Revenge on Red Mountain

By Mickey Snead

A very rich Colorado business man and a local sheriff seek revenge for the death of their sons, who both died from a drug overdose. In an attempt to get revenge the men plan the killing of nine known or suspected drug dealers in their town of Douglas, Colorado. The Sheriff does the killing and business pays the sheriff $10,000.00 for each dealer killled. All together they murdered 9 young men thought to be drug dealers. However, one of the suspected dealers killed turns out not to be a drug dealer but is the grandson of the local Godfather. The sheriff and the business man were never convicted of the murders and walked away free from the legal community. However, they did not walk away free from the Godfather.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626757769

Book preview

One

Chapter 1

Although it was cold and snowy, Sheriff John Taylor drove to the top of Red Mountain to get the best view of the canyon. From his vantage point, he could see the entire mountainside, including the old worked out mills and the downtown area of Douglas, Colorado. With the help of strong binoculars, he was able to spot a figure walking south along the creek bed towards the old deserted coal mine buildings east of Brookwater Bridge. The sheriff wasn’t able to see if the figure was a man or a woman but it didn’t matter, because whoever it was would soon be dead.

The top of the mountain was mostly bare exposed red soil caused by historic strip mining, but most of the mountain was thick with blue spruce and pinion pines. With the wind blowing hard out of the north, and the snow falling heavily, driving down the mountain would be hard, slow, and dangerous. He would need to keep his jeep in four-wheel drive and he would also need to hug the inside of the road, to keep from sliding off the edge and rolling several hundred feet down the mountain.

Several years ago, the road was in great shape when it was being used to haul timber down the mountain, where the wood could be easily transported to the mills for processing. But now, since the logging operation had closed, the road had deep ruts, was narrow in spots, and had many washed out sections. Sheriff Taylor thought he would need another 45 minutes to reach the bridge and make the kill. He estimated that he would need an additional thirty minutes to drag the body to the old mill area, dig a shallow grave, bury the body, and still make the Wednesday evening Bible service.

When the Sheriff reached Brookwater Bridge, he could see his potential victim following the creek bed directly towards the bridge unaware of the Sheriff’s presence. Sheriff Taylor leaned on the bridge railing and watched his prey walk right at him. He had pulled his service revolver, a .45 caliber Glock 21, and waited for his victim to reach the bridge. He was a big boy, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with a full red beard and shoulder-length light brown hair. He wore a red and black stripped flannel shirt, brown winter hiking pants, and a tan cowboy hat with ear flaps to protect him from the cold. He had a black snow parka wrapped around his waist and tied in the front.

A little late to be out hiking, boy, Taylor shouted down, just as his victim was starting to walk under the bridge. Startled by the sheriff’s voice, the young man ducked his head to the side before looking up at the sheriff.

Oh! Hi. Yea, it’s late. So why are you out here Officer? the boy answered while looking up and noticing that the sheriff was pointing a hand gun down at the top of his head. Why are you pointing a gun at me? I’m not causing any trouble. Just taking a hike. Honestly, I haven’t done anything illegal. I know the land is marked as ‘no trespassing’ but I’m not hurting anything, just getting some exercise, he said. Seriously, I’m not looking for any trouble. Could you put that gun away? He pleaded.

Looks to me like you’re selling drugs, Sheriff Taylor responded.

Drugs! I’m not selling drugs. I don’t do drugs. Seriously, why would you think I’m selling drugs?

Because that’s what you’re doing. What are you selling? Probably that crazy stuff. What’s it called? Ecstasy? Or maybe you’re dealing cocaine.

For a brief second, Taylor was back in Vietnam, surrounded by North Viet Cong ground solders shooting at him while he hid behind a US Army tank. Then he heard the boy say, I told you, I’m not selling drugs. I’ve been visiting my grandfather who lives just down the road and wanted to get a little fresh air. You can check with him, his name is… The boy was dead before he could name his grandfather.

Sheriff Taylor got a shovel from his jeep, pulled the body about thirty feet up the creek bed from the bridge, dug a shallow grave and covered the body with dirt and small branches. He would return tomorrow and bury the body deeper, so the animals could not get to it. Like all the other drug dealers he had shot and buried on this mountain, this body was not going to be found. The mountain served as great burial grounds since it had thousands of acres of heavily forested land and was strictly off limits to everyone. The land was owned by the Ford family, was fenced and well-marked with no trespassing signs.

This would be the ninth and last drug dealer Sheriff John Taylor would kill.

Chapter2

Did you get my message about someone walking on my land? Frank Ford whispered to Sheriff Taylor as Taylor slid in the church pew beside him.

