Twisted Retribution

by Donna Arp Weitzman

  3

  The following week Sarah taught Zach how to answer the phone in a kind yet efficient way. She silently wondered if hearing a man’s voice answer the phone would frighten women who might already be spooked by dialing the sheriff’s department, but she kept quiet and let Zach answer each call, instructing him on the next step. Nothing too serious happened all week, just a runaway dog and a couple of fender benders on the county highway.

  Sarah often fingered her newly issued Colt .45 in the holster throughout the day to give herself a sense of power and calm. She could hardly wait to investigate a real crime, hoping Darrel would let her take the lead.

  The weeknights seemed to fly by, and Sarah had lots of chores to keep the house in perfect order and have meals prepared. Pete was surly and distant. He rarely came to bed when she did and often sat in front of his television watching Gunsmoke re-runs until after 2:00 in the morning. Sarah never addressed his odd night owl behavior, happy that he was preoccupied.

  Early mornings were slow at the county office, and Zach liked to chat with Sarah to pass the time. Ruby played solitaire with a deck of cards. Although an unlikely duo, Zach and Sarah soon found they shared a common history, especially regarding how others had treated them all their lives. Zach explained his affection for other men to Sarah and described the heartache of growing up as a homosexual in a small, backward Texas community. The townspeople had taunted him, he said, and Sarah noticed how Zach’s eyes turned cold whenever he recounted his past. Abuse was familiar to both Sarah and Zach.

  They’d talk a while and sometimes fall silent into their private hells not disclosing further thoughts to the other. Zach did admit there were times he wanted to kill the straight, white homophobes who called him names and occasionally roughed him up. Sarah surprised herself when she told Zach her dreams about blood and decapitation. They would both smile devious smiles, vowing never to share such morbid secrets with anyone else.

  One afternoon Zach answered the ringing phone in his now polished and professional voice, but raised an eyebrow and looked at Sarah as he took the message. “Yes ma’am,” his voice lifted. “Our investigators will be right over. Have you contacted the police department?”

  Sarah’s heart starting pounding. Slamming down the phone and smiling at Sarah, Zach reported there had been a robbery at 1133 Bodark Street. Reading his notes, Zach explained that the intruders had tied Judy Franklin to her bedposts and taken her purse and her wedding ring before running out her side door. She watched them take off in a black pick-up before wrangling herself free. “Mrs. Franklin wants the sheriff to get the sons of bitches,” Zach exclaimed, laughing.

  Sarah told Zach to try to contact Darrel and tell him she would be the first one going to Mrs. Franklin’s house. Sarah would take her statement and get on the case immediately.

  The car threw gravel rock as Sarah sped out of the parking lot. She was excited and nervous at the same time. What if Judy Franklin wanted a man to investigate this crime instead? Sarah sped on toward 1133 Bodark.

  “Goddamned sons of bitches,” Mrs. Franklin said as she opened the door to let Sarah inside. She was not as frightened as she was just plain mad. “They’re probably on drugs and needed money,” she proclaimed, welcoming Sarah to take a seat in her living room.

  Sarah nodded and opened her notebook to a clean page to take notes.

  “I hope you find them and lock ‘em up,” Mrs. Franklin continued, enraged. “I don’t give a damn about my wedding ring, and they didn’t get much money. I’m just pissed off because they think they can get away with treating an old lady like that!”

  Sarah took Mrs. Franklin’s statement, inquiring how many men there were and getting a description of each one. She assured Mrs. Franklin that the sheriff’s department would find these thugs. Instead of being grateful, the old lady sighed impatiently, lighting up a cigarette before tuning in to a morning television show and ignoring Sarah. When it was clear that Mrs. Franklin was tired of talking, Sarah excused herself and got back in her vehicle, aware that neighbors were watching.

  A small town rarely let any kind of mischief go unnoticed. Prying eyes were always looking out for strangers and no-gooders. Sarah felt intimidated and uncomfortable walking in Rosa’s looking for Darrel to update him. She saw him sitting in a booth behind a stack of pancakes. When he saw her coming toward him, Darrel yelled out, “You already got ‘em, Deputy Sears?”

