Although this story can be read on its own, I suggest you first read Justice Ch. 01 and Justice Ch. 02 to get the full context of what is happening here.
Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (And yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...
Lionel Hawkins could feel the car he was in come to a stop, but he had no idea where he was. One minute, he was working at home, the next, he was drugged, tied, gagged, blindfolded and placed in the trunk of what appeared to be a fairly expensive car. He was being jostled as he started coming to, and suspected he was being taken somewhere remote. But where? And for what? Was he going to be killed? His stomach knotted up at the thought.
He heard the trunk latch and was hauled up by at least two strong sets of hands. He felt the punch to his stomach and thought he was going to throw up. He was tossed to the ground and thought he would soon be shot in the head, but the expected gunshot never came.
Instead, he felt several kicks to his ribs, followed by something wet being poured on his forehead. He heard two men laughing, but the real kick to his stomach was the laughter of the third person. It was the laughter of a woman. But not just any woman. It was Cheryl, his wife, the woman he had loved exclusively for over a decade.
"I always wanted to piss on him like that," she said as the others two snickered. "Too bad his mouth wasn't open at the time.
"Why don't we just do him right here?" he heard one man say.
"No, no," he heard his wife argue. "Between the heat and the snakes, he'll be dead soon enough. I don't want anything that could lead authorities back to us."
"Besides," he heard the other man say. "It'll be years before anyone finds him out here. By then, there'll be nothing left but bones." The other two laughed at that. He could hear his wife move, then he smelled her perfume as she knelt close to him.
"I'm sorry it has to end like this, dear," she said sarcastically as the other two laughed. "But you knew it wouldn't last forever. Besides, Enrique and his men fuck me better than you ever could." That prompted even more laughter. "Believe it or not, this isn't personal. It's just business. Oh, who the hell am I kidding. Of course, it's personal." She snickered, then stood back up. "Untie his hands," she told the other two men.
"Are you sure?" the first man said.
"Yes," she said. "Leave his legs tied and his blindfold on." She knelt by her husband. "Now, you be a good boy and count to 100 after we leave before you untie yourself and take off the blindfold. You hear me?" Lionel nodded his head, unable to say anything with the gag in his mouth. She stood back up. "Do it," she ordered.
Lionel could feel one of the men cut the zip ties holding his hands behind his back.
"You're getting off easy, cuck," the man whispered. "If it were up to me, I'd blow your fucking brains out then feed you to the fish."
When his hands were free, he rubbed his wrists together. The man left him and got back in the car. He heard his wife one last time.
"Now you be a good boy and do as I say," she said. "Otherwise, I'll just have to sic my dogs on you. I'd like to say it's been nice, but that would be a lie. Now do humanity a favor and die, okay? That's a good boy." She laughed and closed the door. He cried as he heard the car take off. He counted to 100 as she said and removed the blindfold and gag. He squinted his eyes until he got used to the bright light and looked around at the harsh desert terrain. He knew he wouldn't last very long out in the open.
He untied his legs and stripped off his shirt and his jacket. He tied his shirt around his head to give him some protection from the oppressive heat. He could barely make out the tracks from the vehicle he had been in and decided to follow them as far as he could.
As he walked, he thought about his life with Cheryl. They met in law school, dated, fell in love and got married. They both worked for a large legal firm but he felt like his talents were being wasted. He didn't go to law school to get rich, after all. He genuinely wanted to help people. So he started his own firm about three years after they graduated, dedicating at least 10 percent of his billable time to pro-bono work, helping people who needed legal advise but couldn't afford it.
Cheryl helped him out when she could and seemed supportive of his work. At first, she admired his "gumption" and his willingness to strike out on his own, taking on the big firms all in the name of community service. But something happened along the way.
It turned out Cheryl wasn't as concerned about helping people, unless she was the one who benefited. Her goal was simple - get rich and powerful, and not necessarily in that order. While she was giving his fledgling firm lip service, she was schmoozing big-wigs in other firms, hoping to land a position as a partner.
She eventually landed a position with one of the largest firms in the area and was soon making much more than he was. And she wasn't shy about her new status in life. At her insistence, they split up their bank accounts and she rarely contributed to the bills, even though she made much more than he did.
She bought herself a brand new BMW, while he got around in a five-year-old Toyota he maintained himself. Worse yet, she rarely let him ride in her car, unless it was to cart him to one of her social events, where she would introduce him before disappearing with her new colleagues to do God-knows-what.
Her new position also required her to travel - a lot. She was often gone to New York, Washington, D.C., Boston, Miami, Seattle - even London and Paris. She had even joined her partners on cruises to the Bahamas and the Mediterranean, telling him that spouses weren't invited.
