Chapter 2

Let’s skip ahead 7 years. I am still living on the family farm. Grandma passed 4 years ago. I have been married 3 years to a really sweet girl I met up in Memphis. We are planning on starting a family soon since my chicken business has really taken off.

Let’s talk about that for a minute. I went to a meeting at the county agent’s office a few years back. The speech was about raising chickens for the new plant a couple of counties over, I decided I could do that on our small farm. We only had 40 acres but it was on a good road and mostly flat land. I started with one house that could accommodate 20,000 chicks. Today I have 5 houses and raise over 100,000 chicks at a time. I have done very well for a man with anger issues. But all that changed two days ago.

I was at a seminar over in Arkansas. My wife did not come with me. She had ‘things’ she needed to do. Women! Right? The first two days were informative but the last day was going to be a couple of speeches that I had heard last year so I decided to surprise my wife by driving home a day early. The room was paid for another day so I just left.

It was me that was surprised!

When I turned onto my road I saw a strange car parked behind my house. What the hell is this? I cut the engine and coasted up in front of the house.

There was no mistaking the noises coming from MY bedroom when I entered the house. My wife’s voice was un-mistakable. She was raised up north and had what the locals called a Yankee accent.

I was pissed! How could she? We are planning on starting a family. The more I listened to her cries of passion and begging this guy, whoever he is, to “not stop and do it harder, harder” my anger was back.

I keep a .45 Colt automatic in my office here in the house. There is a loaded 16 gauge pump shotgun in the corner on my side of the bed. The lights were off and the bedroom door was open. I could not tell who was fucking her in the dark but when I turned the lights on they both looked at me. It was my cousin, home from the Navy!

She screamed and started to say something. I never gave her a chance. That hollow point round hit her on the bridge of her nose. He started to get up screaming, “Wait it was her...” I imagine he was going to say it was her fault. I did not care.

My next shot hit him behind the ear as he turned to grab for the shotgun. I went into the kitchen. Killing is thirsty work! I found two half empty beer bottles on the table. Some party.

I got a beer and sat down and thought about what I needed to do.

Option # 1---Call the sheriff and confess. Then spend the next 25 years in prison. Fuck no!

Option #2---Get busy, clean everything up, bury the bodies and the car then get back to Little Rock, Arkansas, where the conference was going on.

I’ll take my chances with option number 2. I had 10 hours to get everything done and get back to the seminar. I hauled the bodies out to his car, along with the bloody sheets. I have a backhoe and I know how to operate it. I started it up and dug a hole. Not just any hole, anywhere. I dug it where I was planning on building my next chicken house. I went in and showered. I was back in my hotel room in time for the breakfast meeting. No questions asked.