"Purge the Evil" - a novel

by Bill Dunn

(Note: this is a work-in-progress attempt at writing a novel. Feedback, critiques, plot suggestions are more than welcomed.)
 

CHAPTER 18

Friday, November 12th, 11:30 a.m.

            Tom Wilkins steered the Comcast van into the service entrance driveway of his auto dealership. He drove to the back of the building and parked the van near the four roll-up garage doors. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby, and when he was satisfied no one was around, he climbed out of the van and walked over to a red Ford sedan. He opened the trunk of the car and put the black trash bag, the small tool box, and clipboard inside. He would dispose of all the items later that night. Then Tom Wilkins nonchalantly strolled into the Service Department.

            A dozen mechanics were busy working on various vehicles. The large room was a beehive of activity and noise. Tom Wilkins walk over to the service counter and nodded toward his service manager, Duane Waller, who was on the phone with a customer. When Tom was sure that Duane was not looking, he reached up and hung the keys to the Comcast van on a large pegboard, which was filled with keys, each with a little white tag identifying the car it belonged to.

            When Duane finished his phone call, Tom said, “Hey, Duane, how’s it going?”

            “Oh, pretty good, Mr. Wilkins,” the young man replied. “A real busy day today,” he added shaking his head, indicating it would be a scramble to get everything done by 5 p.m.

            “Well, keep up the good work,” Wilkins said encouragingly. “By the way, Duane, when you get a chance, call the Comcast office. Tell them the brake job is done. They can pick up their van anytime.”

            “OK sure, boss,” Duane said. He watched his boss exit the service area and head for the offices. Duane Waller admired Tom Wilkins and felt extremely grateful toward him. Four years earlier Duane met his future employer at the Faith Cathedral. At the time both men were struggling with inner demons: Tom with booze and prostitutes and gambling; Duane with drugs and a crushing lack of self-esteem. With the encouragement of Rev. Morton and other members of the congregation, both men were able to conquer their addictions, and with a renewed and vibrant faith in God, each man turned his life around.

            About six months after attending the same weekly 12-step recovery meetings at the Cathedral, Tom offered Duane a job in the service department. At first Duane was just a minimum wage flunky, running errands and assisting the mechanics. But soon afterward, his high intelligence combined with a new-found work ethic, made Duane a very dependable and valuable employee. He quickly moved up the ladder of responsibility and income, and less than two years after coming to work at Wilkins Ford-Nissan, at the ripe old age of 31, Tom proudly selected Duane to be the new service manager.

            At first, the other employees resented Duane Waller. They thought he was too young and inexperienced to be the service manager, and grumbled that he got the job only because he was one of Tom Wilkins’ fellow “Jesus freaks.” But within a few months Duane’s energy and attention to detail finally won over most of his critics. Everyone except a few resentful coworkers agreed he was doing a great job. In addition to the long hours he put in at the dealership, Duane also found time to volunteer at the Faith Cathedral. He often joined in with groups that periodically protested in front of abortion clinics or adult bookstores. And having taken his cue from Tom Wilkins and Wilkins’ friend “Pit Bull” Peterson, Duane wasn’t shy about expressing his distain for the lax criminal justice system and the many lawbreakers who walked the streets with impunity.

            Tom Wilkins entered his office and shut the door behind him. He plopped into the large chair behind his desk and let out an audible sigh. “Man, that was awesome,” he whispered, envisioning Victor Strasser’s lifeless body staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t wait for my turn to do it again.” He could feel the adrenaline surging through his body. Unlike Rev. Morton, it was not a fearful, panicky, sweat-inducing adrenaline surge. For Tom Wilkins, his surge was filled with feelings of power and purpose. He had carried out his mission flawlessly, and now he basked in his victory.

            The phone on Tom’s desk indicated he had nine voice messages waiting. He didn’t care about any of those calls at the moment. Instead, he grabbed the phone and dialed Capt. Bradford’s cell number.

            “Yeah, it’s me,” Wilkins said. “All set. It’s done. No problem.”

            He listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I told you, no problem. I did everything exactly as we planned, and there wasn’t a soul around. Nope, nobody saw me. OK, I’ll see you tonight.”

            Capt. Bradford knew there would be no instantaneous 9-1-1 call, as was the case with Jitterbug Rivera. If everything went as planned, the emergency call would not come in until around 6 p.m., when Marlene Strasser arrived home to find her brother’s dead body. Most likely, after getting over the initial shock, Marlene would conclude that someone had just done her a huge favor.

            Wilkins hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. A wave of satisfaction and pride swept over him. We are really doing something good, he thought. We are ridding the community of vermin, of immoral parasites. We are slowly but surely making this town safe again for normal, law-abiding citizens. Yeah, ol’ G.W. was right, if the legal system won’t do its job, then we have to it for them. We have to purge the evil from among us.

            Tom Wilkins jumped up from his chair and clapped his hands joyfully. What to do now, he wondered. Get some coffee? No, he was too wired for that right now. He wished it were already evening so he could celebrate his victory with the other three men. For a moment, he felt a strong urge to have a celebratory drink, but instantly the scolding face of Rev. Morton popped into his head. He murmured with a chuckle, “Don’t worry, G.W., I’m not gonna start drinking again.”

            Finally he decided the only useful thing he could do for the time being was go back to running his car dealership. He sat down and began to listen to his voice messages.

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