In the last two years, she was gone more than she was home and she even missed their last two anniversaries. She always promised to make it up to him, but she never did. Their tenth anniversary was coming up, but this year, he decided to do nothing just to see if she would even notice. So far, she hadn't said a word.
He was pretty certain she had been cheating on him lately. All the signs were there, but he didn't have any concrete proof - at least nothing that would stand up in court. Worse yet, he couldn't afford to pay for a private investigator, especially since all of his money went to keeping his business and household afloat. Several times, he could smell another man's cologne or after shave on her. He also smelled something else on her more than once.
Of course, their sex life had hit rock bottom in the last two years. They used to make love several times a week, but now, he was lucky if they got together once or twice a month. Even then, it felt as though she was just giving him a quick mercy-fuck to hold him over until she could be bothered to be in his presence.
Things got worse in the last year and a half or so, but the last six months were the absolute worse. The firm she worked for assigned her to a client who demanded she service him exclusively. Now, she was taking trips all over Latin America - Bogota, Lima and Mexico City were just a few of her destinations, along with all of her other trips. Having been raised by a mother who emigrated to the States from Costa Rica, she was fluent in both Spanish and English - something that worked to her favor in this new assignment.
He knew nothing about this new client of hers, other than he was very rich, very influential and very demanding. And he was quite certain she was screwing him on the side. But again, he had no concrete proof. Not that it would matter a whole lot. He knew he would get screwed in court no matter what.
So he bided his time, deciding that at some point she would go off the rails. Then he would make his move. He had already done all he could to protect himself and his fledgling business from her so it was just a matter of time. But he never thought she would do this.
He wondered what brought this on, then he remembered some forms she wanted him to sign and notarize on behalf of her client. She said it was some kind of import/export thing, but he refused to do anything with the paperwork, not knowing her client and not knowing what it was he intended to do with it. Moreover, he wondered, if it was legit, why couldn't she have her own firm handle it? It all seemed too fishy to him.
She even offered him a large sum of cash - that's right, actual cash money - much more than would be required to trigger an investigation should he actually try to deposit it all at once. She showed him the cash, which was stashed in a briefcase, and that raised all kinds of red flags.
Was she involved in something illegal? Was her client looking to smuggle drugs or guns? His first instinct was to contact the authorities, but he held off until he could learn more. In hindsight, he realized he should've been more proactive. Sadly, Cheryl wasn't too open about it, simply telling him that if he couldn't handle filing a simple form, she would find someone else who could.
But, she said, she would give him a chance to rethink his position. He remembered telling her he needed more information about her client and his intentions, but she scoffed at the notion, saying he should simply trust her in this.
Then there was the day he found that slip of paper stuck between the forms she wanted him to notarize in advance. It had the number 350 next to the initials AK and a date with what looked like GPS coordinates scribbled in a man's handwriting. It made no sense to him, so he showed it to one of his colleagues, Andy McGregor.
"Let me see if I can make sense of all this," Andy said. The next day, Andy came to him and suggested it could indicate the date and location for a shipment of illegal arms.
"There's no way Cheryl could be mixed up in anything like that," he told Andy.
"Are you 100 percent certain?" Andy asked. "After all, you said she wants you to notarize forms that haven't even been filled out or signed yet. If it were me, I'd go straight to the ATF with this. I wouldn't waste any time."
"Let me talk to Cheryl first," he said. "Thanks for looking this over."
"You're welcome, Lionel," he said. "But I think you're making a huge mistake by not going straight to the authorities." As it turned out, Andy was right about his inaction being a mistake. He got home and had no sooner put his briefcase on his desk when he felt a prick at the back of his neck. Seconds later, it was lights out.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his leg and yelled out. Looking down, he saw a rattlesnake. He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn't even hear the snake shake its rattle. Damn, he thought. Looking around, he found a large rock, picked it up and smashed the snake's head just as it prepared to strike again.
His leg ached and he hobbled to a joshua tree, hoping to get a bit of shade. He knew that if the bite wasn't treated quickly, he could be a goner. But he had nothing - not even a pocket knife. Cheryl and her goons had taken everything from him when they kidnapped him - even his watch and wedding ring. He watched as the sun dipped below the horizon and knew there was a possibility he wouldn't last till morning. He felt himself start to slip into unconsciousness and did something he hadn't done since he went to that crusade thing 15 years ago - he prayed, "God, please help me."
...
It was late in the afternoon and as was our custom, we sat on the back porch with our nine-month-old son, William. I enjoyed this time with my family, recalling the day's events and looking forward to the next day. My lovely wife, Danni, sat next to me and put her head on my shoulders as I bounced our son on my knee. She got a kick out of watching me talk baby-talk to our child.
"It's a good thing no one can hear you right now, Amos," she said, laughing. "They'd think you were going through your second childhood." I laughed and kept on bouncing William. That's me, by the way - Amos Jones.
