Miscarriage Of Justice (22 page)

For now, he chose to ignore the feeling and contented himself brainstorming over interior designs. The windows needed curtains, and the brightly painted walls were practically begging for something, anything, to be displayed on them.

He smiled a happy and contented smile, and slowly nodded approvingly. He was going to like living here. Already, despite the foreboding nature created by the emptiness, he felt quite at home.

As cozy as the place was though, and as much as he liked it, in no way could it compare to the style and comfort of the home where he and Jenna had lived. His lighthearted mood suddenly turned sour as he recalled his real purpose in renting the house and why he’d left the hotel.

One person bore the blame for it all, and it sure wasn’t him! Thanks to her, his family would never see this place. And, he’d never see them. He looked wistfully out the window, to the scene outside. Mariana was still free, just like everyone else out there. And no matter what he did, or as much as he tormented her, that’s the way she would remain, free and easy, with nothing to ever bother her. Unless he decided to end this by killing her. That was becoming more of an inviting possibility all the time.

He suffered no delusional misconceptions that he’d ever be able to prove his case to a judge, or that he’d ever even have the chance to try. There could be no legal recourse. The one cold hard fact he’d learned from this whole insane experience was that the justice system was nothing but a farce. Justice was nowhere to be found when a rouge court wielded its power to effect its own desired outcome of a case.

Scrapping the whimsical idea of shopping for home furnishings, Ethan instead drove downtown looking for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters; it didn’t matter what they were as long as they made house calls. He didn’t need any work done; he planned to send a parade of nonstop filthy construction workers traipsing to Mariana’s door. He’d already made one such appointment with a plumber just to test the water, so to speak. But he had a lot more of the same in mind. More trivial shenanigans. But then, as long as they had the desired effect on Mariana, they weren’t so trivial at all.

He could easily have used the computer to do his searching, having set it up on the floor in his new home, but this way he was able to reacquaint himself with his old hometown. A lot had changed in the last sixteen years and parts of the community were almost like a new city. Yet, many of the memorable characteristics were still there.

Armed with a pen and paper, he drove up and down the streets, jotting down any place he saw that would fit his plan. The chore consumed the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon. By four o’clock, he had over seventy businesses on his list.

Oblivious to the growing hunger pangs and his growling stomach, Ethan sorted through the papers as he drove home. There would be plenty of time for eating and furnishing the house after he’d made a few phone calls.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, papers spread out in front of him, one by one, he dialed the numbers from the list. Checking off the names as he went, Ethan scheduled a total of seventeen appointments for Mariana. Figuring that would keep her busy for awhile, he laid papers aside and set out on another excursion in his quest to find a decent restaurant.

It was another futile endeavor.

His new house still needed furniture and hoping to have better luck with that than finding a restaurant, he stopped at the first department store on the way home. Caught up in the frenzied excitement, he spent nearly twice what he planned. Besides the furniture, he found there were many other things the house would need; curtains, bath towels, dishrags, the list seemed endless. The amount at the register was depressing. At the rate he’d been going through money lately, he’d be out of funds in a few short months.

“I’m really going to have to find a job,” he grumbled as the stark realization began to sink in. Not only did he need money to live, but more importantly, to finance his personal war against Mariana. But, he still had a while before it became a necessity, and he gladly pushed the troubling thought from his mind.

With a little ingenuity in packing, he was able to load all of the boxes of ready to assemble furniture into his car. Then remembering he had no tools, he made another trip into the store before heading home.

Unloading and carrying his treasures into the house took well over an hour. He stacked the boxes in the living room and, pausing to catch his breath, looked over his newly acquired treasures; an entertainment center, kitchen table and chairs, a computer desk, nightstand, and a bookshelf, as well as several smaller pieces. The quality of this furniture was greatly lacking, as the label “Made in China” made abundantly clear, but it would do for now.

First, he tightened up the bolts on his bed and then turned his attention to the other furniture. It looked like a long night of work but he didn’t mind. He approached the job with more enthusiasm than he’d had in quite awhile and decided it was due to the fact he would be doing something for himself for a change.

