The Vigilante God

By Paul R Meredith

The accidental hunting death of his eight-year-old son caused attorney Paul Dixon to go off on a wild tangent, costing him his marriage, his law career, and much, much more. He quit his position at the law firm where he was employed and left town after his divorce was final. He went into seclusion, changed his identity to Sam Little, and carefully conceived a plan to seek out the family members of those victims whose loved ones had suffered violence at the hands of the criminals in our societycriminals who had not received the full punishment of the justice system due to technicalities, loop holes in the law, crooked police, crooked judges, or slick-talking lawyers. Dixon's plans would be financed by those family members who felt they were cheated by the system, and the custom plans would be carried out by Sam Little's select few hand-chosen associates.

This is a Meredith story of such mystery, suspense, and intrigue, that the reader will find it difficult to lay it aside.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 27, 2002
• ISBN: 9781462079957

Paul R Meredith

Paul R. Meredith writes stories that define and capture real life romantic experiences in a new and exciting way not seen in recent years. His stories are not easy to lay aside.

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All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Paul R. Meredith

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fiction.

ISBN: 0-595-23354-6

ISBN: 97814620-7995-7 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 1 0

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 1 2

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 1 4

C H A P T E R 1 5

C H A P T E R 1 6

C H A P T E R 1 7

C H A P T E R 1 8

C H A P T E R 1 9

C H A P T E R 2 0

C H A P T E R 2 1

C H A P T E R 2 2

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 2 4

C H A P T E R 2 5

C H A P T E R 1

The deep dark of evening descended on the city less than two hours ago. It was an uncommonly chilly, late October evening. A huge orange harvest moon was hanging low in the southwestern sky, with wisps of cloud cover floating slowly past its face. The horizon basked in the bright glow of the moon. Jess Wilkins quickly glanced up at the bright of the moon as he prepared to light his twentieth Camel of the day. He smiled at his good fortune as he thought of how his day had turned out. He had done well this day. He had had a very good day indeed.

The light breeze blew the lighter out twice before Jess could shield the flame well enough to successfully light the cigarette. He inhaled deeply on the first drag, pocketed his lighter, and then turned and walked briskly south along the old and crumbling brick building he had exited only a moment before. He bent his head into the now strengthening breeze of the open street as he tried to keep the top of his coat pulled together with one hand to keep the night chill off his neck as he walked and smoked. He did not want to catch another cold like the one he just got over.

Less than ten seconds later, a car turned the corner and roared toward Jess on the dimly lit and deserted street. Instinctively, Jess turned his head to look toward the source of the approaching noise, carefully holding his hat on his head. Just as he turned his head, the dark-colored Dodge sedan screeched to a sliding stop less than three feet from where he walked, alarming him enough to cause him to jump back in fear. Two men leaped from the car and grabbed Jess before he could comprehend what was happening. What the hell do you think you’re doing? He dropped his cigarette on the concrete walk, sending sparks flying everywhere, and then he lost his hat to the wind in the scuffle as he struggled valiantly—until the lights went out. The two men picked Jess’ limp frame up by his feet and shoulders and roughly shoved him into the rear seat of the car. One of the men quickly entered the rear seat from the opposite side, the side next to Jess’ head, and the other slid himself into the driver’s side of the front and yanked the shift lever into drive. The car screeched its tires and sped off into the moonlit night.

Jess woke up to a pitch-black environment several hours later, his head pounding like hell. He thought at first he had just dreamed a bad dream, but then he quickly sorted things out and realized it was not a dream after all. His head throbbed terribly. He reached up and felt the back of it with his fingers. He discovered there was a very large knot on the back ofhis head that had recently bled, although it was now scabbed over and completely dried up. Once he finally realized he had not been dreaming, the events that led up to this point were slowly coming back to him. He remembered being hit on the head during the scuffle with the two men on the street.

Checking out his surroundings in total darkness, by feeling with his hands and fingers, he concluded that he must be in some type of room without any windows. There wasn’t a speck oflight anywhere, nor could he feel anything that resembled a window casing. He suddenly realized that he was stark naked. Why is this happening to me? What the hell is going on? he thought. Jess Wilkins seemed completely mystified why any of this was happening to him, or even what it was for sure that was happening to him. He was becoming very upset just trying to figure out what the purpose ofhim being here in this condition could possibly mean.

