“No argument from us,” said Jackson. “But I think you need to let the police do their job.”
“You don’t think you have any responsibility?”
“We didn’t kill anyone, and we didn’t tell anyone to kill these people,” said George forcefully. “And any suggestion from you or anyone else that we are complicit in any way is wrong.”
“Here’s what I think,” said Jackson. “We should get our attorney in here.”
“Guys, I’m not trying to be difficult or threaten you in any way. I realized the killers were targeting people from your show, and I wanted to talk to you about it. It’s all over the internet and radio stations, and I just thought I’d get your take on it.”
“You did. Thanks for letting us know, but now, we are done. The meeting is over, and I suggest you tread lightly. I’m sure our attorney will not take kindly to libel or slander.” Jackson dropped a twenty on the table to cover the drinks he and George had and walked out with George right behind him.
Justin watched them leave. He had hoped to get something, although he wasn’t sure what that was. Their reaction could have either been fake indignation or genuine concern for their show. But he was caught between a rock and hard place. The entire town knew about the connection between the show and the murders, and if he didn’t write about it, he would be remiss. He was careful with his wording and didn’t try to intimate that the staff of the Consumer Champion were involved in any way, but it was clear that it was no coincidence, either. He sent the article to his editor.
Vigilantes Strike Again—Double Murder Hits Denver
by Justin McGraw
Late last night, two Denver area contractors were murdered in separate incidents across town. The Revengers left notes, taking credit for the murders. As with previous murders attributed to the Revengers, the latest victims were both local Denver contractors who had been recently targeted by the Consumer Champion show for ripping off consumers. Spokesmen for the Consumer Champion have categorically denied any involvement with the murders but refused any official comment at this time.
Police were called to Chatfield Reservoir yesterday to investigate the death of Bill Maley, a cement contractor who had been working in the Denver area for a number of years. The body was discovered floating in the lake, strapped to a cement brick. He was also fully bound and gagged with duct tape. Earlier in the evening, he had been abducted from his home and taken to the lake. His wife was discovered at their home by her mother the following morning, when she arrived for a visit. She was beaten and gagged but not seriously injured and is expected to make a full recovery. She was unable to give the police any description of her attackers, saying, “They were dressed in black, and it all happened so quickly.”
The Revengers left a note attached to Mrs. Maley, describing where to find her husband and stating that he was just another in a long line of victims they would be kill until the rip-offs in Denver stopped. Police are not sharing any specific details from the note, so as to minimize copycats and false confessions.
While the police were at the lake investigating the Maley murder, another call came in to 911 regarding an explosion and a fire at the residence of Stan Childs. The fire department responded in time to save the house. During the call, the fire department discovered Mrs. Childs bound and gagged in her husband’s service van parked in front of the house. Although she was bound and gagged with duct tape, she was otherwise unhurt.
As with previous murders by the Revengers, there was a note attached to Mrs. Childs, taking credit for the explosion. While putting out the fire and investigating the cause of the fire, the inspectors discovered Stan Childs in the basement, bound to a chair. Stan Childs was a local electrical contractor who, like the other victims of the Revengers, was also featured on the Consumer Champion show.
Homicide detectives investigating the Maley murder were called away from Chatfield Lake to the Childs’ crime scene and had no comment except to request that if anyone saw anything suspicious or has any information regarding the two murders, to please contact them.
Chapter Fourteen
“Murder in the murderer is no such ruinous thought as poets and romancers will have it; it does not unsettle him or fright him from his ordinary notice of trifles; it is an act quite easy to be contemplated.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Did you hear about us on the radio? They’re calling us ‘the vigilante serial killers’,” the man told his partner as he pulled to a stop in a deserted and quiet neighborhood.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“I just think it’s so cool. My plan is working. We have the public scared. It’s on the internet, too. We’re famous.”
“Right.” Blah, blah, blah, she thought. He was always patting himself on the back. As far as she was concerned, the plan was too elaborate. Too many moving parts. Her approach would have been much more straightforward. Less chance of mistakes. So far, they hadn’t made any mistakes or left any clues, but how long could that go on? She enjoyed the killing, but the thought of getting caught and going to prison gave her chills. But she kept her thoughts to herself. She had made the mistake of criticizing him once before, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“I wish you would take more pleasure in this.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” She had realized after the first killing that she did take pleasure in the killing, but all the endless planning and discussions about the plan bored her. At first, she was just interested in the end result, but with each subsequent killing, she realized she enjoyed the act of killing. It was intoxicating. So much power over another human. As far as she was concerned, the killing didn’t have to stop when they reached their goal, but she wouldn’t bother with all the notes and elaborate murder scenes.
“Remember why we are doing this,” he instructed her.
“Yeah. I haven’t forgotten.” She just didn’t care anymore. It was so noble when they started. Revenge. He would be satisfied when they reached their goal, but she wouldn’t. The killing had almost been like sex; she would need more. If he stopped, would she continue on her own?
“Well, I think we are almost there. Things are falling into place, just like I planned.”
