I forced myself to try to think about Ryan and the second chance Hank and I had given her to find fulfillment and joy in her own life. She’d soon discover that she’d been rescued from her prison of misery and anguish. It was then I realized, however, that Ryan had one more beating to endure. This one, in fact, would possibly surpass all of the others considering the emotional toll it would take on her. Later that day she would receive the news that her husband had been murdered. Although he had emotionally and physically tormented her, I knew she loved him, and I was sure they had shared many tender and loving moments throughout their relationship. I believed that she would eventually be relieved to be free of him and his tyranny over her. Initially, however, she would be broken-hearted and emotionally torn apart by the loss of her mate.
The knowledge that her next and final ‘beating’ of sorts was a result of my own actions left me feeling like an incredible asshole and a terrible person. These thoughts made me hate Brandon even more and I only wished that I could kill him ten times over—each attack more painful than the last—for the harm he had done to my sweet daughter and the fact that I would still have to watch her suffer.
My conscious mind was yanked back into the present by the sound of Hank’s Cessna 340A twin engines sequentially coming to life. I had apparently spaced out long enough for him to arrive and to do the pre-ignition portion of his pre-flight check. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 9:38pm. He was right on time and I had my head right up my ass. It was time to get into position to jump aboard his plane as he faked re-inspection of the landing gear.
I walked to the edge of the forest at the point closest to the end of the runways. Then, I reversed the backpack, so it hung from my chest rather than my back. Next, I got down on my hands and knees and began crawling through the tall grass toward the short taxiway between the ends of the parallel runways. It took only a few minutes to get into position just beyond the taxiway, and I knew that the camo design on my poncho would keep me from being detected by anyone who could have been visually following Hank’s airplane as he taxied down the runway towards my perch.
Just as we had planned, the plane came to rest midway across the short taxiway between the runways. Several seconds later, the hatch opened, and the short staircase automatically unfolded. Hank sprung down the steps and immediately squatted down as if he was inspecting the landing gear. He made a good show of ruling out any damage to the critically important tire and wheel assemblies, the brakes, and the other mechanical components of the equipment which transformed the plane from an aeronautical to a terrestrial vehicle. As he did so, I sprung from the ground and darted up the stairway and into the cabin. I kept my face down and, with the backpack concealed under my poncho, the only part of my body not camouflaged would be my lower legs. The plane was over half a mile from the small terminal building and the nearest hangar, so I knew that nobody at the airport could notice my sudden movement. As Hank boarded the craft, he saw that I was safely on the floor between the rear seats, where I would remain until we were in the air and out of sight from any possible onlookers.
“Who are you supposed to be, some kind of pussy Navy Seal or Green Beret?” he asked, as he raised the stairway and closed the hatch. “You certainly don’t look like you could hack being a Recon Marine!”
“Fuck you and fuck all of the training sergeants whose dicks you sucked so that they’d pass you and let you earn your gay little patches and medals,” I responded with a feigned look of disdain.
“Hey now, I never sucked any dicks! I told you that I drew the line at hand jobs!” he shot back. “Now, let me get this thing off the ground. Try not to get jizz all over the floor and seats while you’re lying back here playing with yourself.”
“I promise I’ll try to control myself. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve got a woman waiting on me in New Orleans, and, if I read our waitress’s signals correctly last night, so do you.”
Chapter 40
The flight to New Orleans and the drive back to the hotel went as planned. I called Mandy after Hank dropped me off on the street several blocks from his parking lot. Just as I had suspected would be the case, no one from the hotel staff had gotten around to checking on the wrecked surveillance camera above the side door and there were still broken glass fragments from the lens scattered on the stoop outside the door. As Mandy popped the door open right on cue, she was clearly startled to see a nasty looking thug approaching. She hadn’t seen me in my full disguise before and was obviously impressed with the authenticity of my appearance, once she realized it was me.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, “For a second there, I thought I was about to get raped!”
“You know, sweetie,” I replied, “you should never judge a book by its cover. I’m just a sweet little grunge rocker returning to his hotel where he intends to enjoy a nice breakfast with his wife before soaking in the tub with her and a bottle of champagne.”
“Okay, then I guess I won’t call security on you. Even though I know that you’ve been up to no good,” she said.
We climbed the eight sets of stairs to our floor and strolled down the hallway to our room.
The only question that she posed to me along the way was whether or not the problem had been dealt with. I told her that her sweet daughter was safe now and that there was no way that I would be implicated in his murder. She merely thanked me and reassured me that I was a good man and an excellent father. Her few, carefully chosen words hit me like a ton of bricks and I nearly burst out crying. I knew that this was the first of many emotional squalls that would hit me and threaten to suddenly capsize my self-esteem and self-confidence. I thanked her for her support and told her that I would have never had the strength to fulfill my commitment to my children if she hadn’t been by my side.
Before coming down the stairwell to let me in, she had ordered room service, including a bottle of Krug champagne and three flutes. Returning to the room I’d left less than twelve-hours earlier felt surreal to me. It amazed me how much could change in such a short period of time and how much a person could discover about himself during such a brief interval.
