"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 25

Friday, November 19th, 2:05 a.m.

            A brand new Ford Escape SUV was parked in a dark area of the parking lot at Lowell Acres Condominiums, located along the West Hartford-New Britain town line. Tom Wilkins sat behind the wheel. Pit Bull Peterson sat in the passenger seat and did what he did best: talk a mile a minute and fidget. He was especially fidgety this particular night. Part of his nervousness was caused by the SIG Sauer pistol, model P232, fitted with a Bowers silencer, which he cradled in his hands. The other part of his nervousness was caused by the task he planned to carry out using the pistol. The weapon was selected by Capt. Bradford for this evening’s mission for a couple of reasons. First, the target, 26-year-old Archie Nathan, lived in a condo complex where the units were closely packed together, and someone would likely hear a gunshot, even at 2 a.m. Second, Bradford was worried that Pit Bull did not have the cool temperament needed to carry out a one shot, point-blank-range mission. The silencer would allow him to fire multiple times from a further distance away.

            When he could get a word in edgewise, Wilkins tried to calm Pit Bull down and get him to approach his task with a methodical, matter-of-fact frame of mind. Pit Bull was too hyper for that. He ignored Wilkins’ soothing advice and continued to speed-talk. He talked about the weapon, how comfortable it felt when he fired it at the gun range. He talked about the group’s overall plan, how noble it was. He talked about his target and how the world was soon to be much better off without him in it.

            Archie Nathan’s name recently appeared on one on Det. Mike Cavanaugh’s lists of breaking and entering suspects. He was well known to law enforcement officials in the Hartford area. Nathan was a bold and daring “smash and grab” thief. He had been arrested three times over the years, but convicted only once, which resulted in a nine-month prison sentence. The cops knew he was responsible for upwards of a hundred break-ins during the past eight years. There were probably another hundred they didn’t connect to him. Unfortunately, the cops had a tough time catching him red-handed. As soon as Capt. Bradford saw his name on Det. Cavanaugh’s list, he made the decision that Archie would be the guest of honor for the group’s next mission.

            Archie lived in unit D12 of Lowell Acres, often referred to as “Low Life” Acres. The structures were first built in the early 1970s as apartments, then went condo in the mid- ‘90s. The development was a step up from a low-income housing project, but not much of a step up. The development probably needed security cameras more than most condo complexes, but as Capt. Bradford knew very well, it had none.

            The Ford Escape was backed into a parking space in the guest area of the lot. It faced Building D, and was about 40 feet from an empty parking space, labeled “D12” in faded yellow paint on the pavement. The two men had been sitting there for about 25 minutes, and had seen four vehicles come and go.

            Pit Bull recapped for Wilkins the discussion from the previous evening’s secret meeting. After twice saying, “I know, Pit Bull, I was there,” Wilkins rolled his eyes and gave up trying to remind his friend that he knew exactly what had been discussed at the meeting.

            It had been a fairly significant meeting of the four conspirators on Wednesday evening. For the first time Captain Bradford eased up on his anger regarding the vigilante rumors. He described the profile outlined by one of his detectives, and all four men immediately recognized that they did not match that profile. A clergyman, a police captain, a radio personality and a respected businessman—middle-aged family men all—were simply not the type of folks the authorities would search for, if they ever did decide to investigate the vigilante angle.

            The group had listed the pros and cons of having vigilante rumors swirl through the community. The most obvious con, of course, was the fact they were in fact a vigilante group. The primary pro, however, was very attractive. The notion of secret vigilantes might scare criminals in a unique way. All law-breakers know the dangers posed by the activities they engage in and the people with whom the associate. Most drug dealers, for example, are more afraid of the violent tendencies of their customers and suppliers than they are afraid of the police. But the idea of total strangers, “avenging angels” as it were, swooping in suddenly and blowing away criminals without warning, just might cause many undesirables in town either to move out or curtail their illegal behaviors.

