Violence

by Timothy McDougall

  Ward leaned forward, wheezing a bit and took them from Anderson. Ward had some weight on him, probably from endless computer trawls for info or sedentary surveillance, but he was otherwise fit for the most part.

  “That’s what I have…” Anderson continued. “… and the rest is what he gave the lawyer who was supposed to help them.”

  “Looks like they filed for an adjustment of status…” Ward gave Anderson a preliminary appraisal as he flipped through the pages.

  “I guess there should have been an interview, a hearing, I don’t know.” Anderson offered what he knew, then asked, “If you could handle the paperwork, whatever he needs to satisfy immigration.”

  “I’ve got an idea where to go.” Ward sniffed with some confidence. “I know some people. Might cost a few grand, have to grease a few palms.”

  “That’s all right, he’s a good worker.” Anderson replied simply as he brought out a ledger and began writing a check to get things moving.

  The men’s locker room at the country club was all lit up as Alan Murphy, a smiling Irishman with a broad open face, along with some other congenial members, led Anderson up to a locker adorned with a mock newspaper headline which read: “CONGRATULATIONS! NOEL ANDERSON HITS BIG TIME!”

  “Your home away from home!” Murphy bellowed as he pumped Anderson’s hand.

  Everyone got their chance to pass on good wishes and pat Anderson on the back as he smiled sheepishly at the display.

  Karen Anderson, dressed in one of those Victoria Secret Signature cotton nighties, sat on a sofa in the family room with her legs curled under her watching a sitcom on TV.

  Outside, a 1995 LTD rolled slowly across the edge of the Anderson lot line and came to a stop in front of the house. Derek, driving, killed the engine. Gabriel, sitting shotgun, picked several small round pills out of a baggie, threw back one and washed it down with some whiskey. He dropped a pill in Derek’s upraised palm and Derek instantly swallowed it, washed it down. Gabriel held out a pill for Ruben who was sitting in the back, but Ruben was hesitant.

  “Take it.” Gabriel exhorted.

  “Nah, man, I’ve had enough.” Ruben replied. Rightfully so. All of them already appeared jacked-up, ready for anything, and were sweating profusely. Ruben was blinking a lot, probably his simple attempt to stay conscious, and not blackout.

  “Fuckin’ take it!” Derek demanded and Ruben finally complied, washing it down but choking on it, and coughing it up, spewing it and whiskey all over the back seat. “Pussy.” Derek derided him and exited the car along with his brother. Ruben got out of the back seat and followed them reluctantly.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea.” Ruben implored, shaking his head ruefully.

  “Shut the fuck up! We’re tellin’ that fucker off, gettin’ us fired!” Derek hissed contemptuously as he led the march across the front lawn, half-crouched, into the driveway, bypassing the front door altogether. They all disappeared around the corner of the garage and headed towards the backyard.

  The light from changing images on the TV in the family room flashed through the windows and flickered on the water of the swimming pool. It was a warm evening, the southwest wind had continued to push sultry warm air north and the leaves on the trees rustled all around.

  Derek, Gabriel and Ruben crept up the patio, staying in the shadows, stopping to peer in the window at Karen sitting on the sofa.

  “I don’t think papa bear is home.” Derek soon remarked after giving the interior a brief scan, especially pleased with his luridly observant witticism.

  “Ooohh baby, I’d like to suckle her honey.” Gabriel chimed in, his gaze locked on Karen’s long shapely legs now visible as she stretched them out beneath the scoop-neck nightie.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Ruben pleaded impatiently as he backed away, and made a noise, booting a cement mixing tub.

  Karen immediately sat up on the sofa and muted the TV. She listened.

  “Tristan?” Karen called, her voice audible through the screen opening in the sliding glass door.

  Derek and the others stayed stone still, not moving a muscle.

  Sharp contrast. The teeming men’s card room at the country club was abuzz with chatter, laughter. A baseball game played on a big screen TV.

  “Nothing and one is the count. Men on first and third…” A booth announcer could be heard presenting the play-by-play.

