by Mike Slavin
“Kind of early isn’t it?” the young guard asked, embarrassed that he had jumped from being surprised.
The funeral home director had told Case he could come in early, but he’d said he didn’t know if the policeman on guard would let him see Lieutenant Marsh. Case didn’t know the young officer, which was good. If the officer knew that Larry had been murdered at Case’s house, he might not be so friendly.
“I was a friend of Lieutenant Marsh. Do you mind if I pay my respects?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Case stood alone at 6:00 a.m. in the funeral home, which was empty except for the funeral director in the other room and the guard standing by Larry. Case stared down at Larry in his police uniform.
Another loved one in a coffin.
Case wore a dark blue suit with a blue-grey paisley tie. The tie had been a gift from Larry and Sandy.
Case had made sure his shoes shined like mirrors. Larry had always bragged that when he was in the Army, his shoes had been the shiniest. Case couldn’t see Larry’s shoes, but he wondered if they had been shined.
“Officer, do you mind if I have the funeral director open the bottom half of the coffin? Larry loved shiny shoes. If his shoes aren’t shined, I’d like to do it for him, just the tops. I won’t disturb the body.”
“Yeah, I guess so. You really knew him well?” the cop asked.
“My best friend.”
“You coming to the service later?”
“I am, but they’d frown on me shining his shoes in the middle of the service.”
The serious-looking young cop smiled. “Yeah, I guess they would. Go ahead.”
Case called the funeral home owner over. “Would you please open the bottom half of the coffin?”
The funeral director was a nondescript middle-aged man in a cheap grey suit. He wore a fake smile that Case thought was tattooed on his face. But even with the fake smile, he got a perplexed look. He tentatively asked, “Why?”
Case was feeling sad, but he was ready to bite off heads, too. No one was in the funeral home yet except the guard, so Case said it loudly. “Because I told you to. Good enough?”
The man jumped. Then, without answering, he popped some latches and opened the bottom of the casket.
“Oh my God.” The funeral director jumped back from the coffin. Both hands flew to his face. He stared at Larry’s bare feet, which looked a little yellowish.
“You gotta be shitting me.” Case pushed the funeral director aside. “What the hell’s going on? Where are his shoes?”
The young cop quickly moved to the coffin and barked at the funeral director. “Yeah, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I’m so sorry. This has never happened before.” The funeral director had turned a shade of white.
“Okay, maybe no harm done,” Case said. “Do you have socks and black shoes that will fit him?”
“Yes, I’m sure I can get them.”
“Officer, if we can fix this, can we not mention it? We don’t need the extra drama or the chance his wife and family will find out. It could be very upsetting.”
“Yes, sure, if we get it fixed right away,” the cop answered.
“Get shoes and socks for him, now. And get me some shoe polish and a rag.” Case didn’t even look at the funeral director. The man didn’t answer or protest. He just disappeared and rushed back with a pair of shoes and socks as well as a shoe polish kit.
“Put his socks on him. Then sit down and wait until I get his shoes done.” Case started to spit shine the tops of Larry’s shoes. He didn’t stop until they looked like mirrors. Then he handed the shoes to the director, who put them on Larry.
“I really am so sorry. Please don’t tell anyone.” The funeral director was fidgety and wouldn’t look anyone in the eye.
“Our little secret. Leave us alone.”
The funeral director left and the cop gave Case a little space, taking a few steps back from the coffin.
Larry, I know if you can see all this, you’re laughing your ass off.
Case had wanted Larry to look his best on his way out. Although he’d had no intention of seeing anyone, and Sandy had specifically told him not to come to the funeral, Case knew he had to show his respect.
How is it possible to lose my best friend, my wife, my son, and then my new best friend to brutal, violent deaths?