  Sarah smiled and said, “No, sir. But I’m on it.” Darrel returned to his pancakes.

  She walked to each booth and asked the customers if anyone knew any younger men who drove a black pick-up. “The make and model are unknown as of yet,” she explained. They shook their heads, seemingly disappointed to be in the dark about such a momentous event happening in their town. A burglary in Montague County was big news.

  Relentlessly questioning more townspeople finally yielded Sarah her lead. The Turners lived on the edge of town. Their nephew showed up a few weeks ago and had been staying with them until he found work. He drove a black pick-up and had apparently upset everyone on the road into town as he sped down the lane every day. His careless driving scared the old people who liked to stand at their mailboxes and chat with neighbors.

  “Yep, this one’s a wild child,” said one of the Turners’ neighbors. Just the kind to rob an old lady, Sarah thought.

  Sarah staked out the Turners’ street and waited patiently one afternoon. Two days had passed since the crime occurred, and Sarah was anxious to pull her gun if she needed to. The roar of an engine whirred past her parked car. Sure enough, it was a speeding black pick-up. Sarah took off behind it. Dust bellowed up and made it impossible to see inside the vehicle. Then a beer can flew out the passenger side, telling Sarah there were more occupants than the driver inside. Following the truck to the Turner home, Sarah saw two young guys hop out and pulled in the drive behind them.

  Hurriedly, she got out of her car and yelled toward the men, “I’m Deputy Sarah Sears with the county sheriff’s department, and I’d like to have a word with you.”

  The two scraggly boys grinned at each other and jumped back in their truck. They almost clipped Sarah’s car as they sped out of the drive. Sarah was stunned. Feeling incompetent, she got back in her vehicle and raced after them.

  “Dammit,” Sarah said aloud. “Why didn’t I get their license plate number? Come on, Sears, use your head.”

  She drove every nearby street looking for the two hoodlums, but saw no black truck. Stopping for gas, Sarah spied a twenty-something male working in the gas station garage.

  “Hi, do you happen to know anyone around town with a black

  pick-up?” she asked.

  The kid nodded. “Yeah, I put a muffler on one the other day.”

  Sarah was encouraged. “Do you know the owner’s name?” The young man eyed her, barely answering, “I think it’s Jake Turner, but not sure.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where he hangs out, would you?” Sarah spoke gently to the mechanic, as she didn’t want him to clam up.

  “Well, I know he and his buddy Clem Dodson like to drink beer and fish a little in Red River under the Oklahoma bridge. Maybe they’re over there?”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said and gave him a couple of dollars. She’d never been under the bridge, but she had heard the stories of druggies and drunks hanging out there.

  Turning off her car engine and parking hundreds of feet before reaching the bridge, Sarah pushed back the prickly brush on the side of the road, trying to see under the bridge without being seen. However, even before she spied the two men, she could hear them laughing and cursing. Sarah pulled her gun. Her hands shook and her heart pounded as she approached two males sitting on a couple of tree stumps.

  She pointed the gun at them and yelled, “I said I want to talk to you both!”

  Startled, they both stood up and stared at Sarah. “What for, ma’am?” the driver asked her in a polite voice. Sarah assumed this was the Turner boy, but she did not
recognize his companion.

  “You know,” Sarah growled. “I think you robbed Mrs. Franklin on Bodark Street.”

  “Are you crazy?” the Turner kid smiled at Sarah. “That old bitch wouldn’t have anything we’d want.”

  “Still, I need to ask you some questions,” Sarah answered, her hands visibly trembling.

  The other man reached his hand in his pocket, making Sarah nervous. She turned to look at him and Jake Turner suddenly grabbed her arm and peeled the gun from Sarah’s hand.

  “Well, well, lookey what we got here, Clem. A pretty law woman. What’d you say? Let’s show her what sneaking up on two fishermen can get her. Tie her up.”

  Clem got some ropes from the old black truck while Jake held her own gun on Sarah. “You make a move, little law whore, and this gun might go off. Wouldn’t that be a shame?” he said.