  Alan Murphy introduced Anderson to some more members.

  “Barry… John… meet our newest member, Noel Anderson!” Murphy boomed as Anderson stepped forward and shook hands with two men leaning against a bar counter.

  “Tristan? That you, sweetheart?”

  Karen was standing at the opening of the sliding glass doors when she called out into the darkness that pervaded the pool area and patio. But there was only silence.

  Karen slid the glass door shut and locked it. She stepped over to the land line telephone on a side table next to the sofa and picked up the receiver. She started to dial 911 but thought better.

  It was only moments later when Karen was in the master bedroom closet, reaching up, and feeling under a pile of sweaters on a shelf. Breathing heavy now, she soon found what she was looking for and nervously brought out a .38 Colt semi-automatic pistol.

  Karen backed out of the closet, looking over the gun with unfamiliarity while behind her the door to the master bedroom bathroom edged back. It was Derek. He crept up, snatched the gun from her grasp and covered her mouth with his hand.

  “Welcome to the club!” A lanky member in a polo shirt shouted against the din as he gave Anderson a hearty slap on the back while Anderson sat at a table playing cards.

  “Gin!” Anderson exclaimed, his voice cutting through the general boisterous laughter and repartee as he proudly laid his cards out on the table.

  “Lucky son of a bitch!” The balding man who Anderson beat chortled cheerfully as he shook his head and dumped his cards out in front of him.

  Derek, .38 in hand, hauled Karen to the sliding glass door in the family room, unlocked it, let in Gabriel and Ruben.

  “Please don’t hurt me. You can take anything you want.” Karen pleaded evenly, bravely trying to push away her fear, but still trembling through every inch of her body.

  “This is crazy!” Ruben blurted out to his cohorts in wan protest.

  Derek pulled off Karen’s nightie and Karen fell on the floor dressed only in her panties. She started to sob now. Derek angrily hoisted her to her feet and stuck the nozzle of the .38 against her temple.

  “We don’t want forcible rape now, do we?” Derek cautioned her, his hot acrid breath in her face. “Scream or struggle and I’ll blow your fucking brains out!”

  Karen almost reflexively went pliant, face suddenly slack, head falling back resignedly with her deadened gaze going someplace only the tortured know. She was already viewing this as an out-of-body experience, straining to block it all out before it even happened.

  “I need a beer. Tell me when you’re done.” Gabriel grunted simply as he turned on an expensive table top compact stereo system, found the station he liked that played classic rock, turned it up loud then headed for the refrigerator in the kitchen.

  Derek unfastened his pants.

  Headlights approached the Anderson house in the street outside. Soon, a minivan pulled up and stopped opposite the driveway. A side passenger door opened on the idling rectangular-shaped van and Tristan got out in her party dress.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Tristan said, stumbling slightly on the pavement, still not used to the high heels she was wearing.

  Tristan was thanking the woman behind the wheel of the mini-van. She was the mother of one of Tristan’s friends who got the duty of driving all the girls home from the dance.

  Three other teenage girls inside the minivan, classmates of Tristan, waved and giggled from the other passenger seats as the power-operated side door slid shut again.

  “Whose car is that?” The mother asked Tristan, putti
ng down her driver’s side window.

  Tristan turned to look at the rusted-out vintage LTD parked in front of the house, visible in the glow of the minivan’s headlights. The LTD was a bit incongruous in this neighborhood, even more so at night, but to Tristan it was just a car.

  “I don’t know.” Tristan just shrugged.

  “Do you want me to wait until you get in?” The mother offered with a tinge of concern.

  “No, it’s okay.” Tristan answered.

  The mother smiled, thought for a moment, nodded and drove away.

  Tristan was kind of glad to be finally done for the evening. She couldn’t wait to take off her high heels. She undid the ankle-strap and kicked off her shoes. She picked them up with a tired sigh, and trudged towards the house.

  At the top of the driveway, Tristan noticed the muffled sound of music coming from the patio area. She skipped even trying the front door, and headed straight for the backyard area.

