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This is the third and final chapter of this tale. I hope you all like it, and with that said; please let me apologize for taking so long to finish it.
MoogPlayer
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Chapter One
ME
As soon as I put the phone receiver back into its cradle, Sarah immediately fell into my arms holding onto me like I was a life preserver that was keeping her afloat in a sea of fear while forcefully crying her eyes out.
"This is all my fault," she sobbed, "I should've never dated Dennis Worley to start with."
"I promise you that this has nothing to do with you, baby," I softly assured her, "Jimmy Don Worley wants me to face him alone. He said he's going to break me in half with his bare hands because he claims that I killed that degenerate piece-of-shit son of his. He also told me to bring him a million dollars in cash."
"What're we going to do?" she gasped, "We don't have that kind of money, Michael; at least not that I know of."
"Yes, you do," I heard my father's voice suddenly say, as he entered the room during the middle of my conversation with Sarah, "I've got you covered, son, but you have to promise me one thing."
"Anything, Dad," I told him, "Name it."
"I want you to tear Jimmy Don Worley into a thousand pieces, Michael," Dad viciously seethed, "If anybody deserves it, that motherfucker does."
My father had only ever called me by my full name when he was either angry with me, or when he was trying to make a point, and at this particular moment I knew exactly what was on his mind, and it was the same thing that was on mine...the complete and total annihilation of Jimmy Don Worley once and for all. God only knew how that animal had been terrorizing, and had blatantly murdered a couple, of the people of that area of Texas; and because he had the money, he'd gotten away with it scot-free.
"I'm not going to kill him, Dad," I quietly hissed, "I want to see him stand trial for of the atrocities that he's committed and gotten away with over the years."
"If anything," I continued, "I know that he'll either get life without the possibility of parole, or, God willing, he'll get the death penalty, which I hope he does."
"If that's what you think is best then," Dad conceded, "But I want at least one punch before you hand him over to the law...I owe him that much."
"I'll do it under one condition," I told my father, "And that is, you have to tell me why you think that you owe him."
"Alright then," Dad said, "It started back when I was a senior in high school and our football team was playing in the State Championship Game. Your mother and I had been dating for a little over a year..."
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UNIVERSITY OF HOUSTON CAMPUS
T.D.E.C.U. (FORMERLY ROBERTS) STADIUM
NOVEMBER 1949
"The State High School Football Championship game was being played on the campus of the University of Houston in what was once Robertson Stadium," Dad began, "We had just finished handing Conroe High School their ass, beating them thirty-three to seven. Your mother and I were at my pick-up truck getting ready head back home when this redneck asshole wearing a Conroe High School tee-shirt came up behind me talking shit."
"Who was it," I asked "And what did you do?"
"It was Jimmy Don Worley," Dad laughed, "I told him to kiss my ass, and that he was just sore because our high school team was a better team that that bunch of inbreeds at his school."
"That's funny, I grinned, "What did he say?"
"It's not what he said, it was what the sonofabitch did," Dad suddenly growled, "He took a swing at me, and when I ducked to avoid his punch, your mother was standing right behind me, and he ended up knocking out one of her back molars."
"Please tell me that you kicked his ass for that, Dad."
"I never got the chance," Dad explained, "The police showed up just then and made us get into our respective vehicles and go home. That's why I want you to bring that piece of shit to me before you take his ass to the police..."
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To this day I still didn't know what to make of the look I saw on my father's face that night, but in getting back to the story, the moment my father offered his help, Sarah snuggled closer to me in my arms as she sobbed "I don't care what we have to do, Michael; our daughter's lives are at stake...please get them back, please" and then she laid her head on my shoulder and continued crying like I'd never seen anyone do before, or since.
I, too, felt the burden of her grief, yet knowing that I had to hold myself together for not only the sake of my daughters, but also my wife, I would make time for my own grief after I had our girls back home, safe and sound. Better yet, I was going to make certain that Jimmy Don Worley was no longer a threat to me, my family, or the rest of humanity as far as I was concerned. I also told myself right then, that the only way to ensure that was to kill him outright, but it was going to have to look like a case of self-defense if I was going to get out of it without a prison sentence...I needed to speak with Uncle Brian before I went to meet with Jimmy Don Worley, that much was certain...
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THE NEXT DAY
"As a deputy district attorney I'm advising you to let the authorities handle this," Uncle Brian pointedly told me after I'd apprised him of the situation at hand. Then he looked around the room as if he were about to divulge Top Secret information and quietly said, "But as a member of your family, especially where my grandnieces are concerned, I want you to beat the living shit outta J.D. Worley and then hand him over to me...and that's only after your father has spoken with him first. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, Mike?"
"Yes sir," I replied, "I understand you very loudly as well as very clearly, Uncle Brian, but Worley made it very plain to me to leave the police out of this, or else my daughter's lives will mean nothing to this fucking animal; plus, I need to tell you something and I don't want you to think badly of me."
"Let me guess," he knowingly, yet very seriously replied, "It's going be all you can do to keep from killing that worthless piece of shit; am I right?"
"Yes, you are," I quietly told him, "We're talking about my daughter's lives, Uncle Brian, and I can't..."
"You have no need whatsoever to explain yourself to me," he quietly interrupted me, "But if you do end up killing him then you'd better make damn certain that you did it in self-defense.... or at the very least make it look that way..."
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My "quiet talk" with my uncle told me everything I needed to know when it came to how I was going to deal with not only the situation, but also Jimmy Don Worley. At this point, his days on this earth had now become numbered; down to the very last minute when he would take his very last breath.
"Nobody messes with my family," I quietly told myself, gritting my teeth, "Especially when it comes to my wife and my baby girls. Your ass now belongs to me, Jimmy Don Worley, you stupid, redneck, mother¬fucker..."
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LATER THAT NIGHT
Sarah and I had gone to bed, yet sleep would not come for either of us as we both laid there with our eyes wide open.
"I'm scared, Michael," Sarah began to cry, "Really scared."
"I know you are, baby," I softly told her, "I am, too, but I promise you that nothing is going to happen to our girls."
"How do you know that?" she sniffled, "And how can you be so sure, and what're you gonna do?"
"Have I ever let you down before?" I quietly asked her, watching as she shook her head from side-to-side, "And as far as what I'm going to do is concerned...if I don't tell you then you can honestly say that you don't know anything if you're asked about it."
"Oh, my God," she said, leaning across me and turning on the bedside lamp so that she could look into my eyes, confirming what she already knew, "You're going to kill him; aren't you?"
"Did you not hear what I just told you sweetheart?" I quietly asked her, "If I don't tell you then you can..."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she hastily interrupted me, "I want you to break that evil sonofabitch's neck, and then I want him cut up into a thousand tiny pieces and feed him to the fucking fish. Just make sure that our daughters go unharmed, okay baby...please?"
I couldn't believe what I'd just heard come out of my wife's mouth, yet I understood her completely; hence the reason I softly told her. "I think you know what I'm going to do to him, Sarah..."
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Sarah had finally managed to fall asleep sometime during the night, which meant that I was up with the rising sun and sitting out on the back deck when my cousin, Mark, appeared beside me carrying a small rosewood box, with small half-stalks of bamboo trim around its edges.
"How're you holding up?" he somberly asked me, taking a seat in the chair across the patio table from me.
"As well as can be expected, I guess," I quietly replied, "What's in the box?"
"A couple of insurance policies," he softly, yet malevolent replied, opening the box to reveal two antique Japanese Shinto knives, both bearing black braid around the handles, with eight inch blades made of eastern forged steel which had been honed to razor sharp edges.