Deciphering the poorly written instructions turned out to be not nearly as much fun as he’d imagined. Sorting through hundreds of nuts, bolts, screws, and other fasteners, along with dozens of pieces of hardware, was both tedious and time-consuming. But it did keep him occupied. Finishing the dining room table and chairs first, he eyed the entertainment center. By far, it was the largest and most complicated item he’d bought. Which meant, it would take the most time to complete. Shrugging, he knelt and began opening the cardboard box.

“I’ll never get it done if I don’t start,” he said in his most philosophical voice.

Sliding the pre-cut boards out of the box, Ethan stacked them against the wall, leaving the center of the floor clear for working. Tearing open the bag of fittings, he studied the directions and arranged the assortment of pieces. Methodically, he began tapping the cams and cam locks into the pre-drilled holes.

The peaceful night was suddenly broken by the sound of the living room picture window shattering, followed immediately by a sharp thud coming from the wall only inches behind him. A startled look on his face, Ethan’s reaction was delayed only a fraction of a second. Without having time to think about what he was doing, he stared for a brief moment into the empty black space, where the window had been. Then, as the realization of what just happened settled into the gray matter inside his skull, he dove headlong for the hallway. He hadn’t heard a shot, but it had definitely been a bullet, that had smashed through the windowpane and then embedded itself in the wall. A bullet clearly intended for him!

Heart pounding, nerves on edge and his mind racing, Ethan lay perfectly still on the carpeted floor of the hall. Wondering if his unknown assailant would appear to check the success of his shot, or to make another attempt, Ethan subconsciously held his breath. Either way, he needed to be ready.

Hearing the ominous sound of crunching leaves, he tensed, expectantly waiting for the gunman to reveal himself. Slowly, warily, and as quietly as possible, he stood to his feet, careful to keep his body out of sight. From his vantage point in the darkened hall, only six feet from the broken window, he positioned himself as close to the doorway as he could. Still clutching the hammer he’d been using on the furniture, he raised it over his head as he heard the gunman climbing over the windowsill.

Though he desperately wanted to have a look, he dared not a peek around the corner. Patience was the key to staying alive. Still, he was dying to see who it was that had tried to kill him.

Listening as the heavy footsteps grew nearer; he tried to visualize the location of the intruder. Armed with only a hammer, his strike had to be perfectly timed. To act too quickly would expose his body to the gunman. Any delay, would net the same result. Either way, he’d be dead. There would be no second chance.

Thanks to his placement of the lamp, the dark shadow on the opposite wall helped him judge when to make his move. Like a mountain lion poised to pounce on an unsuspecting prey, he held his ground until the last possible moment, and then sprang into action.

The intruder was approaching from his left, and taking a single step forward, Ethan swung the hammer with as much force as he could muster. With only a split second to identify the target and aim his weapon, he acted without hesitation.

The impact of the hammer blow connecting with the man’s skull sent the body of the attacker reeling. Sprawling face down into a motionless heap on the floor, the man made no sound. The pistol he’d clutched in his right hand fell harmlessly to the carpeted floor. Ethan kicked it out of reach, keeping his attention on the body, which still had not moved. Worried the gunman may not have been alone; a cautious Ethan again retreated into the protective recess of the hallway, out of the light and away from the window. Warily, he kept his eyes glued to the lifeless form lying on the living room floor.

Waiting a full ten minutes, and then halfway convinced no one else was present, and confident man inside his house no longer posed a danger, he bent to his hands and knees. Staying low, he ventured forward. Shaking the body, and getting no response, Ethan felt for a pulse. There was none. And there was no breathing. The man was dead!

Surprisingly, only a tiny trickle of blood ran slowly from the gash on the man’s head where the hammer had wickedly sunk deep into the scalp. The seeping blood trailed down the man’s cheek and soaked into to the carpet. Though at a loss as to what to do for a minute or two, Ethan didn’t panic. Searching through his shopping bags, he found the curtains for the living room window. Wasting no time, he removed the rod from the wall and attached the curtains, hanging them over the open window. The thin material didn’t offer much protection, but it did give him a little privacy by keeping the neighbors, or anyone else who happened to be passing by, from seeing the dead man lying conspicuously on his living room floor.

