Chapter 31

  Shawn drove back to his campsite and had a hard time sleeping. Seeing the man who had killed his mother brought back a lot of painful memories that haunted him like a tireless apparition. In an effort to chase Jack Thomas down at any cost, he had made a mistake. He was mad at himself for not having the discipline of a good soldier to slow down and proceed with caution. Going into the trailer park without checking it out first could have cost him the chance to put Jack down. For a minute, he thought about searching for Jack’s trailer on foot in the middle of the night but quickly dismissed the idea. Evil owned the night. There were just too many junkies and junkyard dogs. He decided to stake out the trailer park in the morning and wait for Jack to come out instead. Then he would find out where he worked and pick the time and place to kill him without the hassle of dogs, junkies, trailer trash, and bleached blond bimbos to contend with.

  A block west of the trailer park was a school parking lot. At 6:00 AM, Shawn slipped into a parking spot with a good view of the street and entrance to the trailer park. When Jack came out, he would follow him. He just hoped that he wouldn’t get back on the freeway again.

  As the morning hours passed and there was no sign of Jack, Shawn hoped he hadn’t made another mistake. Perhaps he was only there to visit someone else or to buy some drugs. Now, he wished he had waited outside the trailer park all night. He was relieved when, precisely at 9:00 AM, the Cadillac pulled out into the street and headed west, where Shawn was waiting. When he saw Jack pull out, he started up the bug and slipped in three cars behind the Caddy. He didn’t have far to go. In a little less than three miles, Jack pulled into a gas station that had the gas pumps removed years ago. The former gas station had seen better days, and those days were long gone. The sign in the dirty window read, “Auto Repair, We fix all makes and models.” The crooked sign that hung inside the front door read “CLOSED.”

  Shawn watched as Jack parked the Caddy in the back of the building next to several other cars that looked like they hadn’t been moved in months if not years. He continued to watch as Jack walked to the front door, slipped his key into the lock and opened the dingy establishment. Once inside, Jack flipped the sign on the front door and he was now “” for business. The King had returned to his one-man empire.

  From across and slightly down the street, Shawn continued to watch the repair shop as Jack opened the overhead service door several minutes later. Inside, he could see the back end of a large, mid-sixties Buick. Shawn started up his little bug and drove around the block. As he did, he took notice of the run-down commercial buildings that had reached the bottom of the urban decay cycle. Graffiti filled almost every wall, and the sidewalks and streets were littered with trash. Some buildings had for rent or lease posted on the doors, while others were simply boarded up. The residential homes in the area were not much better off. A few were occupied by owners who couldn’t afford to move, but the majority were rented by the less fortunate of society. Almost all were in need of paint and repair.

  Shawn pulled into the back of the repair shop and shut the ignition off. He sat for a moment, reflecting on what he would do. Finally, he reached into the glove box and pulled out a Smith & Wesson Model 36. The little 38 snobby had a two-inch barrel and was only suitable for work close-up. He sat for another five minutes before placing the pistol back in the glove compartment. Shawn got out and headed for the garage. It was time to pay the piper. He entered through the front door and eased the door shut while he looked around at the absolute mess inside.

  There was the usual stench of gas and motor oil, but it was mixed with something else. It also smelled like a tawdry honky-tonk. The smell of cheap cigars, stale beer, and urine hit Shawn in the face. A battered and bruised old oak desk faced the front window. On top of it was a newspaper that was two weeks old, a set of car keys, several Playboy and Penthouse magazines, and a stack of unopened letters that looked like bills. In front of the desk was a high-backed oak swivel chair. The armrests, back, and seat were black with ground in dirt and oil. The floor was covered with missing asbestos tiles that were worn and filthy. The floor probably hadn’t seen a broom or mop anytime in the last decade. On the far wall was a door that led to a restroom. From Shawn’s viewpoint, it appeared that it hadn’t been cleaned in years. He could see a Playboy pin-up on the restroom wall that was curled at the edges. Shawn thought that if only the pretty young thing could see where her assets were displayed, she might have thought twice before posing for the infamous magazine.