Yes, I did. It’s been taken care of, Taylor replied.

"Was he selling drugs? What was he selling? Where is he buried? Was the guy alone? Ford had a lot of questions, but they would need to wait until after the service ended. It was Wednesday night and the mid-week prayer services had just started when Sheriff Taylor took the seat next to Frank Ford IV.

Ford’s family owned the mills, thousands of acres of land around the county, including Red Mountain, and most of the downtown office buildings that made up Douglas, Colorado. His great- great- grandfather had started a mining and smelter operation in 1884. His great- grandfather expanded the mining business around the turn of the century to include furniture building. During the depression, Ford’s grandfather added glass processing to the ever-expanding family empire, and his father started adding land and buildings after World War II. Ford followed his Dad’s line of thinking by acquiring more land and buildings.

The Ford family business was called Kope Industries. Ford’s great, great grandfather had immigrated to Colorado from a small town in southern Germany called ‘Kope’ and simply used the name of his hometown when he started the company over 120 years ago.

The Ford family consisted of three brothers, including Frank, and one sister. Ford was the oldest and was the CEO and Chairman of the Board of Kope Industries. The middle brother was the company’s Vice President of Operations and the youngest brother served as the company’s Vice President of Sales. Frank’s sister, Carolyn, was married to a doctor in Denver. All four of the siblings served on the Board of Directors of Kope Industries.

Frank Ford was 6’3 and weighted 225 lbs. his muscular body a result of three days a week in the gym lifting weights. A handsome man with salt and pepper hair that he wore on the long side, his only physical distraction was his bright green eyes, which seemed to give off a soft glowing effect. His jaw was square and his teeth were near perfect and very white. According to Forbes Magazine, the Ford family was listed as the 164th wealthiest family in America. As a result of Frank’s investing skills, both in the private and in the public markets, he personally was ranked at number 320 on Forbes list of the Top 400 Wealthiest People in America. His two brothers and the sister were also well off, but were not listed in Forbes Top 400."

Frank Ford paid Sheriff Taylor $10,000 for each drug dealer he killed. To Ford, it was a small amount of money for the pleasure he got from knowing that his son’s death was being revenged. Sheriff Taylor got both the money and the revenge.

It had been eight years since Ford’s oldest son, Jeffery, and Sheriff Taylor’s son, Zack, had overdosed. They died together. Their bodies were found under the bleachers at the Douglas High School football field. Both had massive amounts of pure uncut heroin in their systems.

Since the boys had been best friends from the first grade, the families held a joint service. The day after the funeral, Ford contacted Sheriff Taylor and asked for a private meeting. The two had known each other for forty years and had even played football together when they were in high school. Remaining friends through the years, Ford had supported Taylor financially when Taylor decided to run for the Sheriff’s office. And in turn, the Sheriff kept a special watch on Ford’s property and interests. The meeting was held in Ford’s home office, where privacy could be guaranteed.

I know you’re deeply saddened by your son’s death, and I know the timing may not be good, but I need to ask you a question. Ford started the conversation after thanking Sheriff Taylor for meeting with him so soon after the funeral.

What’s the question? Taylor wanted to know.

How do you feel about revenge? Do you want to strike back? Ford asked.

Strike back at whom?

Strike back at whoever sold those drugs to our kids; dealers, dope pushers, anyone selling drugs in Parker County, Ford answered.

Frank, you know I’m going to arrest anybody selling drugs in this county. Surely, you realize that we will prosecute anybody involved with selling drugs, Taylor replied.

I’m not talking about the law prosecuting. I’m talking about doing the prosecuting. The law is too easy on these scum bags. I’m talking about taking matters into our own hands. Killing anybody we find selling drugs. Ford flatly stated while looking directly at Sheriff Taylor.

Are you talking about committing murder? Or worse, are you asking me to comment murder? To kill anybody even suspected of selling drugs? No trial, nothing, no questions asked? Taylor wanted to know.

Yes. Was Ford’s only reply.

Chapter 3

After the church service, Ford suggested that he and Taylor go to Denver, and have a few drinks. That was always the plan after every killing. Ford and Sheriff Taylor would drive to Denver, which was about 30 miles directly north. Usually both men would get soused while Taylor described in detail how he killed the suspected drug dealer. Nothing was left out, including what weapon Taylor used.

Afterwards, Ford would spend the night in the city with one of his mistresses, but Sheriff Taylor would go straight home since he needed to be at work the next day. Usually, Taylor took a cab back to Douglas since Ford always insisted that they drive his black Lincoln Town Car into town. The Lincoln always made Taylor think about one of those long black funeral hearses. Regardless of how late they stayed out, the very next day Sheriff Taylor would receive an envelope with ten individually wrapped bundles of ten one hundred dollar bills. The brand new bills were delivered by a private courier directly to Sheriff Taylor. The band wrapped around the one hundred dollar bills was inscribed with the words ‘Political Action Fund 4488’ and had the Denver National Bank Logo printed on the wrapping band.