That taken care of, Ethan examined his attacker—or victim. The man appeared to have been approximately his own height, but was more heavyset, with black hair and a mustache. His skin was olive toned. The stereotypical description of a mobster.

Glancing around the room, Ethan spied the firearm the man had used lying against the far wall. A .357 Magnum, fitted with a silencer, lending further credence to the assumption the man was from the mob. The silencer explained why he hadn’t heard the shot, he thought.

What seemed particularly odd though, was that the guy had missed. Professional hit man did not usually miss their target. Ethan squinted, studying the man. Maybe he was just a flunky, he thought. A nobody, sent to take out a nobody. Shrugging, he looked back toward the window. It didn’t really matter who the guy was, the important thing is he hadn’t accomplished the mission. Ethan wasn’t dead, unlike his uninvited guest.

No doubt existed in his mind as to who was behind the failed attempt. The same one who’d been responsible for his late-night visitor in the hotel and for all his ill-fated luck for nearly two decades. He broke into a wry grin; apparently, his incessant pestering was having the desired effect. He chuckled to himself mischievously. And there was plenty more on the way.

Growing serious once more, staring thoughtfully at the body on the floor, Ethan was bothered by one particularly nagging thought. If the shooter were indeed from the mob, there would surely be a retaliation for the man’s death. He’d have to constantly be on his toes from now on.

The immediate question though, was what to do with the body of the dead assailant. Almost instantly, he had the answer. And shaking his head, he couldn’t help thinking how life’s little ironies could be, well, so ironic. If his antics so far had the D.A. upset, enough to negotiate his murder, his new plans would really send her over the edge.

What he now had in mind went far beyond anything he could have dreamed up in prison. Although aware of the dangers associated with his bizarre idea, he dismissed them summarily. If he worked quickly and efficiently, he’d be able to pull it off without much trouble.

First things first though. Tying a plastic garbage bag over the man’s head, to catch the still oozing blood, Ethan backed his car right up to the door. The fact the blood had already soaked into the carpet didn’t concern him much. Whether the guy was connected to the mob or not, he’d come for the sole purpose of killing Ethan. It was highly unlikely his disappearance, or where he’d last been headed, would be reported to the police.

Popping the trunk, Ethan returned to the house and fished out two brand new bath towels from his bags. Using them to line the bottom of the trunk, just in case moving and repositioning the body caused more blood to flow from the one-inch hole in the man’s head, he again turned back to the house.

Grabbing hold of the already cold and stiffening body, Ethan dragged the corpse to the door. The dead weight was difficult to maneuver, and it took a few minutes to stand the body up. Leaning the man against the bumper, and then directing the head downward into the trunk, he let the upper torso fall. Picking up one heavy leg at a time, he stuffed, wedged, and crammed the man’s body into the car. Slamming the trunk lid, he again parked the car the right way in the drive.

Hurrying back inside, he scrubbed his hands for a good fifteen minutes. Finally then, he picked up the gun. The firearm was a fine piece of workmanship. A six-inch barrel, steel alloy frame, anatomically formed grips with a brushed chrome finish. By far, it was the most expensive gun he’d ever held.

Pushing the release, he slid out the magazine. Nine rounds remained. Admiring the sleek firearm a couple of minutes, he unscrewed the silencer, pushed the magazine back into place and gingerly laid it inside a kitchen cabinet. “This just might come in handy,” he said closing the cabinet door.

Cleaning the partially congealed blood from the carpet, he then hung the rest of the curtains, which created the impression of some semblance of security in his new home. At least he
felt
more secure. Without emotion, he resumed the task of assembling the entertainment center, waiting for the right moment to arrive to continue with the disposal of the body. The open window kept him from becoming too engrossed with the chore. As he worked, the late-night sounds drifted in—passing cars, a dog barking in the distance, the neighbors across the street arriving home—nothing out of ordinary. Or so he assumed, this being only his second night in the neighborhood.