            The secret group also had long-term hopes of someday seeing their mission expand, possibly with the formation of separate independently operating groups engaged in similar actions. The four men were convinced there were plenty of decent, law-abiding citizens who were quite concerned about society’s chaotic and lawless situation. The trick would be to convince them to see the wisdom of engaging in extreme measures in order to take back their community. If the missions continued to succeed, if criminals were scared straight or fled town, causing a noticeable reduction in crime (not counting vigilante murders, of course), then public opinion would be on their side. It would not take much, they reasoned, to recruit new comrades in arms—carefully screened and thoroughly trustworthy new comrades.

            The one part of the previous evening’s meeting that Pit Bull neglected to recap was Capt. Bradford’s harsh warning. The vigilante topic was no longer taboo, but the police captain had put his nose within inches of Pit Bull’s nose and warned the radio host, in no uncertain terms, not to say something stupid. Tom Wilkins worried that might not be possible.

            At 2:16 a.m. Tom Wilkins cell phone rang. It was Capt. Bradford, alerting the two men in the Ford SUV that the subject was on the move. Wilkins closed the phone, and said flatly, “He’s on his way.” The Ford became very quiet as the two men waited. Three minutes later they noticed headlights turning into the parking lot. As the vehicle came toward them, they could see from the shadowy outline that it was a Jeep. When it turned into parking space D12, they could see by the dim glow of a distant street light that it was a red Wrangler with black canvas top and oversized tires: Archie Nathan’s car.

            Pit Bull watched the Jeep and quivered. Wilkins coolly looked to the left and right to see if any other vehicles or people were around. Satisfied all was quiet, he put his right hand on Pit Bull’s left shoulder and said, “Do it.”

            Pit Bull slipped out of the Ford. His legs were stiff and achy from sitting in the car for so long. He saw the driver’s side door of the Jeep open. He walked quickly in the darkness toward the rear of the Jeep, his tennis shoe-clad feet quiet on the pavement. The driver of the Jeep got out and closed the door. As he took a step toward the front of the vehicle, Pit Bull quickened his pace. When he was within five feet of the back of the Jeep, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger twice. Two soft “phut-phut” sounds came out of the pistol. Two hard slugs went into the target’s back, causing him to lurch to the right and lean against the hood of the Jeep. The stricken man turned and faced the source of his distress. His eyes were as wide as saucers. Pit Bull took a large step forward and fired two more rounds, one into the stomach, the other in the center of the chest.

            The four slugs caused the figure to slide down the side of the Jeep and crumple to the pavement next to the front left tire, lying flat on his back and softly groaning. Mortally wounded, death from blood loss would occur within ten minutes. But Pit Bull hastened the time-line by stepping forward again and firing the fifth and final round into the victim’s throat, which shattered the spinal cord at the base of his skull.

            Tom Wilkins started the Ford and moved it forward, slowly steering to the left. Pit Bull turned and ran back, and clambered into the passenger seat. Wilkins drove away quickly but carefully, so as not to squeal the tires. Pit Bull was chattering even quicker and louder than usual, triumphantly describing the successful mission. Wilkins congratulated his friend and tried to calm him down at the same time. Wilkins took the weapon from Pit Bull and placed it under his seat. Capt. Bradford had asked him to hold onto the SIG, as a pistol with a silencer could come in handy in the future.

            When the Ford was about a mile away from Lowell Acres, Pit Bull’s non-stop yapping and adrenaline-fueled euphoria caused him first to hyperventilate, then to vomit all over Wilkins’ brand new vehicle.

#

Later that same day, at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, after hosting his radio show in the morning—surprisingly well, the other group members thought—Pit Bull saw a special news flash on television, which identified the most recent murder victim, gunned down in the parking lot of the Lowell Acres Condominium complex in the early morning hours, as 24-year-old Walter Nathan. Walter was Archie’s law-abiding brother, who fatefully and tragically chose the previous evening to borrow his sibling’s Jeep.

            As he watched the TV, Pit Bull’s head began to swim, then his hands began to shake uncontrollably. Then he vomited again, this time all over the Persian rug in his living room.

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