger.

  The front door banged shut louder than she would have liked, and suddenly the blue car started, immediately lurching forward from its parking place before Sarah could get close enough to identify the plate. That same uneasy feeling flooded over her, and she now believed this vehicle housed a demon, someone Sarah might encounter in the future. This blue car symbolized danger.

  Sarah decided to visit local places to yield information on the Cooke County bank robbery suspects and maybe the owner of the blue car. The local Dairy Hut was a hot spot for retired men to drink coffee and talk. Through the greasy windows facing the parking lot, Sarah could see all eyes turn toward her as she entered the café. Then the men looked away, whispering and sneering. Two or three nodded their heads toward her in quiet greeting. She easily overheard one loudmouth declaring how the sheriff’s department was no place for a woman. “Sheriff Will has lost his mind. I plan to vote against that asshole next year,” another man said, practically shouting.

  Sarah looked past him and smiled at the crowd. “Has anyone seen a suspicious-looking white pick-up around town?” The café went silent, everyone straining to hear the first woman in such a dominant position address them.

  Someone in the back said, “What is Montague County coming to? Next, it’ll be a black man getting some fancy job.”

  A few played along with Sarah’s questions and piped up, “nope” and “not me,” shaking their heads. Others just stared, and a few looked away, refusing to show respect for the bitch playing cop. Sarah persisted.

  “There’s also a blue car running around town,” she said. “Does anyone know the driver?”

  Donnie Dick, a greasy mechanic who lived west of town, spoke up. “Yes, ma’am. I met him,” he said. Everyone else fell silent.

  “Who did you meet, sir?” Sarah asked, flipping to a new page in the small notebook she carried with her.

  Donnie smiled, taking delight in being called “sir” for the first time in his 31 years. “I met the guy who drives a blue Chevy. He’s the nephew of Old Lady Mooney out west of town. He’s been cleaning up her junkyard.”

  “Thank you so much, sir,” Sarah said and left to get in her car. She sped out of the Dairy Hut lot, heading west toward Mrs. Mooney’s house. She’d get to the bottom of the blue car owner’s intentions.

  Everyone knew about the Mooney place full of rotting junk left by the old lady’s dead husband. Hungry pit bulls and far too many emancipated cats roamed the dilapidated house. Old Lady Mooney rarely left the place and only to drive a few miles to the Piggly Wiggly grocery store. Social security checks kept her in food, and a broken-down couch provided a soft place to watch her game shows for hours during the day.

  On occasion, a man might stop by and ask to search the junkyard for an out of date car part. If they were successful, the old lady would chuckle. She’d grin, showing her gums missing every tooth, and ask way too much money from the customer. Mrs. Mooney was not a fool, just a pitiful person. Time and circumstances had not smiled on this decrepit widow.

  The sparkling clean sheriff’s department car easily stood out in the Mooney yard. Dust boiled up as Sarah pulled in. Not a blade of grass or a green plant softened the filth surrounding the homestead. The pit bulls and some other strays ran toward Sarah when she opened her door, hoping for a few crumbs or at least an entertaining diversion from their measly existence. Sarah thumbed her revolver. She might have to use it if the beasts decided she was a target.

  Scolding the dogs with mostly nervous bravado, Sarah was relieved when they allowed her to walk onto the creaky, unpainted porch without bothering her. Two cats tried to rub against her boots, but Sarah kicked them away lightly.

  Sarah knocked loudly on the screen door and could hear The Price is Right blaring on the television.

  “Who is it?” Mrs. Mooney yelled out.

  “Sarah Sears with the sheriff’s department.” She could hear the old woman heaving as she got out of the sofa to come to the door.

  Old Lady Mooney opened the door and stared at Sarah. “A woman working for the sheriff...” she let her words trail off. “Where’s that lazy old bastard who used to have your job? I hadn’t seen him in years?”

  “He died, ma’am,” Sarah explained patiently. “And Darrel, his brother-in-law, is no longer with the department.”

  “Is that right?” Mrs. Mooney said and shook her heard. “Everybody gotta die sometime. Ain’t you lucky! Or did you kill ‘em off?” She laughed at her own humor, her lungs crackling with what Sarah assumed was emphysema. “Well, good for you, now what do you want with an old lady like me?” She stared at Sarah, suddenly seeming suspicious.

  Sarah realized she was on shaky ground. “Have you seen a blue Chevrolet around?” Sarah inquired.

  “What kind of Chevrolet, lady? A pick-up? A car? A truck or maybe a bicycle?” Mrs. Mooney was toying with Sarah.

 
; “A car,” Sarah stammered.