  Clem tied her arms to a dead tree trunk that was on the ground and then with a second rope tied her legs to the trunk, spreading them apart. Sarah was gasping for breath, yet she was afraid to fight back and agitate the men.

  Suddenly Jake unbuttoned and jerked her khaki patrol pants off her legs and pulled her panties down. He started laughing, eyeing Sarah’s naked body before he rammed his hand up her vagina.

  “Never follow two fishermen, bitch. You might get caught,” he said, grinning. Climbing on top of Sarah, he relieved himself hurriedly inside her and then invited his accomplice to take a turn.

  “Go on, Clem. It might be a while before we get some more pussy,” Jake said. “Hers ain’t bad for an old sheriff bitch.”

  Clem was rough but didn’t say a word. He finished quickly and rolled off Sarah. Hot tears welled up, but she refused to cry. She was afraid these two might decide to kill her and throw her body in the Red River. She lay silent.

  “Come on, Clem,” Jake said walking away from her. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Let’s go to Oklahoma. She ain’t going anywhere soon. We’ll go across the bridge and be in OK City before anyone finds her. I’m tired of this two-bit town.”

  The black pick-up careened out of the mud and made its way back up on the country road.

  When she was sure they were gone, she began struggling to untie the ropes. No one knew where she was. Vultures flew overhead in a circle, and the muddy red water lapped at the river banks inviting Sarah to join its watery grave. Sarah was determined to live but told herself that others would die. She’d had enough of being the victim. From now on, Sarah Sears would control the scene. Finally getting some slack in the rope, she slipped a hand through the knotted loop to work her way free.

  “I’ll kill those assholes,” she thought, “and I’ll do it my way. They will suffer. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”

  On the way back to the sheriff’s office, Sarah stopped at the convenience store to wash herself in the public bathroom. No one must know about the rape. She alone would get her revenge.

  Sarah saw Zach when she returned to the office.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, anxious to get details.

  Sarah didn’t comply, keeping her secret for now. “Haven’t found them yet,” she lied, “but got some good leads.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nope, just make sure Darrel doesn’t get a wild hair to help on this case. I really want to catch these jerks myself. Tomorrow I won’t be in. I’m going to track them down.”

  “Okay,” Zach said, “but be careful. Sarah, you’re just a woman.”

  “Thanks, Zach, and you’re just a man,” Sarah answered, trying not to laugh.

  Zach smiled with brotherly concern for Sarah.

  ***

  Leaving her house before daylight the next day, she could hear Pete snoring on his little sofa in his office. Sarah had become so preoccupied with catching criminals that she didn’t have the energy to focus on protecting herself from Pete’s ire. He seemed less ominous as her world expanded.

  Heading north across the Red River Bridge to Oklahoma, Sarah had a plan in mind. She remembered her rape in detail. The ordeal was quick but rough, neither man having respect for Sarah or himself. Much like rabid dogs in heat, they’d acted like animals, overpowering the weak. And what did you do with rabid dogs? Put them to death.

  Sarah was prepared this time with Pete’s ropes and some sharp kitchen knives carefully stowed in the patrol car. Sarah would become a cunning prowess hunting her prey and use her Colt .45 and any other means to help her overcome these offenders. Death was appropriate for dogs like Jake Turner and his sidekick.

  Southern Oklahoma’s hardscrabble farms were hostile to the easy life. Some properties had sandy soil, ideal for growing watermelons. But others were red clay, and anything proved difficult to grow. Farmers drove their hay bailers on the highway, waving as Sarah veered around these slow-moving workhorses. Most Okies were kind, docile people, but not the two escapees traveling these roads. Sarah was determined these two would pay.

  Waurika, Oklahoma, was a small farming town with a greasy café on the main drag. Wrapping around the restaurant on both sides was a mostly vacant motel, each room’s door opening to the pavement where guests parked their cars for the night. A muddy, battered black pick-up was parked in one of the spaces.

  Sarah parked her patrol car in the shadow and grabbed the handle of the big kitchen knife on the front seat. She wrapped several lengths of rope over her shoulder. Quietly she crept beside the pick-up truck and stabbed each tire with the knife’s sharp point as air spewed out.

  Sarah hoped to corner the men in their room. She rapped on the door in front of the hobbled truck.