  To his right was a bench seat out of some old sedan sitting on top of several tires and rims to give it elevation. It, too, was filthy. Next to the bench seat was a pair of black bucket seats with a “For Sale” sign plastered on them. Miscellaneous car parts and empty beer cans were strewn everywhere. Music was coming from the service area, and Jack was singing along to Glen Campbell’s “Rhinestone Cowboy,” although not very well. Shawn stepped to the edge of the service bay door and peered inside. Jack was hunched over the Buick’s engine and unaware he had a visitor.

  *****

  Shawn greeted Jack over the sound of the radio.

  “Hello Jack, that was quite a charming woman you were with yesterday at your sister’s house. What loser bar did you find that bimbo at? I’m sure she will miss you for about thirty seconds after I plant you in the ground. She’ll probably just flash her nasty shit at some unsuspecting loser in some dive bar and move on.”

  Jack was about to remove the distributor cap and replace the points when he heard Shawn’s voice. He knew that this day would come someday. However, when Jack heard his voice, he was so startled he slammed his head against the car engine’s hood. Undeterred, he calmly rubbed the sore spot and looked over at Shawn, standing just ten feet away. He backed up and turned off the Philco radio that was covered with grease and dirt. Now there was just annoying noise coming from it. Jack didn’t say a word. He just studied the man in front of him.

  “What’s the matter, Jack? Cat got your tongue? I’ve never known you to be at a loss for words before! You must be truly overwhelmed with joy to see me again.”

  Jack had underestimated his stepson once before, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. The man that stood before him now wasn’t a mire boy anymore. He was a man of considerable size and strength. Composing himself, Jack answered his antagonizer.

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  "Well, well, if it ain't the scrawny little bastard who's all grown up now. I honestly can't say that I missed you, boy. I was hoping you'd get your ass killed in Vietnam, but no such fuckin luck. I did figure that you'd come looking' for me someday, though. I knew the cops would quit looking, but not you. Now, I guess I'll just have to deal with you right here and now. I'll bet you didn't call the cops, did you?" Shawn didn't answer his question. "You've got nowhere to run, Jack. And yes, I'm' afraid that you are going to have to deal with me. I'm going to finish what I started years ago."

  As Jack was listening to Shawn, he backed up and eased his way toward his tool chest. He knew that one day, either Shawn or the law would find him, and he had prepared for this eventuality. Jack had no intention of going to jail for the rest of his life or being put to death by lethal injection, for that matter. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. And if he died trying, so be it.

  “I see you put on a little bulk since high school, boy. Looks like the army made a man out of you after all. So now that you’ve found me, what are my options?” Jack was making small talk in an effort to buy some time.

  Shawn chuckled; “You have no options, Jack. You took my mother from me, and now I’m going to kill you. An eye for an eye, it’s as simple as that.”

  Now Jack laughed; “That would be murder, boy. They’ll put your sorry ass in prison for that. They’ll probably even fry your ass for first-degree murder.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to take my chances then, won’t I.”

  Jack was less than two feet away from a drawer where he kept a loaded pistol. The small 1914 Colt Police Positive 32 revolver was just a backup. He kept his H&K 38 automatic in another tool chest. But it was closer to Shawn, and he had no way of getting his hands on it. He wished that he had it instead of the pea shooter. The small caliber gun wouldn’t kill anyone unless he got a head, neck, or heart shot. He would have to be very lucky against a man as quick as his stepson. He finally reached the tool chest and put his hand on the drawer that held the pistol.

  “Move away from the tool chest, asshole,” Shawn said in a loud voice that boomed through the garage and somewhat startled Jack.

  Shawn had only moved several feet from his original spot, where he had surprised Jack. Now, he started to move toward his quarry at an astonishing speed. Eight feet separated the two adversaries when Jack spun around and opened the chest drawer. He quickly grabbed the little Colt and thumbed the hammer back; however, before he could turn and fire, he was struck by a jaw-shattering blow to the side of his head that stunned him. Jack was a big man, and it would take more than one shot to take him down. Just as the next blow arrived, Jack managed to pull the trigger. The little pistol spit out a small bullet that only had to travel a few inches before it struck Shawn in the upper chest.

  He only got a quick glance at the gun coming around to meet him, but his mind had already committed to his next move. Shawn heard the shot and felt the bullet strike him just below his right collarbone. He had been hit before by much larger rounds, once in his right thigh and once in his upper left arm, yet luckily, neither had hit bone. During those firefights, he didn’t feel the pain until the fighting was over. Now, the small round felt like a bee sting. Not wanting to receive any more, Shawn gave the gun his undivided attention.

