Chapter 3

“Vengeance is mine say the Lord.” Paul 12:19

“Sometimes the Lord needs a little help.” Say me.

Some of you people have written me and told me what you think of me and me helping the Lord. Fuck all of you and the horse you rode in on. I don’t give a shit what you think of me. Now on to my next story.

It was about two years after I had helped out Billy Bob. Layla had just had our first kid, a boy, and we had been happily married for about 18 months. I was sitting having lunch at the City Café. Jimmy, the Sheriff, and Mr. Roberts, the District Attorney, were in a heated argument.

“Jimmy, it is your fault. There is no other way to put it. He is walking around free and we can’t touch him. It is like he was never arrested.”

“I still don’t understand. What the hell was I supposed to do? He had just finished raping that Mexican girl and both she and her sister had been reported missing. If I had not stopped him. He would have gotten away again.”

“You had no right to pull him over, then search his car. That violated his rights. The trial judge let it slide but the court of appeals caught it and set him free. Now just live with it. The girls were illegal and have been deported back to Mexico so without the evidence you found in the car our case is over.”

“I’ll watch him and check him every time he leaves his property. I’ll make his life miserable. I’ll...”

“You will do no such thing. His attorney is looking for some reason to sue the county, you and everybody involved with this case. You are not to go near him. Do you understand?”

“And what happens the next time he rapes a kid?”

“Next time do it right. Follow the law so we can put him away for good. Jimmy, there will be a next time. He thinks he got away with it and he will do it again. Guys like him always do”

With that Mr. Roberts got up and left the restaurant. Jimmy left about 10 minutes later. He never finished his lunch.

Doris, the owner came over and as she was clearing his table I asked what that conversation was all about.

“Well Kevin since you don’t read the papers or own a television I’ll tell you what I know. About a year ago this guy, Jim Garrison, was pulled over by the sheriff. The law suspected he had been involved in three other rapes and had been watching him. Jimmy did a search of his car and found some evidence that he had the girls. A sweater and a jacket of theirs I think. This Garrison was arrested and put on trial, convicted and sentenced to 40 years. But then his case was picked up by some fancy law firm out of Chicago. One that specializes in getting criminals out of jail on technicalities. They appealed and two days ago the court found that Jimmy was wrong. Now this guy Garrison is out walking around free as a bird. The girls are back in Mexico with their family and I doubt they would come back to testify so he gets away scot free. This guy is a serial rapist and he will strike again.”

“So you are telling me that the law is just going to wait until his guy rapes and maybe this time kills some young girl before they do anything?”

“Their hands are tied. That’s what has Jimmy so mad.”

I told her my lunch was delicious and I got up and left. I need more information on this Garrison fellow.

I went to the Co-Op to get a sack of sweet feed for Jean’s pony. When I mentioned Garrison’s name I got a world of information. He lived alone in the south part of the county on a place he inherited from someone in his mother’s family. He got his old job back when he got out of prison. He works at a chicken processing plant over in the next county. He was a loner and never came up to the northern part of the county.

One of the black men who worked driving a fuel truck for the Co-Op spoke up, “He knows what is good for him staying down south. Those O’Shea’s would have his hair if he ever tried anything up around their place.”