Chapter 31

My mood was as bleak as the weather as I traveled north toward Sausalito. It poured rain until I was well North of LA, and then turned to a steady drizzle. The early winter darkness, the rain and the relative lack of traffic that Saturday evening added to my feeling of isolation. My shoulder throbbed. I had not taken any of the pain medication Consuela had given me because I needed to be clear headed for what I had to do. I was going to commit murder — premeditated murder. Jack had become too much of a threat. The Chinese automatic rested heavy on my lap as I pondered how I was going to do it and sometimes if I would be able to do it.

Could I look a man in the eye and shoot him? Jack was a rabid animal - he had sent two thugs to cut me up, he was a threat to me. He was also a threat to Rita, someone I cared deeply about. The world would be a better place without the bastard. I had plenty of reasons to kill him but could I? I didn't even have much of a plan... Once I got to his house — what then? What if he wasn't alone? I knew I wasn't willing to kill innocent bystanders to get Jack and cover up my crime. I wished I had my M-14. Add a scope and I could sit back and pick him off at long range. That would be easier but I only had my little Chinese automatic. Plus if Jack was killed by rifle from a long distance wouldn't they come looking for me? Maybe. Anyway it didn't matter. I was going to have to drive somewhere near his house, do a quick recon and then somehow get inside and put a bullet in his head. I had on an old set of camouflaged utilities an old pair of sneakers a carried a dark baseball cap and gloves. I didn't have anything to cover my face. Maybe I wanted him to see me as I shot him. No sneaking up and shooting him. Maybe, maybe not. I would have to play it as it happened. I figured I would arrive until sometime after 9 PM. What if he was in bed? I kept going over and over all these scenarios but as I got closer I still had no answers.

Maybe I could only threaten him with the gun — shake him up a bit — tell him if he messed with me I would kill him. No... Jack wouldn't scare... he was liable to laugh in my face. Anyway if I walked out without killing him he would only send more goons to finish the job. I knew I could make it hard for him to get to me but I also knew he had the time and resources to send people to find me and kill me. In the meantime he would no doubt take it out on Rita and maybe Susan. God what a mess!

The rain slacked off as I traveled north and by the time I got to the turn off of I-5 for San Francisco the sky had cleared and even some stars were visible. Traffic was light across the Oakland Bridge and I headed through town following the signs for the Golden Gate Bridge. I had traveled more than 450 miles and I still had no idea what I was going to do or how to do it. I knew Jack had to die and I had to do it. Instead of marveling at the beauty of the Golden Gate I passed across the bridge, jaw set in grim determination, shoulder throbbing from the long drive, reminding me every moment that Jack was a powerful adversary. Too bad I couldn't use my Japanese connection here I mused. I knew I couldn't ask anyone else to do this for me. I had to kill Jack and that was all there was to it. I saw the sign for Sausalito and followed Jacks detailed directions through the town on the water and up the hill. Without the map I would have never found him. I was lucky, Jack's place was above the town and the road kept taking me to a more and more remote location. I missed a couple of turns and had to backtrack but eventually I saw the illuminated house numbers set in a stone pedestal at the entrance to a long driveway. I rolled past. There was no sign of a house, but I did spot an ornate iron gate set in the drive about 20 feet back. The gates looked formidable.

About a mile back I had passed a closed gas station with some cars parked on the side. I backtracked and found the place again and slotted the GTO between two late model cars that looked like they were parked there waiting for service. The side of the station was not lighted. I guessed they didn't worry too much about car theft in this neighborhood. The GTO probably wouldn't get a second glance if the local police patrolled the area — just another car waiting for service. I eased out of the car after shutting off the overhead light. My muscles were stiff and my shoulder ached with the steady rhythm of my pulse. I had only stopped once on my trip up and that was to get gas. It was a fairly busy truck stop off I-5 and I had avoided the attendant's attempts to engage me in conversation. Even if he remembered the car it was far removed from here so I hoped no one would ever go asking.