I hadn’t forgotten that the pretense that I’d remained in the room overnight was not yet solidified. I felt the need to complete the illusion that I had been passed out since returning from our activities at the bar the previous evening. I stripped off my disguise and threw everything, including most of the items from my backpack into a large, black plastic bag to which Hank would contribute all of the items he possessed which could be linked to our crime, including Brandon’s watch and wallet. Later that day, Hank would ditch the bag in a dumpster residing in an alley behind a French bakery famous for the beignets and croissants they sold by the dozens to both locals and tourists. Brandon’s driver’s license and credit cards would be burned in a souvenir ashtray on our hotel balcony following breakfast and the ashtray would be added to the bag of potentially compromising paraphernalia.
I climbed onto the soft mattress of our king-sized bed and in less than a minute I had faded off to sleep while Mandy stood at the vanity mirror outside the bathroom applying her makeup. It seemed like I’d slept for hours, but it was only about ten minutes later that I was awakened by a loud knock on the door. I heard Mandy disengaging the lock followed by the creak of the hinges as she swung the door open.
“Good morning, you sexy bitch!” Hank bellowed. “Look who I found out here in the hallway about to rap on your door.”
“Oh, good morning,” Mandy said to the room service attendant. “Sorry you had to meet up with my loudmouthed friend here. Please come on in. Hank, come on in and keep your ass out of his way.”
Our room service server identified himself as Esteban and quickly went about his business of setting up our breakfast table, complete with chargers and linen napkins. Upon each of the chargers, he set steaming plates and removed the metal covers, revealing bounteous omelets and piles of bacon. He placed the ice bucket for the champagne in the center of the
table, along with a pot of coffee, three coffee cups, and three champagne flutes. Mandy directed him to set large bar glasses filled with incredible looking bloody Mary’s in front of our place settings.
“Where’s the Markster,” Hank asked, as Esteban performed his tasks. “Jesus, dude—are you still in bed? What a fucking lightweight.”
“I was just enjoying a rare opportunity to sleep in, asshole!” I said. “Plus, I seem to be a bit hungover.”
“Oh look,” Hank said, “sparkling wine!” He picked up the bottle and inspected it. Hank was being his typical ADD self, bouncing from one idea to the next, while always looking for a way to show off a bit. “Well, it’s not what I would have ordered, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I’ve always felt like Krug’s success has been more due to marketing than the quality of their product.”
“Well, don’t worry Hank, you don’t have to choke any of it down past your sophisticated palate if you don’t want to,” Mandy said, as she reached out to take the bottle from him.
“No, that’s alright. I’ll share a glass with you. Let me get us set up,” he said. He could clearly tell that Mandy wasn’t interested in hearing any of his wine snobbery bullshit.
Esteban finished setting up our order on the table in the sitting area, then offered to fetch a folding chair for our breakfast guest as I sat on the side of the bed in my briefs and rubbed my neck as if I was truly suffering from a severe hangover. He finished his business and Mandy sent him away with a twenty-dollar tip. He promised to return quickly with the chair.
Hank went about uncorking the bottle of Krug and filling the flutes while I dressed in a T-shirt and some shorts. A few minutes later our extra chair arrived and the three of us took our seats around the beautifully set table.
“Before we eat, I’ve got something to say,” I said.
“Hurry it up, man—I’m freakin’ starving,” Hank interrupted.
“Just shut the fuck up and give me a minute,” I replied.
“Okay, geez!”
“Listen, what we did today was a terrible thing, but I will always believe it was necessary. I just want you both to know how much it means to me that I had the support I needed from the two of you when it was time for me to step up and be the best father I could be. Hopefully, Hank, neither you or I will ever need to even think about something like this again, but I know whatever Mandy and I need, we can count on you. I hope you know we will always be there for you, as well.”
“Fuckin-A, you will!” Hank interjected.
“Okay, then,” I said, “raise your glasses!”
We all raised our elegantly crafted crystal champagne flutes and prepared to touch them together in a toast of friendship and loyalty.
“To the late Brandon James, who will never again pollute this world with his toxic spirit. To Ryan, who will never again suffer at his hand. Finally, to the three of us, who have proven we have what it takes to provide our families with absolute protection from anyone who would attempt to do us harm,” I declared.
As I made eye contact with each of them in turn, I noticed Mandy was emitting a vibe of relief, while Hank was literally beaming with pride and satisfaction. In the moment, I thought his satisfaction was the result of the affirmation of our friendship and the knowledge that he had helped me to salvage Ryan’s pitiful existence and bring hope back into her life. Years later, I would think back on this particular moment and realize Hank had not just been proud of our actions and satisfied with the outcome. In reality, he was high on the godlike power—no different than if he’d consumed a powerful drug—he was feeling as a result of the violent mission we had carried out.
“Cheers!” We all called out in unison as we ceremoniously touched our flutes together.
