Stick It Out No Matter What

Her phone was in a good-sized house on a half-acre lot in a nice section of the county. I saw her car parked nearby. I ran up to the house and started banging on the door. It was answered by a big guy about my age who was not very friendly.

"What in the fuck do you want?" was his pleasant greeting.

"My wife, Denise Browne, is in your house and I want to see her now," I said.

"She's busy right now, come back later," the asshole said, trying to close the door on me. I pushed it open, knocking him over, and ran into the house. In the living room I saw Denise on her hands and knees and another guy, who looked a lot like the one who had opened the door, stroking his cock in her pussy.

I went nuts and charged the fucker. He saw me coming and pulled out just before I kicked him in the face. I was trying to help Denise up when I got smacked in the back of my head. The guy at the door had obviously attacked me. I wasn't rendered unconscious so I started to fight back. The fucker joined the fray while Denise screamed.

Fortunately the cops got there shortly after both guys were wailing on me and broke up the fight.

Since I had only been instructed by Tom, Jack, and Rock -- and was not one of them -- I had gotten my ass kicked pretty well, though nothing too serious. The two guys in the house were brothers Dale and Don Cowell. Denise knew them in High School and had foolishly accepted their invitation to come inside for a donation when she was soliciting for her charity. Unfortunately, I didn't hurt either of them too badly, although Dale, who was the fucker, lost a tooth when I kicked him in the mouth.

When the cops separated us I wanted to file charges of kidnapping, rape, and assault against the Cowell brothers. They wanted to file charges of assault and trespassing against me. Denise was frantic. The cops decided to arrest all three males on misdemeanor disturbing the peace charges and let a prosecutor sort out the rest. I told Denise to go to the hospital and have them use a rape kit and test her for STDs.

Denise quietly sobbed into my shoulder. "Austen, I'm so, so sorry. Dale didn't rape me -- I just couldn't control myself."

"Why didn't you answer the phone?" I asked.

"He moved it away from me," she sobbed.

"That's as good as rape in my book, Hon. Listen, do as I tell you and things will sort themselves out later, I promise," I said.

"I can't testify at a trial," she moaned.

"I assure you, you won't have to," I consoled her.

I was already plotting my revenge while in jail waiting for Denise to get back from the hospital and to bail me out. The Cowell brothers, who were in the next cell over from me waiting for their father to bail them out, sealed their fate however when they taunted me. "Your little wifey is an even better piece of ass now than when she was in High School. We'll be fucking that bitch again, and again," they repeated, including with little laughs.

When I got out I did a computer investigation of the Cowell brothers. Even though their parents were politically connected, they were bad seed. They had gotten into numerous problems with neighbors and authorities over the years, and were suspected drug dealers, although there never was a drug charge that the authorities could make stick. While my revenge was going to be severe, it changed to nuclear several days later.

I got a frantic call from Denise saying that the Cowell boys were at our house and banging on the door, and the kids were home and crying. I called 911 and got in my car. A police officer was taking Denise's statement when I got there -- apparently the Cowells had left before the police arrived. Given some of the things that they yelled while they were banging on the door -- and broke one small window in the door frame -- and subsequent harassing phone calls, I was livid and Denise was scared.

The device that I had invented during my stint with SCA was the perfect instrument of my revenge. What is called "the initiator" could be controlled with my smartphone, just like remotely starting a car. I placed the initiator hidden on a guard rail at a location on an open stretch of a two lane country road that I had learned, from my investigation, the Cowell brothers often traveled from their house to a warehouse about ten miles away, in their pickup truck.

I planted an improvised explosive, with an upwardly directed charge, under the passenger compartment of their pickup, which they always left parked on the street in front of their house. The explosive had a detonator that was controlled by a signal from "the initiator." Once the detonator passed within thirty meters of "the initiator" it would be activated. The detonator would then detonate the explosives ninety seconds later, so that the truck would blow up about a mile from "the initiator." The detonator was also unique, including parts that would be transformed into other common materials by the heat from the explosion so that the detonator would be 100% destroyed.

While just outside the police station I made a call from a burner phone to the Cowell's house one morning. In a muffled voice I told the brother who answered that there were some trespassers by their warehouse and to get over there immediately. I then pretended that I had been grabbed and the phone call cut off. I then activated "the initiator" with my smartphone.

I went into the police station and complained that there had been no action on my complaints against the Cowell brothers. I had to wait fifteen minutes or so for the detective in charge, and I talked with him for about ten minutes without getting any satisfaction. As I making yet one more complaint he got a phone call.

"I have to leave immediately," he said when he hung up, "a pickup truck just blew up on County Route 11A."

"What?" I said asking surprised. "OK, get back to me will you detective?" He didn't say anything as he dashed out the door.

Of course the police came to see me when investigating the Cowell brothers' deaths. By then I had retrieved "the initiator" from the guardrail on Route 11A and had disposed of it. Being in the police station at the time of their deaths gave me about as solid an alibi as a man could have. That, combined with the fact that the only evidence in the pickup truck was that some common chemicals had been used to improvise the explosive with not even a sign of a detonator meant that absolutely no charges could be filed against anyone.

The Cowell brothers died almost five years ago. Since then Denise, my kids, and I have been wonderfully happy. Perhaps not surprisingly, no guy who has lived in our county any length of time ever tries to hit on Denise any more, and I have gotten only one panic button signal from her in the last five years, and that situation was easily defused.

Yes, I am living out my dream. It took some work, and I have to stay on my toes, but I am living it!