Jess walked his way carefully around the black room once again, feeling what he could as he inched his way carefully along the walls. The room appeared to be about ten or twelve feet square, had very thick vertical wooden siding as interior walls, and had a big heavy door of some kind on one side. It had a round metal plate on the end of a rod, a strange type of opener, but it would not open as he pushed it in. It just seemed to collapse like it wasn’t engaging anything at all. He couldn’t begin to imagine what type of room it could possibly be, especially with no visible light at a door crack or anywhere else. The room smelled funny to him, like maybe soap or light ammonia or something similar—like it had been recently scrubbed. It was stifling warm and humid, without any detectable air movement at all. Jess was sweating heavily now. Reaching above his head as he tried crossing the dark room, he ran into an object hanging from above. He examined it in the pitch dark with his hands and guessed it to be some type of steel hanger mechanism. As he ran his hands up the slender steel shaft, he discovered it was suspended from a roller mechanism on a curved rail. His hand hit another object as he felt his way around this metal rail. He quickly figured out that it must be a type of hook suspended from a wheeled trolley of some kind that could roll around on the rail. Along the walls, he discovered there were hanging pegs mounted on a heavy board at eye level. He started sweating even more profusely as it suddenly dawned on him that he must be in an old, unused meat cooler. He panicked and started crying from fear of the unknown.

Then a thought suddenly crossed his mind. Maybe it’s so dark because I’m blind. Maybe they caused me to go blind when they hit me on the head. Just as suddenly, the thought left. Something told him he wasn’t blind.

Jess pounded on the walls with his fists, screaming at the top ofhis voice, Get me out of this damn place! Help, help me, somebody please help me! It was fruitless. The walls were so heavy that he

knew his efforts were in vain. He collapsed on the floor in a heap and cried, and eventually fell asleep from exhaustion and frustration.

Sometime later—no telling how much later, Jess was awakened by the sound of somebody outside tampering with the door handle mechanism. He cowered in the corner, wondering who it was and what was coming next. He was frightened out ofhis wits for the very first time he could remember in his entire life. He felt completely helpless.

The light from outside the room crept in as the heavy metal and wooden door swung open, and the powerful light that was suddenly flashed in his face blinded Jess Wilkins. Get up on your feet, asshole, a strange, deep-throated male voice bellowed. We’ve got a date for you with the judge.

Two men grabbed him roughly from both sides, yanked his hands behind him and secured them with duct tape, after which they marched him into a room. His eyes were just starting to focus from being in the dark so long, when he noticed there was a woman in the room. He could see she wore a green dress, and he smelled the flowery perfumed fragrance that wafted through the air and filled the room. He quickly realized she was also tall and had beautiful, flowing red hair. Her face was covered, possibly for her own protection. Jess suddenly remembered he was stark naked, and he squirmed as he tried desperately to cover himself, failing because his hands were secured with tape behind his back.

It was an interesting experiment—having the accuser see the accused for the very last time and knowing justice would be final, but Sam Little knew he would never allow it to happen like this again. It opened up far too many possibilities for making deadly mistakes. There was no good reason to hold a person and have a trial. Sam Little always learned from his mistakes. This would be his last trial.

φ φ φ

A party was breaking up at Harley Kearns’ country estate just six miles from the edge of the city limit sign. Several men, maybe as many as eleven, headed to their individual cars and utility vehicles to leave. They were laughing and saying their good-byes to Harley and the giggling ladies who were standing in the doorway as they left.

See ya in a couple of weeks Harley, yelled Nick Honeycutt. Keep them babes warmed up for me until I get back from San Francisco, okay? Nick said as he slipped into the seat and started up his nearly new BMW. He turned the steering wheel and pointed it down the lane to the road that would take him out to the county highway. He was one of the first ones out of the lane and onto the secondary road. The others all followed quickly. Several turned left at the lane’s end, while others who lived to the north, turned right, as Nick did. Nick made the two miles to the main road quickly, and then took the entry ramp down to the big highway, and was cruising along the interstate at seventy-five miles an hour within a couple of minutes, thinking of the very good time he had just enjoyed at Harley’s place. It was one of those things that Harley did every now and then for the boys, and they all appreciated it. Getting away and spending an evening without the spouse or girlfriend is good for the guys, Nick thought. Harley always had some great-looking chicks there to help ease the pressure on the guys, or as he corrected his thoughts, to entertain the guys—do about anything to please them. The booze and the food were always great at Harley’s parties, but the sex was simply the best available. Harley found the sharpest girls around to help with the party. They were all part of his large and growing business empire.

