Excerpt: A Matter of Revenge
He sipped on the last bit of the large coffee he had picked up at a McDonalds before he got on the Turnpike to head for the plaza. He had rationed it to himself so that it would last longer. Now, as he finished the cool coffee, he hoped he would not have to wait long for the day’s delivery to Nicky’s. He wished he could get another hot coffee, but that was out of the question. He would cope.
Jerry Bowen had been with the Highway Patrol ten years before he was picked to handle special investigations. He was selected because of an outstanding record as a trooper. He had also exhibited a sense for what the command had thought of as insight into criminal behavior. Whatever that meant, he wasn’t sure, but it had helped him get the advancement he wanted. Attending classes at Owens Tech off and on for several years had gained him an Associates Degree in criminal justice and had helped somewhat in his work. Struggling for the degree showed his initiative. Within the Patrol he had been politically astute, rising steadily in rank and position by accepting assignments without complaint and by getting himself recognized as a team player.
Truck should be here soon, he figured, eyes scanning back over the service drive that entered the plaza from the Turnpike. Damn, there’s nothing more boring than just sitting and waiting. Uncomfortable, too, because you can’t move around a lot. The thing is you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by getting out of the car to stretch or walk around a little bit. It was a matter of staying cool to see what was going on here. Regardless of what information command had, there wasn’t much to be seen here although his suspicions had been aroused.
Jerry knew something strange was happening because boxes went back on the truck after boxes were unloaded. Command said a couple more days of surveillance before we’d pull back to let the Feds make a decision for what comes next. Jerry had enjoyed the two previous investigations he had been on, but this one didn’t seem to mean much, nor did it seem to be going anywhere. He was not experienced enough to sense any of the subtleties and his instincts about the situation, beyond a basic thought that something unusual might be happening here, were of no help.
Situated nearby was a beat up van that showed the signs of severe wear and tear. Jerry saw the van when he pulled in, but he thought it must belong to one of the workers at Nicky’s. Inside the old van, behind the dark tinted windows, sat two men. A tall, lanky fellow slouched back in his seat behind the steering wheel, while the other, heavy set, leaned forward in concentration.
Jerry slumped down on the seat somewhat, pushed his legs around trying to get more comfortable, before turning his head lazily toward the traffic flying by in both directions on the Turnpike. The steady drone from the vehicles on pavement was an insistent, penetrating rhythm that pulled at him. Who are all these people, he wondered, where are they going? The thought of people on the move made him reflect on his own vacation due next month. Vacations with Pam were different the last few years, difficult to arrange, a struggle to coordinate work schedules. Not having as much fun as they used to have. It bothered him. This year they were going to the Outer Banks, camp on the beach in their tent, enjoy the surf and sun, be away from the stress that each of them survived every day. He wondered why they did not have as much fun anymore.
Jerry and Pam had been married a little more than seven years and Pam seemed to have the itch. They met right after high school while Jerry was working construction and Pam was ready to start college. She finished her degree and became a paralegal with a good job in one of the better law firms in the area. Jerry eventually got into the Highway Patrol training program and became a trooper. He felt lucky that he was no longer a day laborer. Now, he had a career he was happy with, something meaningful for him.
They had no children, but not having children didn’t matter until recently when Pam began to talk of being a mother, of having a baby. He shuddered now at the thought of kids. Not for me, he stated to himself, not the way our life is going, and for the first time he wondered consciously if his relationship with Pam was failing. Was he failing? He thought that probably he was, but had no idea how or why.
The short, compact man got out of the passenger side of the van parked nearby and walked at an even pace to Jerry’s dark sedan. He opened the right side front door, said good morning, and got in. Once inside the sedan, he turned to face Jerry who had only slightly turned towards him because it had happened so quickly. Jerry realized the danger, but there was not enough time to do anything about it. He thought of the gun nestled in the shoulder holster under his left arm knowing he could not get it out quickly enough to deal with this man. There was fleeting eye contact and the visitor struck without warning in silent, deadly fury. He drove an ice pick into the young man’s chest, piercing his heart, causing almost instant death. A second blow for insurance was struck, but it was not necessary. The short, stocky man knew it probably wasn’t needed, but he wasn’t taking any chances.