  With both hands, Shawn grabbed the gun and pushed it away from his body. He needed to disarm Jack before he could do any more damage. Shawn tried to twist the gun from Jack’s hand, but as he was succeeding in doing this, Jack drove his massive forehead into the side of Shawn’s head. The blow loosened Shawn’s grip just a bit, and the little gun roared again. The bullet barely missed Shawn’s head and went through the opened hood of the Buick. Now Shawn was pissed, and he tried to shake off the effects of the head butt. His shirt was turning red from the blood pouring out of the hole in his chest. He once again tried to dislodge the gun from Jack’s hand, and as he was about to succeed, he was hit in the ribs by Jack’s left fist. The blow drove the wind out of him, but he wouldn’t release his grip on the gun. Shawn now slammed Jack’s hand and wrist into the front hood latch of the Buick. When his hand hit the latch, Jack howled out in pain and released his grip, and the gun fell harmlessly into the Buick’s engine compartment.

  Now Shawn had the upper hand, and he drove his right knee into the lower left side of Jack's abdomen. He followed up with a straight left that caught Jack right on the chin, but Shawn was off balance and didn't have his full weight behind the punch. Jack was still rocked, and he reeled backward against his tool chest. Shawn was all over him in an instant. He did a quick spin kick that caught Jack in his rib cage and knocked the wind out of him. The kick was so powerful that Jack thought that he had broken several ribs. He tried to catch his breath but could only take in just a little air because the pain was too intense. Jack closed his eyes and felt more blows raining down on his head and chest. Shawn was relentless, and very soon, he would be knocked out and dead from the blows that he would never feel.

  Jack's knees buckled, and he turned to face his tool chest to protect himself. He quickly realized he couldn't take the ex-Army Green Beret in a hand-to-hand fight. He was much too strong and quick, even with a bullet hole in his chest that was leaking blood. Jack needed an equalizer, and he found one. His left hand fell on a breaker bar, and he grabbed it tight and waited for the opportune moment. After a hard punch to his right side, Jack spun to his left and swung the breaker bar at Shawn's head. The blow didn't land perfectly, yet it was just enough to daze him.

  Shawn reeled backward only for a second, then he started to come forward again when Jack grabbed the tool chest and toppled it toward him. Shawn quickly stepped aside as the tool chest crashed into the Buick's front grill, giving Jack the precious few seconds he needed. He headed for the Buick's slightly opened driver's door.

  Shawn had to leap over the tool chest, and it slowed him just enough for Jack to make it into the driver’s seat and slam the door shut. A half second later, Shawn was at the door trying to open it when Jack slammed the doorlock down. Safe behind the glass, Jack smiled through bloodied teeth and placed his middle finger against the window. A second later, the Buick’s massive engine roared to life. A split second after that, the car was in reverse and heading out the garage door with its rear tires protesting the sudden acceleration with squeals and gray smoke pouring out from under the rear wheel wells. The force of the acceleration was enough to drive the engine hood downward, and Shawn was forced to jump backward as the Buick’s black fender sped by. As Jack was backing out of the garage, the gun dropped out of the engine compartment and spun on the crumbling concrete floor right in front of him. He picked it up and took aim at the driver. He fired once as the car was backing up, hitting the windshield low and to the left, and three times when Jack turned and sped forward. Two of the slugs hit the driver’s door just below the window, and the last slug hit the driver’s window and it disintegrated into a thousand pieces.

  As he held the now empty gun, Shawn watched helplessly as the Buick turned the corner and was quickly out of sight. He had no idea if he hit Jack, although he thought his last shot was his best. Still, he was pissed. Not only did Jack get the drop on him by putting a hole in his chest, but the bastard also got away.

  Shawn threw the empty gun against the wall and headed for the bathroom. He unwrapped a fresh roll of toilet paper from the toilet tank. Pulled off a foot of the stiff commercial-grade paper from the roll and carefully plugged the small caliber bullet hole in his chest. Shawn looked at the broken mirror on the wall and examined the exit wound. His shirt was covered in blood where the slug had passed through. Taking a new section of paper, he quickly plugged the exit wound. He was losing precious time, but he had to stop the bleeding.