Chapter 19

Jerry and his grandfather were quiet as they sat on the front porch of the family home on Chaney Hollow road. They were both digesting what they’d learned from the late Stan the Man Phillips. The story Stan told them about the indignity Ester and the girls suffered made them both sad and enraged.

“What do you want to do about this Jerry? We can’t prove any of it, so I don’t see the law doing anything about it,” Hatchett said.

“Nope, I am going to take care of this myself. Mama and the girls deserve justice, and they are going to get it.”

“We are going to take care of it,” interjected Hatchett, “they were my family, too.”

Jerry nodded, “Okay, Papa, but there might be consequences. Last time I extracted some justice I spent five years in a mental ward.”

Hatchett shrugged, “Consequences be damned, those assholes need to pay!”

“All right then, we need patience and a plan,” Jerry replied.

Jerry went to work on Tuesday as if nothing had happened, He knew enough not to call attention to himself by acting out of character. Jerry was no longer a probationary employee, in fact, he was now a lead woodwright. Joe Parsons the Plant Manager considered hiring Jerry one his best decisions. Fred Bass the shop foreman thought of Jerry as family.

Jerry had a date with Lisa Bass on Thursday, Lisa’s day off that week. It was a dinner date at the home of Ben and Betty Chaney who invited them so they could thank Jerry in person. Jerry was appreciative that they thanked him and then turned the conversation to other subjects. One of those subjects was everyone pride that Alice was finally sticking to a diet and had lost six pounds.

After dinner — and some of the best Dutch apple pie Jerry had ever tasted — he and Lisa excused themselves citing work the next day. They did have work, but they were both young and could get by with little sleep, so they hurried to the small apartment the hospital provided Lisa and spent their first night together there. Jerry was up at five-thirty and home by six-fifteen. His grandfather chucked at Jerry’s sunny mood as Jerry drank a cup of coffee and scarfed down four pieces of peanut butter toast.

“I guess I don’t have to ask how your evening went,” Hatchett said.

Jerry allowed that his evening was excellent as he made himself lunch, poured the rest of the coffee into his thermos and out the door he went.

Ida called Jerry Friday evening and asked him to spend Saturday with her. Jerry happily accepted. Jerry loved the time he spent with Lisa Bass, but they could only see each other on the rare occasions Lisa had off. Jerry also loved spending time with Ida, but she also rationed their time together.

Sunday Jerry took Cindy Rivers picnicking under the draping limbs of a Willow tree, in a small depression, on a hilltop in the George Washington National Forest. After egg salad sandwiches, potato chips, and cold RC Colas, Cindy tackled Jerry to the grass.

“I need you, Jerry!” she moaned.

Cindy set about proving their drive-in movie date was no fluke as she was even hotter in the daylight. Jerry was able to keep up with her for an hour before he needed a break. They were laying side by side on a blanket covered in sweat when Jerry asked her a question.

“Cindy, you are very pretty and the hottest woman I’ve ever met. How come you don’t have a steady boyfriend or a husband?”

Cindy frowned and paused to gather her thoughts. Finally, she replied, “I know my nature, so I have to be very careful who I go out with and even how often I go out. I dated in high school and got a reputation for being easy. It took me years to live that down. It’s scary how out of control I get. I’m afraid I won’t be able to settle down with one man. You are the first man I’ve been with in more than a year.”

Jerry could see her dilemma and he sympathized with her plight.

“I’ll never take advantage of you, Cindy. You know that, right?” he said.

Cindy rolled over on top of him and said, “I know that, Jerry, that’s why I’m here. Now do what Elvis said, ‘a little less conversation, and a little more action please.’”

Jerry laughed and grabbed her nice compact butt.

Jerry and his grandfather did nothing to call attention to themselves after kidnapping Stan Phillips. They waited two weeks to see if anything about the missing biker came up. Nothing did.

Hatchett was now spending most of each day watching the mine compound from Jerry’s hide site. He kept good notes on the comings and goings of the bikers. It didn’t take long to confirm the pattern of the small box truck that arrived on Mondays with supplies and departed Fridays with product.

Jerry made the Friday truck their next target.

On the second Friday after dealing with Phillips, Hatchett was parked on a side road off the county road leading from the mine. He waited until the Sons of Satan box truck passed then followed it all the way to the Interstate. He traced the route for Jerry that night.

Saturday Jerry scouted for a place to ambush the truck. He found a likely spot on a rise above a serpentine curve. Jerry called his grandfather on the GE walkie-talkies he’d bought at the truck stop.

“Papa, drive toward me at the same speed as the truck,” he said.

A couple of minutes later the old Valiant cruised into his sight picture. To negotiate the tight switch-back curve required approaching traffic to slow down to twenty-five. That meant in the middle of the second curve the oncoming vehicle was in his sights for at least fifteen seconds at a range of five hundred yards or less. He’d made harder shots.

