Chapter 10

The very last thing Roger heard was the only words I spoke during the entire event. He was fading fast, and I wanted him to know why he was rushing towards Hell to give him something to think about during the journey. Once the melted metal flowed up his anus, through the concrete funnel and hit his system, the pain was too much and he died.

Leonard’s body stayed right I found him. The mutilated, disgusting, corpse would drive his potential rescuers to seek comfort in strong drink, once they ceased vomiting. It was too bad that the alcohol that I thoughtfully left for his would-be rescuers, was laced with enough barbiturate to kill a herd of elephants, but that’s the risk you run when you take seat in such an ugly game.

Leonard’s family was notified by Federal Express, from an untraceable address, using an untraceable debit card for payment, scheduled using an untraceable ISP, of where to find their loved one. The note assured them that if they hurried, they could still find him alive. I don’t think that what they found would constitute alive, but his heart still beat when we pulled out, even if his brain had long since ceased to function above the brain stem.

Roger’s corpse was quickly loaded into a stolen pick-up truck and dumped at the edge of a land fill, with the tarp cut open to give easy access to the buzzards, vultures, and vermin. When his rescuers arrived, no matter how much the vultures feasted, the evidence of his last moments would still be clear. I left behind other clues that would lead each house to accuse the other, and once their rage reached maximum output, they would be thoughtfully pointed toward each other.

Roger’s partners received their Federal Express package by way of Leonard’s business address, using Leonard’s email account and his own Visa credit card.

The carnage was almost instant.

Apparently Leonard’s father was gunned down by Roger’s underlings within days of finding his mutilated corpse. The bullet wounds were so numerous that the medical examiner gave up on trying for an accurate account and simply noted that his death was by way of extreme violence, perpetrated using a plethora of firearms. There was an appendix that diagramed the extensive network of holes drilled by rifle, handgun, and shotgun.

That shooting tore the roof off their enmity.

Bodies literally littered the property where Roger’s enterprise conducted business. The hand grenades that followed the shooting ended the lives of anyone not dead already. Leonard’s family suffered a similar fate, and when the initial attacks ended, police estimated that over seventy thugs were murdered. When newsrooms read through the extensive dossiers delivered just before the violence was discovered, their salacious reporting ended any bleeding heart sympathy for those who died.

It was a win – win for certain.

The violence continued for a number of weeks, drawing the FBI into their fray, with little success. Once really bad guys decide to go postal on their competition, years of paranoia and long forgotten slights resurface, and drive them to continue long after sane people would quit. The final score was unimportant. What mattered was how many got dead, and the fact that I added a select few who were fingered by Roger to the death toll. Eventually, there were no living targets to hunt. Those who killed Benjamin were no more. It was time to return to my mountain.

Things were ... calmer ... following the violence. My mountain was just as I left it with one exception. The women were gone when I returned. Once I knew they were safe from those who killed their loved one, I went home and gave them the news. Helen was ready to go within an hour, and Alice couldn’t wait to go back to her friends. June never said either way. She just hugged my neck and thanked me for saving them.

The winter gave way to spring and I bought all the requisite equipment to be a hobby farmer, and planted hay, feed corn, and bought a bunch of beef cattle. Once I had a new barn built, and appropriate fencing erected, I hired farm hands to handle the chores and keep things neat and orderly.

The cowhand that I appointed foreman was an old guy named Zeke. He came to me off of a three by five card I posted at the farmer’s coop and had a long resume of farming behind him. When I told him my plans, he said, straight out, “I had some trouble with alcohol. It’s over now. Not gonna drink none of that again, never.”

His honesty pleased me, and I said, “See that you don’t and we’ll have a long and pleasant working relationship.” He seemed to appreciate my being as straightforward with him, as he was with me, and that got me talking. “I’m new at farming,” I told him. “You need to tell me what you need to get the job done, and in some cases, you’ll have to go with me to pick it out, order it, or bid on it at auction. There is no way I can do this without your help. People will see coming a mile off and skin me till I’m bankrupt. Don’t worry about money. My theory on farming is the same as it is with everything else. I DON’T want to buy thing twice. We need the best we can find, not cheap, or worn out things to save money.” Zeke never did say a lot, but he made a long list of tools, equipment, supplies, and other things necessary to run a good farm, and we went and bought them all together.