It wasn't 10 minutes after she spied the young hussy having sex with her Husband that Darlene Craft watched Angela Burton walk by near one of the backyard fountains at the party. Even if she hadn't seen Angie banging Curt on the top of that car for herself, Darlene fancied she could still detect his scent on the girl as she breezed past. If she listened hard enough, Darlene swore she could also hear her Husband's seed sloshing inside the bikini clad girl's womb each time Angie took a step.
"You can even see that freshly fucked look on her face," Darlene bitterly noted.
Holding a cold bottle of nearly empty beer in her clenched fist, Darlene knew she could walk up behind Angie and end it all right there. For whatever reason, she felt like that would be too quick, too easy. The fact that Angie had fucked Curt wasn't quite what infuriated her. If that was the case, there would have been a bloody trail up and down the Rockies from the women he'd stepped out on her with. The thing that grinded Darlene's goat the most was he'd done it with a girl who'd repeatedly stolen the glory from his oldest Daughter, Kirsten, and by proxy Darlene's own selfish thunder. Curt had also consummated the deed right under her very own nose, and the noses of a couple of hundred of her neighbors, any of whom could have stumbled onto the scene just as she had and started quite the ruckus on the neighborhood's omnipresent grapevine.
So yes, putting a 150 stitches in the back of the Angie's head would have been too tidy of a solution. Stabbing, poisoning, choking and throwing the girl in a wood chipper all crossed Darlene's mind. Hell, the variety platter of things she'd seen on the show "Snapped" even played out in her head, but in the end, Darlene sensed her endeavor would require something a tad more subtle and cunning.
She knew Angie was about to start her Senior year at the University of Colorado, and the girl's rare trips home to Colorado Springs would pretty much become nonexistent once she graduated. It wasn't like she could just show up in Boulder to try and pull off something and not be noticed either. On top of that, Darlene had to figure out a way to hit Angela Burton in a way that truly hurt.
On cue, her Husband Curt showed up out of nowhere a minute or so after Angie had passed. If she thought she could smell him on Angie when she walked by, Darlene knew she could smell the young slut on Curt when he slid up beside her and kissed her passionlessly on the cheek.
"About ready to go, Hon?" he asked.
"Sure. Anytime you are," came Darlene's vacant response.
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Of all the places for such an insidious idea to hatch, it all came to Darlene in church the following Sunday. The collection plate was being passed around as the preacher made mention of some of the struggles one of the church programs was having.
In an attempt many years earlier to do some good in the community, several members of the congregation decided to try and take over a halfway house in the area that helped released inmates get their feet back on the ground before heading full bore back out into the world. It was called the Loughlin House, and over the decade or so the church had been running it, the place had made the difference in more than a few lives.
Unfortunately, when the recession hit, the funding for Loughlin steadily dried up, not to mention the money in the collection plates every Sunday. While closing the house down wasn't imminent, meeting the mortgage along with all the other bills became an ever-growing concern.
The seed of that idea germinating in Darlene's head as the plate continued around the church, she decided to meet with the preacher after church to volunteer some of her accounting skills, and her time to the Loughlin project in an attempt to help trim some of the fat from the program's budget.
While the thought of all those ex-cons made Darlene's skin crawl, frankly, so did Angie Burton. Even though the halfway house only took in non-violent offenders that had spent time in the church's prison ministry program while incarcerated, the men Darlene would occasionally come across gave her the heebie-geebies.
The mission of the people working at Loughlin seemed to be threefold. Act as a parole officer of sorts to steer the men in the right direction socially, to be a spiritual advisor to the degree they needed one, and to be a career counselor to help the participants in the program try to re-establish a way of legally supporting themselves.
To the more nurturing sort, which Darlene Craft certainly wasn't one of, the role of being somewhat of a 'housemom' was often a temptation, to feel sorry for the troubled young men that came their way. That 'faith in redemption' often times faded quickly when half the people who came through the program eventually wound up back in the legal system.
For the reasons Darlene found herself there at Loughlin, those percentages worked just fine for her.
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Twenty-Nine year old Denny Pinson was making his second trip through the Loughlin House. A recidivist like so many of the others who'd made their way in and out of the program, each time he got a fresh start Denny swore he'd make it work.
Having initially gone to jail at 19 for a B & E charge after several run-ins as a juvenile, Denny was paroled at 22 only to find himself with another five year sentence for possession with the intent to distribute less than a year after gaining his freedom. As much as he hated being incarcerated, Denny knew if he'd been tried for everything he'd been guilty of over the years, he'd be stuck inside for at least another 60. This time he was steadfastly committed to making this last chance work out.
Along those lines, Denny learned a trade in hopes of gaining some steady and legal employment. Having earned his electrician's certification at one of the local technical centers, Denny was only a month away from leaving Loughlin to get on with his life.
Despite the straight and narrow he was trying to walk, there were always the constant, seemingly genetic pull of trying to earn some easy money and enjoy some fast times. That complex mixture of emotions all came to a head the day Darlene Craft walked into Denny's life.
At a shade over 6 foot 2 and a solid 215 pounds, Denny Pinson cut an imposing figure enough on his own. Combine his stature with a wealth of tattoos, the perpetual 'chip on his shoulder' gait to his walk, and the constant slow burn of his gaze, and one could to see why he wasn't the easiest person to approach. Given the similar appearances and auras of many of the other men in the Loughlin program however, there seemed to be a glimmer of something assuring in Denny's presence.
At least to Darlene Craft.
Given the fact that she'd grown up in wealth and privilege and pretty much married into a gated community from day one, encounters with people like Denny and his cohorts were few and far between. Many of the residents at Loughlin were black or Hispanic, and even though she'd grown up in Louisiana's diverse culture, most of Darlene's view of such people were from the clips she saw of them being arrested on the news over the years.