The man parked the car a few blocks away from the home of Dave LaFarge. The latest victim on their list was the owner of Top Quality Roofing. What a joke. There was nothing top-quality about him or the projects he completed. Lafarge had started a number of roofing companies over the years, each one under a new name and guilty of the same substandard work. How he was able to rip so many people off was a monumental question, but until someone stopped him, he would continue ripping people off. His MO wasn’t all that unique. After a big storm hit, damaging homes and causing roof leaks, LaFarge would canvass the area, going door-to-door, looking for homeowners with damage. His crews were underpaid and undertrained, and the materials he used on his jobs were the cheapest he could find. LaFarge offered a ten-year warranty, but it was rare if one of his roof projects lasted more than two seasons—long enough for him to disappear and start over. But this year, he’d miscalculated. Storms had hit after he did his work, while he was still in town. The rash of calls and complaints were staggering. He could handle the complaints, but now, the Consumer Champion was after him, too. After the second call from George and Steve, LaFarge had just blocked their calls, but he knew the calls wouldn’t stop, and it was only a matter of time before the police or someone else knocked on his door. Time to move on. And, as in the past, that would have worked—were it not for the Revengers. Unbeknownst to him, he was on their target list tonight.
The Revengers exited the car and immediately split up. The neighborhood where LaFarge lived wasn’t upscale by any measure, and most of the homes were dark and deserted by 10 PM. It was not what you would call a safe neighborhood; most people in the ‘hood kept to themselves. There was no such thing as a neighborhood watch in this area—people were o
n their own here.
The man—much to her annoyance—babbled on about some study that was done which showed how people were more likely to notice two people walking together at night than one. He was always coming up with these rules and studies to justify his plans. She didn’t argue but thought it was a bunch of hooey. They tested their headsets to make sure they were in working order and could stay in constant contact.
The man arrived at the house first and checked in with his accomplice. “I’m in position at the back of the house. Where are you?”
“Almost there,” she replied.
“The house is pitch black. I don’t think he’s home.” He didn’t like to change plans but was thinking of an alternative for the evening. “We might need to abort if he doesn’t show up soon. Meet me in the backyard.”
“Whatever,” she replied. For all she cared, they could hit another house and have just as much fun. She didn’t care whether the next victim was on the list or not. But the man and his damn plan wouldn’t allow that. She joined him in the yard to wait.
The problem was that LaFarge wasn’t entirely consistent with his schedule. He chastised himself for picking a victim that was erratic with no predictable routine. The times he had surveilled LaFarge, he was generally home around nine or ten, bearing a pizza or a Subway sandwich. LaFarge may have been a sleazy businessman, but he did work hard at it, and after a hard day at work, he would generally be in bed by eleven. Seemed like the perfect target.
He peered down at this watch. Already close to eleven, and no sign of LaFarge. He glanced at his partner. She was fidgeting uncontrollably. Patience was not one of her virtues—although he had trouble thinking of one. He bit his lip and told his accomplice they would wait another thirty minutes, and if he didn’t show up by then, they would abort the mission and go home.
Dave LaFarge had a very bad day and had stopped at a bar to let off some steam. The beer and the cheap bar food did nothing to change his mood—in fact, it only made it worse. Earlier in the day, two general contractors that he did some work for were complaining about the sloppy work his crews were performing. According to them, the work was substandard and wouldn’t pass inspection. If he wanted to see the next payment, he’d be out there tomorrow to make things right. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d gotten a message from a customer saying the roof he’d fixed for him had leaked during the last rainstorm and damaged a TV and a stereo. By the time he had downed his third beer, he had made up his mind it was time to skip town. As he had done numerous times in the past, he would stiff his crew and vendors. “Screw him. Screw ‘em all,’ he said out loud to no one in particular.
He paid his bar tab and left the change as a tip, vowing to leave town that night. He’d take a quick shower, pack a few things, and then, he would be out the door. Too bad. Denver had been profitable for him, and he hated to leave with a stack of projects queued up, but the haters had left him no choice. Go with your instincts, his mom had always told him. Be decisive. Circumstances said it was time to go, and that’s all there was to it.
As he pulled up to his house, he was unaware of his guests, watching him from the backyard. He made a beeline for a beat-up old refrigerator that was full of beers. Taking two out, he opened one and knocked down half in one long gulp. Stomach growling, he spotted a half-eaten Subway sandwich that had been there for a week. He took one bite and promptly spit it out in the sink, then washed the foul taste out with the rest of the beer. There would be plenty of time to stop along the road for a burger once he was on the move. While drinking the second beer, he started tossing a few kitchen items that he wanted to take with him in an empty beer box.
From their vantage point in the backyard, the Revengers quietly watched LaFarge as he packed.
Confused, she whispered to her partner, “What’s he doing?”
“I think he’s packing. I wonder if he’s planning on leaving?” He was concerned that this evening was not going to turn out as he’d planned.