“Larry, I am so sorry. I love you, brother.” Case spoke to him without tears. When Case had lost his wife and son, the tears and overwhelming feelings had come quickly. But when he’d lost his previous best friend, Captain Matt Baker, in Afghanistan, there’d been no tears until he’d hunted down and caught the sniper who had killed him. The tears for his friend in Afghanistan would come that night when Case was alone and he wouldn’t try to hold them back. Case knew that tears for Larry would come too, probably when he least expected it.
The funeral was the next day and would be held at one of the biggest churches in Houston. It had to be big. There were fifty-five hundred cops in Houston and every officer not on duty would be attending. Case felt confident he could get lost in the crowd.
The church’s main chamber was a huge room. A big screen was at the front, where his friend lay. Case didn’t want to upset Sandy or make a scene. With so many angry cops there, nothing good would come of him trying to show his respects or talking to her.
The church filled quickly, bursting to capacity for a man who had affected so many and died too soon.
Case saw Sandy in the front row with some family members he hadn’t met, as well as the police chief and mayor. It hurt Case that he couldn’t sit beside her to console her.
It was a moving service. A few close friends and colleagues told stories about Larry that Case had never heard. Some made him laugh, as they were intended to do. Others made him respect the man even more than he already did, if that were possible.
Finally, everyone got up and went outside to form a gigantic funeral procession. Case easily lost himself in the row of cars. It was a spectacle, with police motorcycles blocking every intersection as they progressed toward the Houston National Cemetery for military veterans. It was flat, with more than seventy thousand identical white standard graves. After the graveside service, an Army honor guard gave a twenty-one-gun salute. Then “Taps” was played. Nobody noticed Case standing in the back of the sea of people. He was able to slip into his car and leave. He wanted to take no chance of making a scene. Sandy never knew he had been there, but Larry did.
I love you, Larry. Tell Becky and Little Jeff that I love them too, and I’ll see them when it’s my time.
Case rang the doorbell and waited patiently. It had been a couple of weeks since the funeral. He felt a little sick to his stomach, and his hands were sweating. He was firmly on the offensive. He had to get in the first words.
I’m sorry, Sandy, or, Sandy, please hear me out, or, Sandy, I know you told me to never contact you again, but …
The wait seemed to take forever. Case knew she would probably scream at him, maybe hit him. He knew she was angry. The hurt and pain he knew too well—unbearable.
Unbearable. I hope she’s home. I hope she forgives me.
The door opened. No makeup, wearing exercise clothes, a roll of tape in one hand. She looked exhausted.
“Sandy, I am so sorry.” Jeff spoke quickly, as he was afraid Sandy would slam the door in his face. He was prepared to stick his foot in the doorframe to prevent that from happening. It would create a scene, but he hoped to calm her down. He was ready to take all her anger. “I should have been more careful, I should have—”
Sandy stepped forward and put her hand on Jeff’s lips to quiet him. The hand tasted salty from her sweat and he could smell her perfume. She stood there and looked him in the eyes for what seemed like forever. Then tears filled her eyes, her lips quivered, and she lunged into his arms, hugging him like she had just grabbed a life raft in a sea of sorrow. Tears slowly rolled down Case’s cheeks as he held his late best friend’s
wife. Sandy cried like she would never stop and held him so tightly, he felt every sorrowful shake.
Then, still holding her, he felt the crying slow down and heard her take one last, deep, clearing breath. Keeping a hold on him, she pushed him back at arm’s length. “I’m so sorry. I treated you horribly. I didn’t mean anything I said.”
“It’s okay, really. You know I understand.” Case looked into her eyes. He hoped that he and Sandy could get past her sorrow.
“I know it wasn’t your fault.” She kissed Case on the cheek. “Please, come in and talk to me.”
Sandy put her arm around Case and they walked into the house, which was in disarray. Boxes were everywhere.
“What’s going on?” Case asked as they walked through the living room and into the kitchen.
“I’m selling the house and moving back to San Antonio. I grew up there. I have a lot of old friends there. My folks are there, and the bank will transfer me. No kids in school to keep me here. I mean, no kids at all. Nothing left of Larry.” Sandy got quiet and pursed her lips.