  “No, I ain’t seen nothin’. Why?”

  Sarah was at a loss. This line of questioning was going nowhere. “Well, thank you, ma’am,” Sarah said and handed Mrs. Mooney her business card. “Call me if you ever need me.”

  The old lady grunted as she reached for the card. She was glad Becky was asleep and her new handyman had taken his blue Chevy to town for some supplies. It was nobody’s business who worked for her.

  The cur dogs again tried to lick Sarah, and a few growled as she hurriedly got back in the car and began backing toward the gravel road. Old Lady Mooney stood on the porch staring at the cop car. Exhilarated and disappointed, Sarah vowed to return to Mooney’s soon, determined to uncover the mystery of why Mrs. Mooney hadn’t told her about her nephew staying with her. Why had she lied?

  Just before Henry was going to pull back in the Mooney driveway, he noticed a car was already parked there. He looked closer at the sedan and saw its white brake lights were on, indicating the driver was backing out. Something about the nondescript vehicle told him it might be a cop car. He sped up suddenly and looked in his rearview mirror to see if he was being followed. Nothing. He waited for about an hour before he returned. What had this visitor wanted? It sure looked suspicious to Henry.

  ***

  Back at the office, the lunch hour passed by slowly. Zach drank his third or fourth Dr. Pepper for the day, chomping on the contents of a Cheetos package and capping it off with an extra-large Butterfinger. Ruby often went home for lunch, usually overstaying a few minutes to finish a phone call she’d started with a neighbor. Sarah ate her sandwich and apple at her desk.

  Sarah and Zach typically chatted about department business or small talk during lunch, but they would occasionally delve into more personal issues. Sarah learned that Zach’s dad fixed boats at the lake a few miles out of town. He rarely said a word to his only son, detesting Zach’s interest in the same sex. Zach explained that his dad felt that real men should lose their virginity to a woman by sixteen, never to another man. Zach was a huge disappointment. His mother was a cook at the high school and came home dead tired by 2:00 in the afternoon every weekday, and she took no interest in Zach’s life.

  Frequently abused, bullied, and teased growing up, Zach wore a big chip on his shoulder, clouding his judgment of most men. Being gay in Montague County was dangerous and psychologically crippling. However, the most devastating blow to Zach’s mental state, Sarah discovered, was his sister’s death three years before in a car accident. On a date in her boyfriend’s dual cab farm truck, they both got distracted when things got out of hand. She was fending off the boy’s rude advances and pushed him so hard that he swerved to the middle of the four-lane highway. An eighteen-wheeler could not miss clipping the cab, killing his sister and breaking Zach’s heart.

  Sarah hurt for Zach when she heard this story because his only sibling and understanding confidant was killed due to the bullying of a man. Zach would never recover, she mused, and the only way life would be fair again was if this boy died. In fact, Zach confided in her that he often dreamed of killing the monster.

  Zach rarely had a lover, as the Montague County homosexual supply was scarce. He focused his attention on murder mysteries and crime shows and video games. An occasional trip to a Dallas gay bar depressed him deeply, as he felt “used by the fags” for their relief. Love was out of the question.

  Sarah felt sorry for Zach but never showed him pity. He was her partner, and she needed him. Partners in this line of work used their minds to come up with ingenious ways to handicap their opponents and trap them.

  One afternoon Zach answered the phone and Sarah could overhear a woman screaming, begging for help. “He’s gonna kill me!” the woman shouted. “He’s gone crazy!”

  “Where are you, ma’am?” Zach questioned her calmly. “How can we find you?”

  “Pine Street,” she said, and the phone went dead. Pine was a hotbed for criminal activity.

  “I’m off,” Sarah said and grabbed her holster.

  “Sarah, I’m coming for back-up,” Zach said. “Ruby’s here.”

  “This wife beater would rue the day Sarah Sears learned his name,” Sarah thought to herself as she raced toward Pine, turning up the short street off the county road. An enraged man, short in stature with tattoos, brandished a long knife in the front yard of a shanty and was yelling.

  Sarah pulled in the yard and stepped out of her car. “Sir,” she said, “you’re under arrest.”

  “Who the fuck are you, bitch?” he turned toward Sarah and screamed. “Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll kill you.”

  Not moving, Sarah repeated, “Sir, you’re under arrest.”

  The man lunged toward Sarah with the knife and fell to the ground, obviously drunk. Zach ran to Sarah, and they both handcuffed him while he shouted obscenities. A skinny, dark-haired woman opened the door and ran to Sarah. A cut over her eye and one on her arm bled into two towels she held against her wounds. Tears fell from her swollen eyes onto her torn blouse, evidence that she’d suffered a severe beating. Sarah had lived the same scenario many times.