An hour down the road, Nick’s bladder couldn’t hold out any longer, so he pulled into a rest stop to relieve the pressure on his system. He decided to get a cup ofblack coffee to help stay awake for the remainder of the drive home. After finishing in the men’s room, he slugged the coffee machine with the necessary coins to purchase a hot cup of black coffee. The machine dribbled the coffee down the drain; no cup dropped in place to catch the piping hot black coffee. Nick kicked the machine hard with his foot, and a cup loosened by the kick dropped into position—way too late. Disgusted, he reached for more change and put it into the machine and pressed the buttons again. Another cup slid down the chute and positioned itself at an angle against the cup already there, so most of the coffee missed the first cup before Nick could jerk it out of the vending machine. He received a good slopping from the hot black liquid. As he wiped the hot coffee off his hand and shirt cuff with his handkerchief, Nick uttered a long string of profanities. Looking into the paper cup he retrieved from the machine, he saw about half a cup of black coffee for all his trouble. He went to the water fountain and put a little cool water in the coffee and drank it down quickly, threw the empty cup in the trash and headed out the door to his car, still cursing from the experience.

Nick never bothered to even glance up at the stranger who just exited a parked car and was coming his way on the sidewalk. The stranger passed Nick going the opposite way, as ifhe was headed into the building, but then he abruptly turned and grabbed Nick from behind in a full-nelson type of wrestling hold. Hey, what the hell is going on? Nick screamed as he struggled to get his gun out of his shoulder holster. A second stranger, who quickly came from the same car as the first man, hit Nick on the head with something very hard, and he crumpled on the spot. The two men hustled him into the stranger’s car where they wrestled the car keys from his pocket. One of the men got in the BMW and followed the other car back in the direction that Nick had just come from a few minutes before.

φ φ Φ

The good-looking woman walked back and forth from the same street corner for most of the evening and into the wee hours of the morning. She wore a bright red blouse that was cut extremely low in front, showing a lot of cleavage, as well as a heavy gold chain necklace around her neck. Her mode of dress also consisted of a short black skirt, black net stockings and high-heeled black leather pumps. There was a gold ankle bracelet on her left ankle.

Occasionally a car would stop, and after a short muffled discussion between the street-walking female and the driver of the car, the woman would enter the car and leave with the driver. There were several other cars that stopped so the driver could chat with the woman. The streetwalker generally leaned over and talked with the occupants for a minute or so to check them out through an open window. Depending on her observation and intuition, she would often wave them away and resume her walking. When the woman would leave in one of the cars, as she frequently did, she would generally return within an hour or less and would resume her position and start walking the corner again. The longevity in the business she was in dictated that she take extreme care in approaching the occupants of the cars who stopped to talk to her. Prostitution was an extremely dangerous occupation for a woman to be in, from a personal point of view, so using extreme care was simply prudent behavior. The hooker left with the occupants of approximately seventy percent of the cars that stopped. She denied herself the opportunity ofleaving in nearly a third of the cars for a variety of reasons; perhaps foremost was her personal safety; next being fear of the law, or maybe even not liking the appearance or personal hygiene of the person inside the car. It was not uncommon for undercover police to try picking up the women and arresting them for solicitation. That was another very important reason to be prudent.

A large tan-colored Lincoln pulled up to the curb next to her, and the window on the sidewalk side came quickly sliding down. From inside the dark car a voice said, Hi, I’m Mark. Do you have a minute?

Sure, what are you looking for? she asked as she bent over and leaned on the car door to peek inside.

I’m probably looking for what you have to offer, assuming the price is right. Why don’t you hop in and talk with me?

The hooker leaned over a little more in order to peer inside to get a closer look. She saw a large, well-groomed man holding two one hundred dollar bills between his fingers. Will this do it? he asked.

She looked at him long and hard. You’re a cop, right?

No ma’am, not at all. I’m just a lonely boy from the big city looking for a little warmth and friendliness on a chilly night in a strange town.

She looked again, a little harder and a little longer. She opened the car door. Yes, it’s enough…for an hour. My name is Sharon, she said as she slid into the big leather front seat of the Lincoln and closed the door. The big car moved swiftly away from the curb and the dim lights of the street, and out into the darkness of the night.

C H A P T E R 2

aul Dixon was an excellent marksman and an avid game hunter.

-L He was taught to hunt as a young boy by his uncle, his mother’s only brother who was a confirmed bachelor and lifelong outdoors- man. Paul’s uncle believed that all men should be hunters, trappers and fishermen, and should know how to do those things above almost everything else. He felt all male children should be raised to do these things.