Case didn’t know what to say. He just hugged her again. “You know life will go on, or so everyone tells me. But we both have to believe that.”
“Yeah, that’s what they say. You know, when Becky got pregnant, it gave us hope we might have a child. But it didn’t happen, and now it’ll never happen.” Sandy’s eyes glassed over for a few seconds. Then she snapped out of it. “I’m sorry. I forget it’s not all about me. God, I thought I knew how much you missed Becky and Little Jeff, but I had no idea until Larry was killed.”
Sandy poured them each a glass of wine. They sat on barstools around the kitchen island, where they talked and talked. Case told her what had happened the night Larry was killed. At least, he gave her an abridged version of the story. He told her there were some things about which he couldn’t give her all the details, but the two men who had killed Larry were essentially in a private jail. The man who had given them the orders would be dealt with.
“Jeff, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘private jail.’” Sandy furrowed her brow. “I didn’t hear they’d caught anyone yet. They told me they’d keep me updated.” Hate filled her eyes, overtaking her confused look. “But I wish they were dead. And this guy who gave them orders, I wish he were dead, too.”
“I plan to do something about him. He won’t go unpunished.” Case didn’t want to get her involved, too.
“I hope you mean he’s going to die a slow, painful death.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Will you tell me when he’s dealt with? And I’m just a banker, but if I can help, I will. With anything you need. Anything.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know. Also, if you need anything from me, just ask—including money. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I appreciate that, but with Larry’s life insurance, I’ll be fine.”
“Can I take you out for a bite to eat?” Case asked.
“My folks are expecting me in San Antonio tonight. I’ve gotta go soon. And I’ll be in and out of Houston until I get moved. I’ll call you when I get settled. Don’t worry about me.”
“Can I help you move?”
“Are you kidding? You have a lot to do and I have tons of people helping or willing to help. But thanks.”
With that, they moved to the front door. After one last hug and a kiss on the cheek, Case walked down to his car. He raised a hand at Sandy as she waved. Then Case watched as the front door closed.
“Tony, your time is coming.”
Part IV
Payback
39
Reno
July 3, 2018, Tuesday
“Jeff, I’m ready. I’ve got the best equipment you could want. Just tell me when you’re coming,” Joe Shoemaker said.
“I can be in Reno tomorrow. Does that work for you?” Case asked.
“Great. I’ll be ready.”
“How is Reno these days?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t grown up here. I’m about thirty miles outside Reno. I go in sometimes for the casinos. I lose a hundred dollars and leave.”
“This isn’t an inconvenience or anything, is it?” Case asked.
“Absolutely not,” Joe said. “No ball and chain, and no kids. I’m completely open.”
Joe drove them through roads that kept getting narrower and more remote. The last ten miles were spent on a gravel road so narrow that if two cars were passing, one would have to pull off to the side. The terrain became more mountainous until they rounded a bend and took an even smaller single-lane road another mile to an old three-bedroom house with a tremendous view of the valley.
“Here we are,” Joe said. “Do you want to get started?”
“Sure,” Case said.
He told Joe to assume he knew nothing, so Joe did.
Joe told Case that most average shooters miss any target over two hundred yards because they didn’t accurately adjust for bullet drop and wind drift. Joe explained more as he attached an excellent rangefinder onto Case's rifle.
“This should pretty easily take care of the bullet drop, but wind adjustment would be trickier. A two-hundred-yard shot with a ten-mile-per-hour wind could cause the bullet to drift two inches off target. A three-hundred-yard shot would drift four and a half inches—a four-hundred-yard shot about eight-point-two inches.”
They shot for hours. With the excellent instruction Joe provided, Case was shooting quite well. They quit just before dark, at about a quarter past eight.
“I’m pretty tired.” Case stretched his back and moved his shoulders around.