  “Where is he going? Where are you taking him?” The woman was near hysteria.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” Zach tenderly asked the woman.

  “Yes, sir,” she muttered. “I’m okay.”

  “We may need you at the police station,” Sarah instructed the woman. “We work for the sheriff’s department. We’re not the police. But we have arrested him and will turn him over to the city cops.”

  Sarah was informative, but the abused woman just kept crying and saying, “He’ll kill me for calling the sheriff.”

  Sarah looked the woman squarely in the eye and assured her, “He will never harm you again. Don’t be afraid.”

  Sarah planned to drive the criminal to the police station. She had done her part. But Sarah knew wife beaters better than most, and if this animal obtained bail, his wife could die.

  Sarah could hear the abuser cursing in the backseat and felt his spit hit her neck. Her mind suddenly took over her body. She could feel Pete’s palm across her face. Pete’s grip pressing her arms, then slamming her to the floor. Pete’s fingers closing around her throat, his hands gripping her hair. Her body began shaking as she realized how much she intensely hated the man in her backseat. Everything he represented repulsed her. The crying woman, afraid and helpless, needed Sarah to act on her behalf.

  Sarah was now sure of one thing only: everyone was better off if this man was dead. Sarah looked at Zach, wondering if he really meant it when he said he’d always have her back.

  Sarah stopped the car and turned toward her partner. “Zach, that poor woman can never escape this monster. He’ll get out and probably beat her to death. We have to stop this.”

  Zach looked befuddled. “What can we do? Let’s get out and talk about this,” he said in hushed tones.

  Zach and Sarah stepped out and huddled beside the car away from the handcuffed man.

  “You think we should kill him?” he asked.

  Zach looked at Sarah, nervous but excited.

  She slowly nodded, “yes.”

  “Every woman in the world would be safer. Somebody has to get rid of the world’s scum. Maybe we can do a little good,” she said.

  Zach seemed unsure.

  “God says an eye for an eye, Zach. It’s in the bible. God wants us to help.” Sarah was certain.

  Zach then whispered to Sarah, “I have a different gun, pulling a weapon out of his holster.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “This gun is not registered. We can kill this man with it, and no one will know.”

  Sarah slowly nodded. “Give me your gun. I must do it. I want to kill this monster, Zach. Do you have my back?”

  “I’ll never tell a soul, Sarah. The world is better off getting rid of him,” Zach swore.

  “Okay, then,” Sarah said, looking at the drunk man in the backseat. “Let’s ge
t rid of this sinner. God is on our side.” Zach handed her the gun, and she swung open the back door.

  “Get out of the car,” Sarah ordered the man. He swore and spat at her. “Where are we, cunt?” he demanded.

  Sarah quietly ordered him again to get out. “We have car trouble,” she lied. Their prisoner looked doubtful.

  The suspect climbed out of the car, still handcuffed, while Zach held his unregistered gun on him.

  “Start walking that way,” Sarah pointed her finger.

  Again, the man spat toward her and yelled, “I’ll kill you, cunt. And you too, cocksucking fag.”

  “I don’t think so,” Zach said and smiled.

  The prisoner began the death walk.

  “Stop!” Sarah yelled. “Turn around.”

  As he turned toward Sarah, she shot a single bullet from Zach’s gun, hitting the man’s forearm. He began screaming, blood spurting from his appendage. Sarah shot the man again, this time hitting his forehead. Blood ran down into his eyes. He fell, and Sarah walked closer. The third shot to his heart stopped his movement. Everyone was silent.

  “Zach, remove his handcuffs,” she ordered. “It has to look as if he escaped and someone else killed him. Remember, we are the ones who have to investigate this murder.”

  Sarah and Zach quietly drove back to town, rehearsing their story. They both knew the dead man would be discovered and they’d be questioned. Their stories must jive.

  Sarah filed the appropriate report on the incident and was pleased when Sheriff Will buried it under a mountain of paperwork. It turns out that the meaningless wife beater was someone nobody knew and nobody cared was dead.

  ***

  Sarah’s love for and fear of God were inextricably intertwined. She wanted to please her God more than anything, yet she feared he was often displeased with her. Her early religious teachings had pierced her growing ideas of a woman’s independence. Sarah was proud of her newfound status, yet felt slightly ashamed when women would ask how Pete liked being a “kept” husband. Sarah feared only two men in her life: God, whom Sarah never doubted was male, and Pete. Fearing either one’s wrath, God and Pete were Sarah Sears’ sole judge and jury.