"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 30

Wednesday, November 24th, 8:40 p.m.

The four co-conspirators gathered once again at their familiar meeting spot, the oil stained concrete floor of the Service Department in the rear of the Wilkins Ford-Nissan dealership. Four folding chairs sat below the flickering light of a single fluorescent bulb. Three of the chairs were empty; the fourth contained Capt. Bradford, who sat with his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. The captain was baffled by the behavior of the other three men, who were too agitated at the moment to sit.

            “I can’t believe you did that, Ray!” Tom Wilkins exclaimed. “We agreed from the very beginning that we all—all four of us—would pick the targets together. We’re a team. We work together. We pick the targets together and we plan the missions together. What the hell’s the big idea of going out on your own like that?”

            “There was no time to call a meeting,” Bradford replied. “There was a short window of opportunity to act, and I had to do it.”

            “What do you mean you ‘had to do it’?” Wilkins barked. “Nobody has to do anything. Our whole setup from the start has been careful and methodical. We carefully pick the targets and we methodically carry out the missions. We take as much time as we need. We don’t act impulsively, dammit! We don’t act on anger or personal vendettas, Ray. That’s a sure recipe for a screw-up. That’s a sure recipe for getting caught and spending the rest of our lives in prison!”

            Although Tom Wilkins had a closer relationship with Bradford than the other two men, he had never before spoken to the police captain so forcefully and with such anger. Bradford had rarely been spoken to in such a manner, and he didn’t like it at all. But for the moment, even though every molecule in his body urged him to jump up and shout the other men into submission, letting the three civilians know in no uncertain terms who is in charge, Bradford grit his teeth and kept silent.

            The room was quiet for many minutes. Pit Bull Peterson and Rev. G.W. Morton stood behind their respective folding chairs. Pit Bull looked like he was going to start crying again. Rev. Morton looked worried. He feared the group was beginning to disintegrate, which would mean their long-range goal of cleaning up the streets of the community would not be realized. It also meant, most likely, that something very terrible would happen, either scandal and shame and imprisonment, or worse, members of the group would start targeting each other. The reverend was determined to bring the group back together again, to recapture the esprit de corps they had enjoyed just a month earlier when they first put their audacious plan into action.

            Rev. Morton stepped forward and was just about to speak, but Capt. Bradford beat him to the punch. “Look, Tom,” the captain said suddenly, while nodding his head toward the car dealer, “I understand why you’re upset. I do.” It galled the police captain to say those words. It felt to him too much like groveling, but he figured he’d better diffuse the situation. He knew that he needed the support of the entire group. Many times Bradford had contemplated dumping the three civilian bumblers and carrying out the missions by himself. But he knew he needed other triggermen. He needed airtight alibis. He needed to be seen by other people, for example, inside PD headquarters at the exact time Jitterbug Rivera was shot. Bradford knew if he could not account for his whereabouts every time a criminal was mysteriously gunned down, eventually some sharp detective or state trooper might put two and two together. No, he didn’t like it much, but he realized that he needed the other three men. He needed the group to be a cohesive unit.

            Bradford continued, “I was going to contact you guys, really. There just wasn’t enough time. But don’t worry, it was not impulsive. It was carefully planned, and no one saw a thing. In fact, the New Britain PD are convinced it was a drug deal gone bad, and they’re focusing the entire investigation in that direction. Trust me, we’re clean.”

            Rev. Morton was pleased the captain had taken the initiative to calm things down. He now spoke. “That’s good to hear, Captain. I have no doubt you are capable of carefully planning a mission, even on short notice. But I must say,” the minister continued, “keeping us in the dark is only part of our concern. I for one am very confused about your choice of target. Why did you pick that boy? He was not on any of the lists we reviewed. He didn’t even have a criminal record. I mean, why exactly—”

            “He was the captain’s daughter’s boyfriend, that’s why,” Wilkins interrupted. “You gunned down an innocent kid because you didn’t like him.”

            “What?” Rev. Morton said incredulously.

“That’s not it, Tom,” Bradford said slowly. The police captain struggled mightily to control his temper, but his face turned red anyway. “He violated my daughter. He was…a rapist. That’s a felony where I come from, mister.”

            “Oh c’mon, Ray,” Wilkins said. “Is that what Tina told you, that he actually raped her? They’re college kids, for crying out loud. She’s not a baby anymore. They were dating.”