The adrenalin started flowing as I jogged up the road. The street lights were far apart and even this far north many of the trees were still hanging onto the last of their leaves. I stayed close to the side of the road and only once did I have to slip into the brush along the side of the road to avoid a car. The automatic weighed heavy in the pocket on my right thigh.

I had oiled it and had worked the action and then removed each round, wiped them and reinserted them with gloves on. If I wasn't able to find the brass after killing Jack, at least I wouldn't leave any fingerprints. I also knew I would have to dispose of the gun. That I regretted. I thought back to the day I took it off the NVA officer and wondered if he was still alive — and if he was rotting away in some south Vietnamese prison camp. I didn't really doubt he was alive. His look of grim determination that day, captured and bleeding from the head wound I had inflicted, was not that of a man who would easily give up on life or a cause. The North Vietnamese were a tough enemy - that was for sure.

I reached the driveway and moved to the gate. It was in the dark and very solid. I shook it. It didn't budge. Cast iron, I thought and maybe ten feet tall topped with sharp looking iron spikes — not an easy thing to get over. I moved to a pathway to the left of the gate to explore a gated archway. The iron gate there was less formidable and looked like there was plenty of room to climb over. I almost laughed when I was able to reach through the vertical bars and unlatch it. Security was mainly for show in this neighborhood I guessed.

I eased the gate open. Fortunately whoever maintained it kept it well oiled. I followed the path up the long drive and around the bend I say a huge Mediterranean style home. The drive circled the front allowing cars to drop guests at the door, under a covered entryway. There were lights flanking the large front porch but no other lights visible from the driveway. A detached two car garage was to the right of the home. No light there either.

I knew, even this far up the drive I would be crazy to walk up and try the front door. The path I was on veered around to the left of the house. I followed stopping every few steps to listen. Nothing. Was Jack even home? He had made it obvious in the letter to Susan that this was his place and not the family home. I hoped that meant he would be here, but would he be alone? Men like Jack somehow never wanted for female companionship. I couldn't fathom why — he was a bully who cared nothing for anyone but himself. Was it the wealth and the perception of power that came with it? I continued around the side of the house. I heard splashing water and peered around the corner of the house. There was a huge pool with a waterfall cascading from some rocks that made a private grotto near one end. The lights in the back were dim. I could see a light mist on the surface of the lighted pool as the warm water hit the cool December air. Then I spotted Jack.

He was reclining on a wood-framed outdoor chase drinking clear liquid from a large bottle. There was water around the chase and he was wrapped in a blue terry robe. Jack had been swimming. He was maybe 30 feet away and facing away from me. Even with a pistol I could easily get a head shot from here. I quietly pulled the pistol from my pocket. Jack sat up. Had he heard something? Maybe the beating of the wings of the angle of death I thought. No, he only reached into a cooled next to the chase and pulled out another bottle, broke the seal and took a long swig. Why I didn't shoot him right then, I don't know. He was right there. I raised the pistol and aimed for the back of his skull. I watched him set the bottle down. Now... now! I thought, but I felt like my trigger finger was paralyzed. He swung his legs over the side of the chase and took another swig. What are you waiting for? Shoot the bastard!! I couldn't move. Anyway what was the hurry? The house was dark. There was nobody here but Jack and me.

Something came over me. I couldn't resist. I wanted to see his face as I shot him. Was I just procrastinating? I watched him pick a photo off the glass-topped table next to the chase. He looked at it with such a look of sorrow, I hardly recognized him. I didn't want to see Jack as human — I only wanted to see him as an animal, but the look of longing and loss on his face probably mirrored my own when I had received the letter from Mary telling me she and Tom were to be married.

Jack took another long pull at the bottle. There one on the table was empty. Jack was tying on one heck of a drunk.

I moved quietly toward him. Jack never heard my approach and I put the gun back in my pocket. He sat on the side of the chase head down holding the bottle by the neck, staring at the photo. I moved to him and sat in the padded patio chair on the other side of the glassed topped table. I waited. After awhile he lifted his head to take a drink. It was almost comical as he tried to drink. He spotted me as he tilted the bottle back. Obviously startled, he still didn't drop the bottle. He looked at me as he took along pull. He set the bottle on the table. It was over half gone. I saw the label, Tequila.