  Inside the family room, Derek, atop Karen, was just finishing ejaculating. He lifted himself off her and grabbed an end of his ratty BVDs that were bunched up around one of his calves. He pulled his underwear on as he stood. On his sweaty back the most prominently displayed tattoo was visible now, a glistening figure of a robed Jesus holding a smoking gun.

  “My turn.” Gabriel declared scornfully, taking another sip of beer before he put the bottle down, unzipped his fly and stepped out of his pants.

  Ruben, for his part, was simply standing as witness. He glanced warily around, at once hoping he would get his turn, liking seeing a naked woman in any form, even if she were being raped, but still wanting to flee. While not rescuing her, leaving for Ruben would prove to himself that he did a very admirable thing in the end.

  Tristan plodded on to the pool deck. She paused for a moment in the dark, finding it odd to hear male laughter that was clearly not her father’s cutting through the music and also, could it be, what sounded like her mother whimpering? That’s weird.

  Tristan continued on, and moved up to a window to investigate where she instantly saw Gabriel having sexual intercourse with her mother on the floor of the family room while Derek held a gun to her mother’s head. Tristan went frozen in shock. She could actually hear her heart thumping. She looked to the telephone, a million miles away on a side table next to the sofa where Ruben stood, that other leering workman Tristan recognized from earlier in the day.

  It was the clack of Tristan’s shoes hitting the cement outside the window that alerted Derek and the others to her presence. Tristan’s high heels had dropped involuntarily from her grasp in her fright.

  Derek and Ruben’s sharp reaction caused Tristan to stumble backwards.

  Derek jumped up, pulled back the sliding glass door and screen, and stepped quickly through the opening with Ruben.

  Derek grabbed Tristan who was shaking and overtaken with fear.

  “Hey little cupcake, join the party.” Derek snakelike slithered up, enjoined Tristan who stared at him uncomprehending, mesmerized and lost for a millisecond in the presence of pure evil.

  “Leave her alone, man.” Ruben asked wearily, but he already knew what was coming next.

  “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Derek raged, spitting, foaming at the mouth, eyes wild and malevolent like one would imagine Satan’s to be.

  “I’m out of here.” And with that Ruben walked off into the dark of the night, finding the only morsel of humanity he possessed.

  Karen, on the family room floor, tried desperately to shove Gabriel off her to see what had made the others leave the room. Karen had been roused from her deadened state by an acute protective sense, the pounding music and brutality of what she was experiencing immediately overridden by her dreaded suspicion.

  Outside on the pool deck, Derek moved closer to Tristan who was trying to maintain her slim grip on reality, and not faint.

  Tristan was backing away from Derek, even though he held her thin tiny forearm in his grasp.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Derek frowned at her retreat, trying to act reassuring. “How long you been out here? You got me all hard again.”

  This last comment really made Tristan backpedal, terrified. She never knew what hit her when she banged her head squarely on a new pool deck lamppost metal arm protrusion and was knocked unconscious. She crumpled to the deck.

  Derek knelt, took hold of her hair and pulled Tristan’s head up.

  “Ah, shit, can’t fuck this.” Derek said, scanning Tristan’s young body, feeling cheated. Immediately, and with no thought at all, he rolled Tristan angrily into the pool.

  Inside the family room, Karen faintly heard the splash through the screech of a guitar riff on the radio and finally managed to push Gabriel aside who was just irritated by the interruption.

  Karen stood and in a beat of pure panic and horror at once saw the motionless body of Tristan floating face-down in the pool.

  Karen shrieked. One of those screams you always remember if made in your presence. She hysterically ran for the pool deck only to be snagged in the door opening by Derek and pushed back inside the house. Desperately, Karen tried to break free.

  “Let me go! God, let me go!“ Karen wailed.

  “You ain’t tellin’ on us, bitch!” Derek said as he gripped her fast.

  She saw him bring the .38 up and she tried to grab it, push it away, but he was too strong so the struggle was brief. Derek quickly managed to angle the short gun barrel under her chin.