“Want a cold beer?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
As they walked to a porch to relax and take in the view, Case was beginning to wonder if a sniper shot was the best way to go.
Joe came back and handed Case a beer. “You did well today.”
“The first shot has to be a kill shot,” Case said. “I’m not sure I can do that. To be sure, I’d have to be pretty close, and that’s not a good thing.”
“I’ll take it to my grave if you want to tell me what this is all about. You know that, don’t you?” Joe asked.
“Of course, Joe. This has nothing to do with trusting you. I’m trying to protect you. The less you know, the better.”
“Does this have anything to do with what happened to your wife and kid?”
“No. Maybe. Kind of.” Case shrugged and shook his head. “Besides my family being murdered, less than a month ago, my best friend was murdered in my house.”
“Damn! You've had a hell of a few weeks. I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah, no lie,” Case admitted.
“And I remember you lost your best friend in Afghanistan. Captain Baker. I know that was rough. That scar’s a permanent reminder.” Joe waved a finger at the scar. “You coulda lost your eye, or worse. Feels like yesterday.” A few seconds passed, then it hit Joe. “Shit, you’re going to kill the guy who killed your friend, aren’t you?”
Case didn’t answer right away. He stared into nothingness as he sat in a rocker on the open-air porch. The lush trees, the green hills, the cloud-puffed light blue sky—it was all there in front of him, but nothing was in focus. Although the reason for his being in Reno centered on revenge for Larry’s murder, it didn’t come to mind right away. Case shut his eyes and could see and feel his wife and son in his arms. He smiled and briefly felt their love and warmth before the image turned to Becky and Little Jeff being shot next to a stinking garbage dumpster. It made his heart break. The smile slipped from his face.
He realized he was rubbing his scar. Case thought of Matt Baker holding that birthday cake, being shot by a sniper, then dying in his arms. As he saw his friend in his mind, dead in his arms in Afghanistan, the body changed and Case was holding Larry. Larry’s eyes wide open, lying on his back, torn up by a shotgun in the middle of Case’s floor as the pool of bright red blood grew on the white tile. Then Case thought of Larry’s wife a
nd her sorrow.
Shit, I’m really fucked up.
Joe didn’t push for an answer. He took a sip of his beer, sat back, and looked away, giving Case all the time he needed.
Case bent forward in the rocker with his head down, holding his beer in two hands. He shook his head from side to side and then spoke.
“I’m all fucked up.” Case didn’t answer Joe’s question—avenging Larry’s murder was just one part of the puzzle. “I’ve never felt like this before.” Case bit his lip—he felt like he could lose it. “I just want to do something.”
“Man, you’ve had a shit load of horrible things happen to you.” Joe leaned forward in his rocker as well. The two war buddies were only a few feet from each other.
“Yeah, I know. Joe, my plan was to kill the son of a bitch that killed my friend, but I’m not sure.” Case sighed. “With my wife, my son, and now Larry all being killed within a month, it’s just … overwhelming. I’m sliding off the rails here. I’m making lots of plans for revenge, but I haven’t crossed any lines yet. Well, I should say I haven’t killed anyone yet. I’m really not sure what I’m going to do.”
Joe went silent. His jaw slowly moved back and forth as if he were chewing on jerky.
“I’ll take the shot for you—I won’t fucking miss,” he said.
“I can’t let you do that,” Case said, shaking his head.
“One more scumbag wiped off the Earth? Why not?” Joe asked. “I’m dead serious. We plan it outright and it’ll go like clockwork. Have you read Kill Crime?”
“You read it, too?”
“Man, it hit me just right. I’ve been seriously thinking about using my sniper skills to make society better. You know, I didn’t really think I’d get the chance, but here it is. Why not start with your guy who shot your buddy?”
“This guy didn’t kill my friend, but he ordered it. My friend’s name was Larry Marsh. He was a Houston police lieutenant. This guy, he sent three goons who shot Larry right through my front door while I was in the kitchen. They were trying to kill me.”