Jerry called Lisa at the hospital and asked her if she could give him a final checkup Friday afternoon. He asked for the appointment to cover him for missing work. As a Gainey Furniture full time employee, he earned a sick day every quarter.

Tuesday evenings Jerry put thirty rounds down range until he felt completely comfortable with his Remington 700. He practiced quickly reacquiring his target with the bolt action until he was confident that his second round would follow the first in just a few seconds.

Wednesday Jerry and his grandfather hashed out their plan. On Thursday evening they went to the ambush site and walked through what they were going to do. There was no traffic at this end of Pitchfork Mine Road this late in the day, so they were undisturbed. Jerry used white spray paint to draw two easy to see lines across the road, fifty yards apart. When between the lines the truck would be facing Jerry head on at a distance of about five hundred yards. Jerry would engage his target while it was between the lines.

The part of the plan that bothered Jerry the most was leaving it to his grandfather to reach the truck first. It couldn’t be helped though, and Jerry would provide overwatch, while Hatchett did his thing.

Jerry was in his ambush position by 0700 and his grandfather was pulled off the road into the edge of the woods in Jerry’s truck. The truck was barely visible to traffic fifty yards from the first white line.

They had been in place for three hours when the plain white box truck passed their position headed toward the mine. Jerry adjusted his sandbag rifle rest one more time, and worked his shoulders then settled in to wait some more. A few minutes before eleven Jerry heard the truck gear down as it hit the first curve of the switchback. Hatchett clicked the transmitter of his walkie-talkie to acknowledge he heard it too.

The box truck labored around the second curve and Jerry blinked twice and acquired a perfect site picture. He tracked the truck, the driver clear in his crosshairs. When the truck crossed the first white line, Jerry squeezed the trigger. He quickly jerked the bolt back and jacked another round into the chamber but when he reacquired his target the truck had lurched across the road and was plowing into the deep drainage ditch. The front end of the truck pitched down in the ditch far enough that the left rear wheel was off the ground.

Through his scope Jerry saw the driver slumped over the wheel and the passenger struggling to get out the passenger door, his face bloody from hitting the metal dash. Before Jerry could steady his aim, the man fell into the ditch and out of sight. Hatchett was edging closer, so Jerry grabbed the walkie-talkie.

“Papa, he’s in the ditch and I can’t see him,” Jerry warned.

Jerry was still talking when a shot rang out and his grandfather appeared around the side of the truck the .45 in his hand. Hatchett peeked down into the ditch then raised his hand with the walkie-talkie in it and keyed the transmitter.

“Both of them down, Jerry,” he said, “but I’m going to need a hand getting this one out of the ditch.”

Jerry answered, “Good work. I’m on the way.”

Jerry secured his rifle and policed up his brass. He emptied the sandbag, put the empty bag in his pocket, and double timed down to the wrecked truck. He reached the box truck just as his grandfather was busy pouring a five gallon can of gasoline into the back of the Son of Satan box truck.

The biker in the ditch had a large hole between his eyes. Jerry wrestled his limp body out of the ditch. Thankfully, the man was small. Jerry pushed the body into the passenger seat of the box truck and shut the door. Hatchett poured the second gas can into the cab, and at a nod from Jerry struck a kitchen match and dropped on the dead passenger’s lap. Hatchett threw the plastic gas cans and the gloves he wore into the back of the truck and a second match ignited the duffle bags in the back of the truck with a whoosh.

Jerry and Hatchett made sure they left nothing behind then they jumped into Jerry’s truck and drove off. They reached the County Road 16 turn off without incident and twenty minutes later they were ordering lunch from the buxom Brandy at the truck stop’s diner.

After lunch, Jerry filled up his truck, and took his grandfather home. At two-fifteen Jerry drove over to Buckhannon for his appointment with Doctor Bass. After another set of x-rays showed he was completely healed, she gave him a clean bill of health.

While Jerry was sedately motoring towards Buckhannon Regional Hospital the Coker County Sheriff’s department had been swarming around the burned-out truck on Pitchfork Mine Road. Two bodies in the cab of the truck were burned beyond recognition. The scene was eerily similar to the one involving the Donavan women.

More irony piled up as it was Forest Ranger Tindell at the Putnam Ridge Fire Tower who had called in a fire on Pitchfork Mine Road. Chief Deputy Rick Thompson was the first to respond to the scene. The truck was still ablaze as Rick arrived, so he parked his car a hundred yards away from the burning truck. Thompson immediately recognized the truck and radioed Deputy Rivers the dispatcher.

“I’ve got a bad one out here, Rivers, better hustle up the Fire Department and send the sheriff,” Rick said.