  Blam!

  Anderson’s nearest neighbors, the elderly man and his wife were watching TV in their living room when they reacted to the gunshot.

  “What was that?” The elderly man said sitting up in his La-Z-Boy recliner, bringing the remote up out of his lap and muting the TV.

  “I don’t know.” His elderly wife replied looking up from a magazine she was perusing on a small chaise settee. She felt it sounded like a gunshot, but wanted to say it sounded like a firecracker because isn’t that what everyone says when asked later if they heard the gunshot.

  Stepping on to his patio, the elderly man motioned his wife to stay inside the house. He shuffled carefully in the dark and felt a little dizzy, having night blindness anyway from age-related macular degeneration. He did manage to get a look between the bushes as he stared off in the direction of the Anderson house and thought he could see two dark figures running from the pool deck area.

  He followed their progress, awkwardly rounding an umbrella table to get a clear look at the front of the Anderson house, to where the two figures ran to a car parked at the curb in the street. It looked like another man was waiting by the car.

  The elderly man anxiously cleaned his spectacles, his heavy breath fogging them, and placed them back on in time to see the car do a screeching U turn before roaring away with the three men.

  CHAPTER 5

  Anderson’s Mercedes sped steadily down a tree-shrouded street in the subdivision where his home was located. Anderson let his hand rest on the wheel, thumping his thumb with the beat of a song on the radio. He’d had a beer, maybe a half of another one, but the effects had worn off hours ago. All in all the evening had gone well and he was feeling good.

  Suddenly, a TV news van with a roof-mounted microwave antenna passed him fast.

  Anderson noticed it only when it got next to him. He found the van’s presence strange, but let it go for the moment as he reached into the backseat and grabbed a rectangular ribboned box containing an iPhone. He placed the box on the seat next to him, rounded a bend and looking ahead, his eyes grew wide.

  Through the trees, Anderson saw the blue flashing roof turret mars light bars of parked police cars. The tree line cleared and it quickly became evident the police activity was in front of his house.

  At once, Anderson knew that his world had come crashing down.

  It was only moments later when Anderson skidded his Mercedes to a stop in the street near his house where he could proceed no further and jumped out of his car. He waded through a group of cur
ious onlookers, their faces surreal in the oscillating glare of the mars lights.

  Anderson hurried past the news crews who were setting up and ducked under the yellow police plastic barricade tape that was already strung across his lawn. He ran towards his house where the police activity was already in full force.

  Detective Wayne Crotty, a plainclothes homicide veteran with a Novocain grin, had a notepad and pen in hand. He was interviewing Anderson’s elderly neighbor when Anderson moved past them.

  “Where you going?” Crotty said to Anderson, able to grab him by the shoulder.

  “This is his house.” The elderly neighbor quickly offered.

  “My wife and daughter?” Anderson asked, almost disembodied.

  Crotty passed a look to Gene Peterson, another detective nearby with a numbed demeanor who had only half the mileage Crotty possessed. The look between them told Anderson all he needed to know.

  Anderson started for the front door.

  “Sir, you can’t go in there right now.” Crotty said, scooting to get in front of Anderson, putting his arm up to stop him. “Please, you’ll contaminate the crime scene.“

  Anderson started to push past him when a uniformed officer standing guard at the front door moved up in a defensive posture and Peterson sidestepped over from his crime site coordination duties with some orange-vested detectives to help Crotty secure Anderson.

  “Sir, work with us, please. You can’t do them any good right now.” Crotty entreated.

  Anderson stopped resisting as the front door was suddenly opened from the inside by a gloved tech. The tech was holding the door back for another man wearing protective glasses over a surgical mask who was a forensic investigator from the Medical Examiner’s Office as he emerged from the interior of the house in a “bunny suit,” which also consisted of vinyl gloves, a hair net, disposable paper jumpsuit and shoe-coverings. The M.E. investigator signed his initials on a security sign-in sheet held out by the uniformed officer to log his exit from the premises.