against. It would have been nice to have had the same luxury before I went to Junior’s, but I was going in blind.
The miles passed quickly, but not quietly. A debate was raging inside my head, as though a tiny Caroline was perched on one shoulder and a tiny Joe was perched on the other.
Turn around and go home. You might get yourself killed.
He tried to kill you. The sonofabitch tried to kill you.
He was stalking your wife. Your kids might be next. The police won’t do a thing.
I kept driving.
I made it to Newport in just over an hour. It’s a small town, so it took me only a few minutes to find Junior’s place, which was about a half mile outside the city limits. I was relieved to see that it was relatively isolated, the nearest neighbor more than a hundred yards away. I drove by slowly the first time.
There was a black mailbox on a post at the end of the driveway with ”Tester” stenciled on it in slightly crooked white letters. The house was a small brick ranch that sat on a rectangular lot bordered by scruffy pines. There were no security lights, and I didn’t see any lights on in the house. One of two small outbuildings looked like a garage. After I made the first pass, I drove about a mile down the road, turned around, and made another pass. I thought about Junior driving by my house and stalking Caroline. Now it was my turn.
I found an apartment complex about a half mile from the house, parked the car in a corner of the lot, grabbed the hickory stick, the bottle of gas, and the flashlight, and started walking. The streets were deserted. It was around fifty degrees, and the moon was low in the west. Some cloud cover would have been nice, but the Rangers had trained me to use the shadows. They’d trained me to make myself invisible in all kinds of terrain and conditions. They’d also taught me the value of surprise in an ambush and they’d taught me plenty about hand-to-hand combat.
If I could surprise him and get my hands on him, I knew I could handle Junior Tester.
When I got back to his place, I cut in and moved along the pine trees to the back of the lot. I crept around the entire lot, staying in the shadows of the pines, looking for a light in the house or signs of movement. Nothing. From what Diane Frye had told me, I knew Junior didn’t have a wife or kids, but I wasn’t sure about a dog. I was relieved when nothing moved or barked. Once I was sure nobody was stirring, I walked out of the trees and up to the garage.
It was big enough for only one vehicle, and it was empty. The other outbuilding was just a storage shed that contained a few tools and a pile of junk, but there was plenty of fuel for a small fire. I crept to the back of the house and stood there listening for several minutes. It was silent.
I moved slowly around the entire house, trying unsuccessfully to see something inside through the windows. No television, no radio, no bathroom light or night-light, nothing. When I’d circled the house and was again near the back door, I moved quietly up the concrete steps and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked. I stood there for a second, debating whether I should step inside and add breaking and entering to what could soon be a long list of crimes I’d committed. I decided against it. If he was there, I needed to get him outside. It was time to put my
”plan” into action.
I jogged back out to the shed and stepped inside.
I turned on the flashlight, grabbed up some rags and several pieces of wood, turned the flashlight off, and walked back outside. I piled the wood and rags up about ten feet from the shed, where Junior could see it if he looked out the back door. Then I took Caroline’s cell phone out of my pocket, turned it on, set the block function, and dialed the number I’d memorized earlier in the day. In less than ten seconds, I heard a phone ringing in the house. Once. Twice.
Three times. Four.
A light came on at the back corner of the house. I quickly doused the pile of rags and wood with the gasoline from the bottle, trailed some gasoline to a safe distance, and lit it with the lighter. The pile ignited with a whoosh. Eight rings. Nine.
I ran back towards the house and crouched down by the back stoop. Answer the phone! Answer the goddamned phone! Ten rings.
The cell phone clicked in my ear.
”Hello?”
”Junior,” I said. ”It looks like your shed’s on fire.”
”What? Who is this?”
”It looks like your shed’s on fire. I’m calling the fire department.”
I hung up, stuffed the phone back into my pocket, and waited. I could hear quick, heavy steps coming towards the back door. I stood and flattened my back against the side of the house.
Come outside. Please, come outside.
I heard the doorknob turn, and the door opened.
A form appeared on the stoop within three feet of me. It was him.
”What the …?” I heard him say.
He started down the steps. Just as he got to the bottom, I gripped the walking stick with both hands and came off the wall. I dropped to one knee and swung the stick with everything I had. There was a loud crack as the stick caught him across the shin.
He howled and fell to his knees.
I dropped the stick and threw myself at him. I managed to get my forearm beneath his chin and climbed onto his back. I got him into a strong choke hold and squeezed as hard as I could. I felt him kicking as I wrapped my legs around his torso and pulled him backwards on top of me.
He tried to reach back to claw my face, but the more he struggled, the tighter I squeezed. After fifteen seconds or so, his strength began to wane.
”Good thing I can swim,” I said quietly into his ear.
At the sound of my voice, he stiffened.
”You see how easy this was?” I said, letting up just a little. ”If you ever come near me or anyone in my family again, I swear to God I’ll kill you. They’ll never find your body.”
I tightened my grip on him again, and he passed out in less than thirty seconds. As soon as I felt him go limp, I let go and started patting him down. The front of his pajamas was soaked, and I smelled urine.
To my relief and surprise, my little ruse had worked better than I’d hoped. He didn’t even have a gun. I moved over to where I’d dropped my stick, picked it up, and then crawled back on top of him.
He opened his eyes about a minute later to find me straddling him. I’d pinned his shoulders to the ground with my knees and had the hickory stick pressed firmly against his throat. He stared at me with the same intense hatred I’d seen at the courthouse.
”Consider me your living, breathing restraining order,” I said. ”Don’t ever come near me or my family again. Do you understand?”
He began to breathe heavily and his blue eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head.
He was like a volcano, about to explode with fury.
”You took my daddy from me!” he yelled.
What? Took your daddy? The strange comment surprised me.
”Bullshit,” I said. ”I didn’t do a damned thing to your daddy.”
”You told people he went to that terrible place!
You told people he was drowning in sin! I heard you in the courtroom.”
”I told people the truth. Your father took money from a revival and spent it at a strip club.”
”Liar! Blasphemer!” He tried to rise but I shoved down hard on the stick, cutting off his breath. He froze again, and a sudden realization came to me.
The look on his face, the outlandish comment, the pain in his voice, told me I’d shattered a powerful image, the image of a father held by a son. What was it Diane had said? ” He idolized his daddy. ” The words I’d spoken in court had apparently opened a gaping wound in his soul, and the wound was festering.
I kept the pressure on with the stick and leaned closer to him.
”Your daddy wasn’t the man you thought he was,” I said. ”That’s not my fault. I didn’t take him away from you-he did that all by himself. You remember what I said. If you come anywhere near me again, you’ll be joining your daddy. I’ll shoot you on sight.”