Paul learned how to hunt well at an early age, and he was good at all the other outdoor activities he was taught. He basically agreed in principle with his uncle that all males should know how to do these things, and do them well, so he made the effort to spend the time to teach his own son of eight everything the boy could absorb at such a young and tender age. The boy was a good shot for one so young.

During a deer hunting trip to southern Illinois one cold day late in November, Paul’s young son Brian was accidentally hit by a stray rifle bullet that came from somewhere out in the woods. Apparently someone, possibly another hunter off in another part of the woods, fired the errant shot. Paul saw his son drop his gun and fall to the ground like a rock. He dropped his own gun and rushed to Brian’s side at the very moment he realized his young son was hurt. He didn’t realize at first what just happened. His son never made any sound at all, but as soon as he was at his side, kneeling on one knee, he immediately saw the gaping wound in the boy’s head, still spewing blood. Paul yelled his son’s name frantically as he tried to stop the flow of blood with his handkerchief, Brian, Brian, what happened? Brian, it’s dad, speak to me son, please! But even as he cradled his young son’s head in his hands, he could see that Brian was already unconscious and fading fast. His eyes rolled up into his head, and his breathing rapidly slowed and became very shallow. Brian gasped his last few breaths of air, and then he died very quickly—within just a minute or two of the accident. Paul Dixon sat there on the ground holding Brian’s bloody head cradled in his hands, and he looked up into the winter skywith sad, tear-filled eyes, as if he was asking God why this had to happen. He screamed at the top of his voice, Help, somebody, please help us!

Three other hunters in the woods nearby heard Paul Dixon’s screams for help and came to aid him with Brian, but nobody who arrived on the scene could identify who fired the shot that killed the young boy, or even from which direction the shot had come—or at least nobody would own up to knowing. Each said they heard a shot, but claimed they had not fired one.

There was no reason to try to pin blame now. It was one of those hunting accidents that one reads about, and it is always someone else who gets hurt, except not this time. It was possible that the shooter, whoever it was, didn’t know anything like this had even happened. It could have been a bullet from nearly anywhere.

Paul Dixon stroked his young son’s head, crying, I’m so sorry I brought you with me on this trip, Brian. It was a horrible mistake. Please, please, forgive me. How could I possibly know something like this would ever happen? The three hunters tried to console Paul as well as they could.

Paul Dixon and the other three men carried his young son’s body and hunting equipment out of the woods that cold November morning. The strangers all helped Paul wrap Brian in a blanket and they assisted positioning him in the front seat of the pickup, carefully leaning him against the passenger side doorpost. They offered to help more, but Paul thanked them and searched for the truck key in his pocket. When he located it, he got in and started the long trip toward home, dreading the job that laid ahead—the job of explaining to his wife that their son, their only child, was dead from a stupid hunting accident. He knew she would be devastated, just as he himself was. Paul drove the nearly two hundred miles back home, agonizing the entire way, and he never stopped once for anything.

Once he arrived in town, Paul pulled in and stopped at the rear door of the funeral home. He had the boy covered with the blanket that he was wrapped in, the one he always kept in the truck in the event of an emergency.

A few minutes later the owner of the funeral home came out with an assistant and moved Brian’s body inside. Paul did what he had to do at the moment to get things started, but could only go so far without his wife.

Paul Dixon had to talk with the authorities. The owner of the funeral home was also the county coroner, and he told Paul he had to notify the sheriff, and asked him to wait while he called. The sheriff arrived at the funeral home a few minutes after the call was made. They all knew each other well. They had coffee together three or four times each week at McDonald’s before their workdays started.

Paul, I’m so terribly sorry to hear of this tragic accident. I know how much you and Sarah loved your son. My own son will have a hard time with this too. He and Brian were pretty good buddies.

I know, Sid. Brian always said your boy was his best friend at school, and away from school as well. I could see they were really close when he stayed at our house two or three times this last year. I know Brian was at your house a lot too.

Yes, and we thought a lot ofBrian, the sheriff said. I know how hard it is to think straight under conditions such as this Paul, but I wish you would have notified the authorities in the county where the accident happened, he explained, but it’s not that big of a deal. I’ll give them a call and let them know what happened. I don’t suppose you thought to get the names of those guys who helped you after the accident, did you?

No, I sure didn’t. I never even gave it a thought, Sid. I suppose I knew better too, but as you just said, it’s really hard to sort out all the right things to do when something like this happens to you personally.

The sheriff asked Paul several questions for the record, after which he excused him within a few minutes to let him drive on home to tell his wife. I certainly don’t envy you that job, Paul. Sarah will have a…well, she’ll take it really hard.