"Who... the... hell... are... you?" He slurred. He had a tough time focusing. I wondered how many of these bottles he had already put away.

"Jack, I'm the ghost of Christmas present... your goons killed me... now I'm here to haunt you." I smiled at him my best Cheshire cat grin.

"What... the... fuck... you talking about?"

"Jack... Jack... you remember me... or who I was... James... James... Reid."

He leaned close... peering at me... trying to focus.

"Who?"

"Listen... you fuck... you sent two goons to kill me last night!"

"What?"

"Jack, now it's my turn... my ghost is going to kill you."

"What?"

He lifted the bottle. I leaned back waiting for an attack. He just swigged at the bottle. Draining it almost dry.

He looked at me again. "I know you... you're that bastard... that... that..."

He seemed to lose track. He finished the bottle.

"Now I know... you're that bastard... bastard... Susan... Rita... spoiled my plans..." "Killed you huh?" "Well good..." he slurred.

"Drink?" He reached into the cooler and pulled out another bottle, opened it and offered it to me. I shook my head.

"Oh... right... no spirits... for the... spirits..." He laughed and took a great swig from the bottle.

"Told... em... teach... you... teach... lesson... killed... you... eh?" I nodded.

"Good... bonus... time... good... too late... too late..."

"What's too late Jack?"

With an unsteady hand he reached to the table and picked up the photo and letter and waived them toward me.

He took another long pull. "She... says... she's staying... in... Japan... not... coming... to... Jack... selfish... bitch... thought she'd come... no... knew she... would. You... you... and... that bitch mother... Rita... fucked... fucked... that up... bastards. I'll fix... her... too... fuck... her... first... nobody fucks... with... Jack!"

He drank some more, the letter crumpled in his hand. I was getting tired of his ranting and threats. It was time to take out the gun and be done with it. He was so drunk he'd probably be in hell a week before he sobered up. That thought made me smile.

"What the hell... so... funny?"

I pulled out the pistol and pointed it at him. "It's time for you to die Jack." He smiled a wolfish grin. "Ghosts can't shoot... people... only scare... ain't scared of you... killed you already..." He took another long drink and laughed loudly. He drunkenly set the almost empty bottle on the stone pool deck and collapsed sideways onto the back of the chase. Jack had passed out. Now it was just a matter of shooting him in the head a couple of times, collect the spent brass and go on my way. At that point I had a better idea.

I stripped the robe off his comatose form, moved his legs up on the chase, and lowered the back to flat. Jack was lying on his back wearing only his swim suit. I picked up the foot of the chase and wheeled it and Jack to the edge of the pool. Jack was solidly built and I had to struggle a bit to get the chase up high enough to tip him into the pool. He slid in head first. It reminded me of those pictures of a burial at sea. He went in cleanly, barely disturbing the blue-green water. I lowered the chase as I watched him sink and come to rest on the bottom. He didn't struggle — actually he looked peaceful there on the bottom of his pool. I decided if he came to and tried to get out of the pool I'd shoot him then. I didn't have to worry. I sat on the chase, and watched him, occasionally gazing across the pool toward the distant lights of Sausalito and San Francisco Bay.

I shivered. I knew Jack would haunt me for some time to come. He deserved to die and he was a threat to me and people I cared about. Still to kill someone outside of the battlefield... that was something altogether different.

I waited for over 30 minutes. Jack was never coming out of the pool under his own power.

I wheeled the chase back to its place by the table and the empty bottles, and put his robe on it. I picked up the crumpled letter.

"Dear Jack,

Please don't be mad at me... I am in Japan and working in a wonderful place, doing important work. Thank you for your offer... I will always remember the times we had together and maybe... someday we will meet again. Enclosed is a picture of me with my new friend Anne. She is also a physical therapist and the best in the Pacific. I'm learning so much from her. Take care.

Affectionately, Susan"