            Capt. Bradford grimaced. He then turned toward Rev. Morton and said, “You tell him, Rev. That’s immoral. That’s a sin, right? They weren’t married. That’s what you preach, ain’t it?”

            Rev. Morton was flustered. The Old Testament says both parties in an immoral sexual union should be punished—capital punishment, in fact. But he sure was not about to mention that. The reverend didn’t know what to say, so he did what he often did in similar situations: he started talking and hoped something eventually would come to him. “Well now, of course it’s a sin. Um, fornication outside of marriage, along with adultery within marriage, are indeed sins. Very serious sins. And there is no doubt licentiousness and immoral sexual behavior are a major part of the chaos we see in our culture today. But you see, Captain, everyone is a sinner. Everyone makes mistakes during their lives. In addition to sin, I also preach about forgiveness. I’ve seen many people who were steeped in sexual sin have a major transformation, and through the forgiveness and the power of Christ, they turned their lives around.”

            Rev. Morton tried desperately not to look at Tom Wilkins at that moment, but he couldn’t help glancing at the man who was a prime example of what he was saying. Wilkins reacted to the minister’s glance by rolling his eyes.

            “I think it is very likely,” Rev. Morton continued, now more sure of his message, “that this young man would have one day realized the error of his way and repented. I’ve seen it happen many, many times. And let me tell you, it is a gloriously happy moment when a prodigal son comes home and throws himself on the mercy of the Lord. It surely is.”

            Capt. Bradford scowled. “OK, fine,” he said. “Save me the sermon, Rev.”

            “No really, Captain,” Rev. Morton said, feeling more confident and sure of himself. He sat in his folding chair and looked directly at Bradford. “This is important. People repent and change their lives for the better every day. And I just do not believe misguided college kids—kids who are caught up in the secular, immoral spirit of our age—are the people we should be targeting. We said from the very beginning we were going after career criminals, did we not?”

            “Exactly,” Wilkins said, as he also sat down. “C’mon Ray, you know he’s right. We’re not targeting dopey college kids. We’re not going after anyone who ever screwed around in his life. Hell, in that case, you could target me!”

            Bradford squinted at Wilkins, then curled his lip, as if to say, Don’t tempt me.

            The three other men paused at this subtle threat. Bradford realized his sinister stare was undoing his efforts to keep the group together. He reminded himself that he needed his three co-conspirators, no matter how wimpy and soft they were.

            Capt. Bradford exhaled and forced a weak smile, then he uttered the words he absolutely hated to say. “OK, I’m sorry. You’re right, that wasn’t part of our plan. It won’t happen again.”

            The police captain felt like spitting or maybe even puking. Anything to wipe those distasteful words from his mouth. His mind flashed with the times over the years when he had to apologize for roughing up suspects. He hated it, simply hated it. He hated having to pretend he was sorry when he knew in his heart his actions had been right. He hated being forced to suck up to sniveling weaklings. He hated the game of kissing someone’s butt to avoid having a small problem turn into a bigger problem. Bradford knew at this moment that he needed the other three men to trust him and work with him. Therefore he knew that he had to apologize. As the bile rose in his throat, he consoled himself with the thought that Eric Johnson would never again violate his little girl.

            “OK, terrific!” Tom Wilkins exclaimed joyfully. “It was a mistake, a little lapse in judgment, but it’s over. Let’s forget about it. So now we need to get back to doing what we do best. Let’s get some of those real scumbags off our streets. Before you two got here,” Wilkins said, turning and pointing toward Pit Bull and Rev. Morton, “me and the captain were talking about kicking this thing into high gear. There’s just so many damn criminals out there. We’ve got to pick up the pace.”

            Wilkins reached for a manila folder on the floor and started flipping through the pages, which contained lists of convicted criminals currently walking free on the streets of West Hartford. He and Capt. Bradford began to discuss some of the names on the list. Rev. Morton leaned forward and tentatively joined the conversation, although his heart was not fully into it. The reverend had been wondering recently whether the group should slow down or even suspend operations for a while. Stepping up the pace struck him as dangerous.

            Pit Bull Peterson continued to stand behind his chair. He was not part of the conversation, nor did he want to be. At that moment, he felt completely trapped. He knew he was part of the group; he knew there was no way to get out of the group; and he knew joining the group was the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life.

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