  “Maid service,” she chirped.

  “Get out of here! We’re sleeping,” a male voice said. Sarah recognized Jake’s voice.

  “Sorry, sir, but I have something for you.”

  She heard someone coming to the door.

  When Jake cracked it open, Sarah pushed her way in and rammed the .45 into his stomach.

  “Sit down on the bed!” Sarah ordered. “I know how to use this gun.” Jake stepped backward and fell onto the twin bed, stunned. Clem was snoring on the other twin bed, likely fighting off a whiskey hangover.

  “I will kill you,” Sarah assured Jake. He believed her. “Lie down on the bed and keep your mouth shut.”

  He did as she demanded. She tied his arms to the bedposts, just as he’d done to Mrs. Franklin, and unzipped Jake’s jeans before pulling his briefs around his ankles. Clem was next. She secured his arms to his bed, waking him only after she had him tied up. She pulled down his pants likewise.

  “Shut up,” she hissed at Clem, “or you’ll die.” Sarah rammed a washcloth from the bathroom in Clem’s mouth, rendering him speechless.

  Sarah’s mind had taken control of the situation. She was no longer the obedient, frightened victim but rather the master over these criminals’ fate. The one who would rid the world of them and other sorry souls. Her purpose was clear: kill Jake Turner, and save the women he’d likely abuse in the future. Sarah had no choice. She stuffed another washcloth into Jake’s mouth and shoved it down his throat as he struggled against her. Placing her gun on his scrotum, she slowly pulled the trigger and shot Jake point blank. Blood spurted from his sack, oozing onto the bed and onto the floor. Jake Turner’s life was draining out on the dirty carpet of a cheap motel.

  Clem’s eyes showed his panic. He whimpered, begging like the cowardly animal he was.

  “You made your choice, Clem,” Sarah explained with no emotion in her voice. She was determined that no woman would ever suffer anything this man might attempt in the future. Her vagina twinged, remembering Clem clawing at her breast, as she aimed and shot Clem’s penis clean off his body. Blood shot straight up and soaked his torso.

  “Good bye, Clem,” Sarah said and smiled. The sight of so much blood thrilled her. She sat down in a chair, watching both men succumb to Sarah Sears. She had cleansed God’s world of two devils.

  The gun she cherished was now a problem. The bullets c
ould be traced to her weapon and implicate Sarah in the boys’ deaths. Quickly she concocted a story that would surely suffice in the lazy Montague County sheriff’s department.

  After ransacking the room and making it look like the scene of a robbery and murder, Sarah drove immediately back to her office. She stopped briefly on the lonely bridge over the Red River and wiped her gun clean of fingerprints before she threw it in the muddy water. Sarah was confident she’d be issued another Colt .45 because she’d report that the two thugs had stolen her gun two days before. She felt sure Zach would gladly serve as a witness to anything she said. Zach was becoming vital to Sarah’s plan of becoming a better crime fighter. God and Zach were her partners.

  Since the double murder would be reported in Oklahoma, Darrel would write it off and be happy he didn’t have to do anything more. It would soon be back to business as usual, exactly how Darrel liked the sheriff’s department to run. No doubt he’d criticize Sarah for losing her gun, but he would issue her another one so that she could keep doing her job. Doing her job assured him the opportunity of more lazy days eating and drinking.

  Sarah had a slight feeling of nausea as she parked outside the office, but mostly, she felt smug. An eye for an eye and a scrotum for a vagina, in this case, hers.

  “Thank you, God, for giving me the strength to do your will,” Sarah prayed. After she left the office and headed home, she remembered she would need to have Pete’s supper ready on time.

  ***

  Olivia and Pete were standing on the driveway when Sarah drove up. Wary of interacting with Pete, she got out of the car, looked at Olivia, and asked, “What’s going on?”

  Olivia looked anxious to tell a story. “Mom, you know my friend Cynthia Stevens?”

  “Yes, why?” Sarah inquired.

  “She died today.”

  Sarah was shocked. Cynthia was a positive role model for Olivia. She was a good student and was always helping at their church.

  “What happened?” Sarah asked.