Excerpt from "And Justice for All..." novel by Carl Schuler (Amazon books)

28     Where Leads the Vipers’ Trail? Not, I Pray, to Me!

 

 

 

Kenny Winship seemed pleased with himself, thinking he had handled it well. Then, he felt the greasy burger and fries hit his belly when Jim asked, coldly, “What about Angela?”

Steeling his courage with another sip of Coke to settle his stomach, Winship continued.

“Jeez!” he began, “I knew you were going to ask that!” Barringer waited, obviously impatient.

“Some slovenly big guy in a cheap suit chomping on a big cigar approached her at school one day; said that he was a private detective looking into the rape charge the girl’s father had lodged against Jonny-boy Einhardt. He flashed a business card at her; she couldn’t remember his name when she told me about the incident. Thought it might be Dave or Dan, something like that. He said his last name to her, too. She thought it was foreign, you know, like Romonski or Dominski. She said it sounded eastern European; maybe, Polish. She was real scared.

“Oh! She said that his card had a logo of a horse with wings. A unicorn? Pegasus? Whatever?

“I told her not to worry. Probably somebody the girl’s father had hired. Three days later, Angela ends up with a broken neck in a one car crash way out in the desert at three a.m. No witnesses. Pretty neat coincidence?” Concluding the narrative, Kenny Winship sipped his soda.

Barringer eyed his new friend, seriously, weighing the newfound information.

“I don’t think so. And, neither do you.” Now it was Kenny’s turn to stare.

“First, the family moved away at the ‘gentle nudging’ of the authorities. It’s unlikely that the father would jeopardize his deal by hiring a private detective after the fact. Also, do you think Angela would have been on that road in the desert, alone in the early morning?”

“No. I don’t,” answered Kenny, honestly. His eyes shifted as he once again surreptitiously surveyed their immediate setting. “You know, don’t you, Jim, we’re beginning to talk about the ‘M’ word.” He said the last in a hush so low that Barringer had to strain in order to hear him.

The realization hit him like a mule kick to the stomach. Murder? Angela? Murdered? His Angela. For what? To save some scum not worth the price of a bullet. He felt physically sick. He knew the answers, all of them; he wished to God that he didn’t. Power. Money. Reputation. The perceived value of one person’s life over another. Killing for hire! Disgusting! Repulsive!

What kind of demented scum were these animals? Then, like a thunderbolt, it hit him.

“Oh! My God!” Sniper Sergeant James Barringer’s mind screamed, “They’re just like---ME!”

The “Oh! So! Noble!” Sergeant Jim Barringer was training for the same kind of task master!

He covered his mouth and ran for the restroom where he retched, throwing up into the toilet.

He was standing at the wash basin, splashing cold water on his flushed and sweating face when Kenny Winship joined him.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” he offered. “I had to tell someone. I couldn’t take it, any more. When you showed up, here, at her funeral, well, I knew that if anybody would understand, it’d be you.” He stood quiet, apologetic. Then, “I figured that you’d know what to do about it.”

Jim towel dried his face and hands. “I’m glad you told me, Kenny. That is exactly the question, now. Just what are we going to do about it?”

“Do?” repeated Winship, incredulous. “You know who these people are? They make the rules. Hell! They make the laws. They are the law! Literally! You can’t ‘Do’ anything.”

Jim smiled a cold, unpleasant grin. “I, can ‘always’ do, something. Mon Amie.”

Winship did not know why, but he believed the Army-man. Maybe it was the chill he felt.

That night, Barringer drove the California surfer to the airport and waited with him until his flight’s pre-boarding call came over the P.A. system’s loud speaker. He had acquired contact information from his new friend getting Kenny’s cell phone number, but had hedged when the surfer-boy requested his own, saying that the army frowned upon civilians having access to their personnel and military equipment; Winship said that he understood but seemed hurt by the refusal. Jim gave the boy his mother’s number and told him to call her and she would relay any message, then Barringer would then contact Kenny, if necessary. Ever vigilant! Always careful!

When Kenny left him at the security checkpoint, they shook hands and the California surfer-boy said, “Good bye!”

Jim smiled and said, “See you, soon.” He gave the L.A. boy a thumbs-up.

They had made no plans to meet. “What the heck was that all about,” Kenny wondered.

He would shortly learn the answer to his absent query.

Their next meeting would tell him much about this Army-man; more than he ever wanted to know as Jimmy Barringer would exorcise his own, Kenny’s and Angela’s spirit-demons.