LaFarge was a large man with toned muscles that had come from years of physical labor. Not someone you’d want to tackle with—at least, not in a fair fight, he thought. Patience, he told himself. Look for an opportunity. Success came from striking the opponent when they weren’t expecting trouble. Hopefully, after a few more beers, LaFarge would go to bed—or, better yet, pass out on the kitchen floor. The plan had been to attack after LaFarge had gone to bed but since he was packing, it suggested that the Revengers might need to alter or cancel their plans.
“Let’s wait and see what he does next,” he instructed the woman.
“Whatever,” she replied. She was bored and getting sore from crouching in the yard. But she also didn’t look forward to a physical confrontation with the big man. She liked to inflict pain, not endure it. She had learned how ruthless she could be but had no misconceptions about how she would fare in a physical fight.
LaFarge stopped packing for a moment and stared out the window, seemingly right at the Revengers. They froze and nearly panicked. Fearful that the woman might bolt, the man put his hand on her arm to steady her resolve. “Hang in there,” he said, “He can’t see us out here.” She reluctantly kept her position.
The man considered their options. They could abort. It wouldn’t complicate things too much. The plan was still very much alive—almost with a life of its own, between the press and the internet. Getting caught in LaFarge’s backyard was not a viable option, and the longer they stayed in his backyard, the odds of that happening increased. Slipping away undetected right now also seemed risky.
As the man watched LaFarge and considered his options, he heard a phone ring. LaFarge turned away from the window to pick up his cell phone, which was sitting on the counter near the refrigerator. He could see him talking but couldn’t hear him from their hiding place. Hoping to hear what LaFarge was saying, he signaled for his partner to stay put while he crept closer to the window.
“Hello,” LaFarge said. His face brightened a bit when he heard his girlfriend respond. “Yeah, I just got home. It was a bad day at work. I was going to grab a bite to eat and go to bed early.”
The man was now close enough to pick up most of the what LaFarge was saying.
“Hmm. No. Tonight won’t work. I’m beat. I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed. Why don’t you come over tomorrow for lunch? We can have a nooner.”
LaFarge hung up the phone and slugged down another beer. He started undressing as walked down the hall to the bathroom. The only truthful thing he had told his girlfriend was that he was going to take a shower. When she came by tomorrow for a nooner, he would be long gone. It was too bad, he thought. She was great in bed, but he wasn’t planning on taking her with him. There was always another girlfriend wherever he ended up. Maybe Dallas. Anyplace that had nice hailstorms that damaged roofs.
Lafarge sat on the toilet, waiting for the water to heat up for his shower, while the man crept closer to the house. He knew that LaFarge was headed for the shower and hoped to enter the home undetected. It was a risk that the man rarely took, but he was getting impatient and wanted to make his move. The back door was locked, but he had a lock release gun that worked almost silently. He was also confident LaFarge wouldn’t hear it over the running water. The lock easily succumbed to the release gun, giving the Revengers access. He put the release gun back in the duffle bag and took out an old Louisville Slugger baseball bat he had found at a garage sale a year ago. As soon as LaFarge was in the shower, the killers hurried down the hall and to the master bedroom. He turned off the lights, and they waited for LaFarge.
Feeling clean and energized after a long, hot shower, LaFarge could feel the troubles of the day literally slipping away. He was satisfied that he was making the right decision to leave town in the middle of the night. Why wait ‘til dawn? Anything you can do later, he thought, is better done now. As soon as he had his tools and clothes packed in the truck, he would be on the road.
He heard the water shut off and prepared himself
to greet LaFarge with the baseball bat. He set his legs apart, like a baseball player waiting for the pitcher to deliver the pitch. In this case, the ball would be LaFarge’s head.
LaFarge toweled himself off and began humming “Na Na, Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye” as he entered the bedroom. His brain told him something was amiss when he realized he had left the bedroom light on. The thought that someone was in his house was short-lived… before the bat hit his head with a cracking sound. It was the last sound he would hear as he dropped to his knees and toppled over headfirst. The man had swung hard and true, and there was blood spewing, creating a puddle under LaFarge’s head. The massive head wound would prove to be a fatal strike, killing him within ten minutes.
The woman let out a squeal. “Wow. You smacked the hell out of him.”
The man kneeled down, trying not to step in the blood, and checked LaFarge for a pulse. There was one, but it was very faint and fading fast.
The woman pulled out a large pocket knife and bent over to finish him off.
“Wait. What are you doing?” the man asked her.
“Going to cut his throat and finish him off,” she responded gleefully.
“No. That’s not the plan. The Revengers wouldn’t do it that way. Keep an eye on him while I go get some things from his garage. If he moves, you can whack him again but don’t cut his throat.” He handed her the Louisville Slugger as he left the room.
The woman was disappointed but did as she was told, all the time hoping LaFarge would move.
The man returned a few minutes later with a nail gun and some wooden boards. She watched, confused.
“Are you going to build something?” she asked.
He ignored her and set the boards on the bed with one board over the other, forming a cross. Using the nail gun, he nailed the boards together, and then instructed her to help him lift Lafarge onto the cross.
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