Chapter 41
Following breakfast, Hank and I had both napped for several hours and then spent the rest of the afternoon chilling out by the outdoor pool. The hotel had a poolside bar and cocktail waitresses circulated among the sunbathing guests who were stretched out on scores of lounge chairs around the crystal-clear oasis. Nearly everyone had a drink in their hand and, as I walked from the pool back to where Mandy had laid claim to our two adjacent chaises, I overheard excerpts of multiple conversations between the other hotel guests. Most involved stories about the drunkenness and lechery of the previous night’s treks down Bourbon Street. Many of the poolside vacationers looked pretty rough, which suggested to me they’d partied perhaps a bit excessively the night before and were nursing their hangovers until it was time to get ready for another evening of eating, drinking, and otherwise abusing their bodies in the name of fun. I had left Hank in the pool, where he was doing his best to pick up one, or both, of the two sisters we’d met there who were in town from Denver and looking to party.
“The pool feels great, but looking at your fine ass laying there is about to give me a semi,” I said to my bikini clad mate as I sat down and began to adjust my lounge chair.
“Be careful, you pervert. They frown on guys popping boners in the pool area,” Mandy replied, as she checked out the front of my shorts to make sure I wasn’t serious. “Maybe I’ll take a quick dip.”
She climbed out of her chair and took a few seconds to steady herself.
“I’m feeling a bit dizzy,” she said. “That extra shot of Patron I ordered in my margarita did just the trick.”
“I’ll be right here waiting for you and gettin’ my drink on,” I said. “I believe it’s time for another Long Island for me. You want another margarita?”
“No thanks,” she said. “I think I’m good for now.”
Just as she started to walk toward the pool, her phone rang. She turned and picked it up and looked at the screen.
“It’s Ryan,” she said matter-of-factly as she hit the answer button. “Hey baby, what’s up?”
“Here we go,” I said to myself.
“Ryan—Ryan—slow down,” she was saying. ”Ryan, honey, I can hear you’re upset, but I can’t understand you. Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”
Vacation time was over. It was time to sober up and get ready to return home to console our daughter. It would soon be time to witness the devastation that my actions had led to and to try to help Ryan begin the painful process of grieving.
“I just hope,” I thought to myself, “this is the last time I’ll have to see that sweet girl suffer.”
Section Nine:
Did I Really Get Away With It?
Chapter 42
“Dude, that show was incredible. I think they do a better show now than when I saw them in 1984,” Hank said, from the passenger seat of my Lexus SUV.
It was early on a Saturday morning and we were on our way back from San Antonio, where we had attended an AC/DC concert the night before. Mandy had decided to stay home and let us make it a ‘guy trip,’ despite the fact that she had been just as into hard rock as I was when AC/DC was huge in the 1980’s. She had begun losing enthusiasm for going to concerts featuring bands that we had seen decades before, who were, seemingly, having trouble staying in retirement. She made a pretty good point, saying it just wasn’t quite the same seeing these guys who had once dominated the world of rock and roll banging their heads on stage when they looked like they belonged in a nursing home or a bingo parlor.
It had been more than a year since we had taken care of the Brandon situation. Over that time, we had rarely mentioned or referred to our successful mission, which had rid my darling daughter of her abusive asshole of a husband and proven to each of us that we had the cajones to do whatever it took to protect our families. Although neither of us would ever regret the violent tactics we employed in order to rid the world of Brandon’s worthless ass, the precise memories of the events were unpleasant, to say the least. Neither of us wanted to think about, much less verbally rehash, the morning that he died.
“Yeah, I agree,” I said. “The high-tech light show and the pyrotechnics they have incorporated into their stage show adds a lot to it. Plus, I think thes
e classic rock bands that are still touring have learned a lot about acoustics at large venues over the last couple decades. Concerts now are much more impressive than back in the day, and those guys totally nailed it last night.”
“Who do you think you are, dude, the next editor for Rolling Stone magazine? You sound like a goddamn music critic,” he razzed me.
“Listen, fucktard, if you need me to dumb my comments down for you so you can follow me, just let me know,” I calmly replied.
“Yeah, I was going to ask if you’d stop using such big words like ‘acoustic’ and ‘pyrotechnics’ when you talk to me,” he said. “It makes me feel self-conscious when your vocabulary goes over my head.”
“Anyway,” I said, “those guys are real good! They play good! That one guy with the cool hair, he plays the guitar good! How’s that, Doctor Shitforbrains?”
“Much better,” he answered. “I almost understood everything you said that time.”
We both laughed. As per usual, it didn’t take much for us to crack ourselves up. Of course, we always remembered that, despite the shit we gave each other as we vied for comedic dominance, the insults that we hurled at each other were meant to entertain and not to cut. We drove in silence for a few minutes as we tried to think of something clever to say. I suddenly remembered Hank had texted me about a week before. I hadn’t had time yet to inquire about the cryptic message he had sent, which had simply stated, ‘Score another one for the good guys!’
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I began my inquiry, “who are the good guys and what did they do to score?”
“Huh?” he reflexively replied. Then he thought about my words and got my meaning. “Oh yeah, I’ve been wanting to let you in on something that happened. I know you’ll be interested, but I’m not exactly sure how you’ll feel about it. It’s kind of a long story.”
“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “I guess you’ll have to try me. We’ve got plenty of time.”
Fatal Flaws Page 26