Taylor kept the money in a steel safe that he had cemented and bolted into the floor of his tool shed, which was attached to the back of his garage and accessible only from the inside of the garage. He restricted his family’s access to the shed under the pretense that he kept loaded weapons that he needed for police work. Over the past eight years, he had accumulated over $90,000. Just knowing the money was in his shed was a good reminder of his son, Zack, and how he personally was revenging his son’s death.

Sheriff Taylor did not immediately agree to go along with Ford’s plan to blatantly murder everyone they suspected of selling drugs. Taylor wanted to revenge Zack’s death, but he didn‘t think he could kill again, especially after all the killing he had done in the service. He agreed to think about Ford’s proposal and later counter proposed to Ford that they consider bringing in a hit man to do the killing. He was not against revenging the boy’s death, but he had always been on the right side of the law and did not think he could be the executioner.

Six months after Ford mentioned the possibility of revenge Taylor called Ford. Can we meet? It’s a personal matter.

Sure, John. You want to come over to the office or we can meet at my home, Ford quickly answered, as Sheriff Taylor’s voice sounded jumpy.

Let’s meet at your house.

Is three o’clock good for you?

Great.

Sheriff Taylor arrived at the Ford mansion about fifteen minutes before the meeting was scheduled. He wanted to be early, in hopes that he would get a chance to visit with Ford’s wife, Kathy, before meeting with Frank. He and Kathy had known each other since they were two years old when they lived just across the street from each other on the same block. They went to the same schools and even attended the same church.

Their relationship was once more than a friendship, as they started dating in their junior year of high school and continued until after graduating. They even talked about getting married, but those plans never materialized.

Kathy answered to door bell.

Hi, John, it’s good to see you. How’s Janie? Hopefully, she’s started to cope with Zack’s death, she asked, while giving Taylor a big hug.

She’s still taking it one day at a time, but she’s OK, considering what she’s been through. How about you and Frank? he responded.

It’s tough. Frank is taking it very hard. Been drinking heavy and not sleeping well. I think he needs to see a psychiatrist, she said.

Takes time. Is he home? I was supposed to meet him here at three.

He’s in his office with the door locked and the blinds pulled down. Talk to him about seeing somebody. Will you? She pleaded.

I’ll try. Taylor answered.

Want something to drink? Ford asked while ushering Taylor into his office.

I’ll take a cold beer.

What did you need to see me about?

There’s been a killing.

Who got killed? Do I know them? Where, how, when? I didn’t read anything in the papers or hear anything on the T.V. Ford excitedly responded.

Last night about 10:00 pm, I got a call at home from one of my deputies. He told me that he had just gotten word of a drug buy going down up on Red Mountain and wanted to know if I could handle it, since he was on duty and couldn’t leave the phones.

What happened? Ford wanted to know.

Well, about half way down Old Forest Road, I came across a jeep that had run off the road and was buried deep in the ditch. Nobody was around so I started searching for the driver. After about twenty minutes, I spotted him

Spotted who? Who was it? Were drugs involved? What was he selling? Cocaine? Do you think he was the guy that sold to Jeffrey and Zack?

I’m not sure. There was only one guy and he was too stoned to tell me anything. I asked him what he was doing, but he wouldn’t answer. He just stared at me. Taylor related. I told him he was under arrest but he just stood there and looked at me for what seemed like ten minutes. Then he started to reach in his jacket pocket. That’s when I shot him.

You shot him right on the spot? What kind of gun did you shoot him with? You didn’t use your service revolver, did you? Ford asked.

No. I shot him with a long barrel 22 that I had been using for target practice. Why does it matter what I shot him with?

It matters because I want to know what kind of gun you used. Ford stared at Sheriff Taylor then again asked. "Do you think it was the dealer that sold to our kids?

I don’t know, why? Anyway he’s dead. Frank, just before I shot him, I had this vivid flashback from Vietnam. I could see all those people I shot over there, as if it were just yesterday. I was back in the jungle and shooting anything and everything moving. Then I had another flash back and could see both of our sons just lying there dead on the ground under those high school bleachers. I buried him in the same ditch that his jeep was in only further up the mountain. Think I should move the body? Taylor asked.

I don’t know. How deep is he buried? Can anyone find him? It’s my land and nobody is supposed to be on it. There are no trespassing signs" everywhere.