Yeah, I know. She’ll crumble when I tell her. I probablywill too. I wish I didn’t have to do it, but there’s no way around it.

The big sheriff draped his arm across Paul’s shoulders. Would you want me to go with you and tell her? I’ll do it if you want me to.

No, no thanks, Sid. I’ve got to do it myself…it’s the only way.

I’d be happy to go and back you up if you like.

I really appreciate it, Sid, Paul offered as he wiped his eyes again. I’ll get myself together on the way home. I’ll be okay, but thanks anyway. Paul left for the short drive home.

Sarah saw Paul get out of the truck in the driveway. She went out the door to meet him. Where’s Brian? she said. The question caught her husband unready to answer, so he hesitated to find some words. He knew how much Sarah was against Brian going on the hunting trip at his age.

Then suddenly, Sarah realized there was something about her husband’s demeanor that caused her to not want to hear the answer.

Paul walked her back inside with his arm draped over her shoulder. There has been a terrible accident, honey, he choked out. Brian was killed by a stray gunshot in the woods.

Sarah’s legs started to crumble under her own weight. Paul grabbed her and helped her inside to the couch in the living room.

He’s at the funeral home now. I’ll take you down there to see him if you want.

Somehow, after the initial shock of hearing the terrible news, and then after the instant disbelief, Paul was somehow able to console Sarah well enough to keep her from breaking down completely.

He spent a long time attempting to explain all that had happened, but Sarah couldn’t sort much out at the time. She was in denial. Paul did what he could to help his wife understand how it was all just a freak accident. She could only understand that her son was dead. She sat silent, in utter disbelief.

Later that evening, the two of them met with the funeral director so Sarah could see Brian’s body for herself. Fortunately, the funeral home friend had cleaned the wound and made Brian’s appearance much more presentable before Sarah saw her son’s body.

Sarah leaned over and kissed her son on the forehead, and then said a short silent prayer as she clutched her husband’s hand. She sobbed for a minute, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, but then as if she was in full control once again, she turned to Paul. Let’s make the arrangements now; there is nothing more we can do for Brian. The Lord has him in a safe place where he’ll never be hurt again.

Together with the funeral director, they sadly agreed on the plans for their son’s funeral service, and then the couple left for home. They somehow made it through the worst night of their lives and completed the remainder of the necessary funeral arrangements the following day. There was no sleep for either of them that night.

Two days later at Brian’s funeral, Paul silently vowed to his dead son that he’d somehow make it up to him. The boy’s death changed Paul’s life instantly and dramatically—changed it forever. His death changed Sarah’s life too, but in ways she could not know at the time.

Paul Dixon returned to work at the law office within a few days of his son’s funeral. He accepted the condolences of his work friends and the managing owners in the office with a bowed head, saying either very little or nothing at all to them in return.

Paul performed his work with a subdued quietness afterwards that he had never exhibited previously. His bosses and his friends felt he would get back to normal in due time, but Paul was never the same person again in the office where he had worked for the past fourteen years.

The time passed very slowly for Paul. His work was not as good now as it was before. He knew it better than anyone, and while he felt he could continue doing the work necessary to carry his share of the load at the law firm, he became more and more disgruntled with his clients, his managing owners, and just about everyone and everything else in his world. His patience was thin. He eventually turned his bitterness toward his wife, turning her almost completely against him. He bitched at her constantly about every single little thing, most of which were problems ofhis own rather than hers. Then later he went completely silent with her—would not offer to talk with her at all most evenings. He routinely came home from work, did what he had to do in the way of chores, read the paper, ate his dinner and went off to bed early in the spare room.

Sarah Dixon divorced her husband at the end of their eleventh year of marriage when she had her absolute limit and could take no more. It was a little more than a year after the death of their son. She could no longer handle the verbal and mental abuse from her husband, and especially the silent treatment he had punished her with for nearly the entire time since Brian’s funeral. Her husband made her feel as if she was the least desirable woman on the face of the earth—made her feel ugly and worthless.

Paul accepted the divorce action from Sarah with his head hung low. He secretly realized he was losing a very good woman—a wonderful and faithful wife. But even that seemed to matter little to him in his current state of mind.

A few weeks later, Paul went to one of the senior attorneys in the organization, one of the owners, Bob Gault, and announced that he was leaving the firm as soon as he could work it out and tie up some loose ends. He told Bob that he had some ideas he wanted to explore, and needed to be free enough to do some fairly extensive traveling to pursue them. I won’t be leaving for a few months yet, he told his mentor. "I have business to finish, but I wanted you to have