Booneville Retribution
Booneville Retribution
By S. Furlong-Bolliger
Copyright 2013 by S. Furlong-Bolliger
Cover Copyright 2013 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Also by S. Furlong-Bolliger and Untreed Reads Publishing
Christmas in Killarney
Dead Giveaway
Death by Jello
Murder on the Ropes
Paddy Whacked
Surprise Larceny
Booneville Retribution
By S. Furlong-Bolliger
“You know, my wife, Dawn, just has no sense of humor anymore,” I was telling the guys. We were hanging out at Sid’s Hardware. They offered free coffee and a few of us had gotten into the habit of gathering there in the mornings.
“Well Larry,” Chet started, pausing to spit a sunflower shell into his white foam cup. I’d never seen Chet without a mouthful of sunflower seeds. “It’s hard to keep any sense of humor around here since Halport closed. Most of the town’s out of work.”
“Yeah, those SOBs at Halport,” Hank added. Hank never minced words.
“I get that guys, believe me,” I said. “It’s just Dawn. She’s over the edge these days.”
Chet tossed his cup into the trash, folded his arms across his chest, and let out a long sigh. “What’s her problem, Larry?”
I could feel the corner of my mouth twitch with anticipation. “Well, she was complaining, as usual. Seems she’s so bitchy these days. Going on about how Joe Farley bought his wife a new Mustang. She says she never gets anything—”
“What?!” Hank jumped in. “Is she nuts? You’re out of work, man. You can’t be buying a new car!”
“That’s what I said. I told her, ‘Look here, Dawn,’” I paused for effect. They were hanging on my every word. “If you want something that goes from 0 to 150 in less than five seconds, then get yourself down the hall and hop on that bathroom scale.”
That got a hoot from the guys. They were rolling. Hank even slapped me on the shoulder as I tossed my cup and turned to leave. “You always crack me up, Larry,” he said.
Yeah, that’s me—I could always leave them laughing. Only it was getting harder these days. Most of us were on our last benefit check, so things were about to go from bad to worse. A lot of my friends had already moved away. Booneville was drying up since the Halport plant had shut down. It was still hard to believe that some corporate suit running numbers in a skyscraper thousands of miles away had killed my town.
As I crossed the street, I passed in front of the courthouse in the middle of the town square. Hanging above its steps was a large red, white, and blue banner announcing the annual Booneville Fourth of July Celebration. I paused and stared at the banner. Its festive flare seemed to mock me. Guess I wasn’t much in the mood for festivities. There just didn’t seem to be much to celebrate this year. With Halport closed, the town couldn’t even afford to shoot off a few lousy fireworks.
Inside the First Federal Bank, I slid my government check across the counter—my last. I should have been saving more over the years. I kept telling Dawn that we were going to be fine, but truth was we weren’t. I’d survived Nam and the loss of both my parents, but none of it had scared me as much as what lay ahead. I stood to lose everything—my house, my truck, Dawn maybe. I should have been better prepared. I just never even saw this coming.
“Hi, Larry. Deposit?” the teller asked, interrupting my thoughts. It was Sandy, from the plant, a single mother of two boys. At least I could be grateful that it was just Dawn and me. I couldn’t imagine being in this situation with kids to support.
“No, just cash.” Rumor had it that the bank wasn’t doing too well.
We made a little small talk as she counted out bills. After commenting about the weather, she worked her way into the same discussion we had every time I came to the bank. As usual she ended by saying, “Sure, the bank doesn’t pay nearly as well as Halport did, but Larry, a job’s a job. And I’m lucky to have this one.” Well, I had news for Sandy. Luck had nothing to do with it. She was working a job that paid half of what she used to make because some stinkin’ CEO decided that she didn’t matter…that her kids didn’t matter…that the whole damn town didn’t matter.
I didn’t say any of that though. I just smiled politely, pocketed my money, and turned to leave. On the way out, I ran into Gus Severson, the esteemed mayor of Booneville.
“Hey, Gus,” I started in, plastering a smile on my face. Then I stopped. Gus looked horrible. “You okay, Gus?” Although it was just a polite question—no one in town was okay since the plant closed.
“Just a little down, that’s all, Larry. I just heard about Todd Landry.”
I nodded. I knew Todd Landry—a young kid, fresh out of school. He’d worked the line at Halport. I hadn’t heard what he’d been up to since the plant closed.
Gus swiped nervously at his brow. “You don’t know, do you? He shot himself, Larry. Cops found him this morning.”
“What?”
“Yeah, guess he did it right after the repo man took his truck.”
“Oh, God.” I couldn’t believe it. “They took his truck? That truck was everything to that kid. He sunk every paycheck into it—lift kit, oversized chrome wheels, roll bar, halogen lights….”
I threw up my hands and turned away. That was the last straw. It was just like in the war—some Halport CEO made a decision to destroy hundreds of lives from the comfort of a plush office just like those damn D.C. politicians did to me and my combat buddies in Nam. People were just expendable casualties that they could swipe away with a stroke of a pen.
Dead kids, ruined families, so much senseless destruction … I had to do something. After Nam, I swallowed my bitterness and picked up with my life like nothing wrong had happened, but not now. Now I had to take a stand.
Back in my truck, I recounted the wad of bills and worked out the details of my plan. More than likely I’d be immediately arrested, but what did that matter? Halport had destroyed my town. Someone needed to show them what Booneville was all about. And, tomorrow’s celebration would be the perfect time to do that. Besides, I had nothing to lose. Well, Dawn maybe, but we were already on the downhill slide; had been ever since I lost my job.
* * *
Late that night, I pulled into his garage with a pick up full of supplies to carry out my plan. I was hoping that Dawn was already asleep, or maybe out with the girls, but no such luck. I didn’t even have the gear in park before she made an appearance. “Where have you been? Do you know what time it is? You left for the bank at nine o’clock this morning!” She was wearing her favorite blue robe. I hated that robe. It looked like something that had been caught in the wheels of The Grinder at last year’s Monster Truck Rally.
“Sorry, honey. I just had a few errands to run.”
“What’s all that crap in the back of your truck? There better still be money in the checking account. Remember I told you I was getting my hair done before the festival tomorrow.”
I avoided her stare and immediately busied myself unloading the truck. Dawn had this look about her. It could scare the piss out of a hornet. “Uh, looks like a lot, honey,” I started, struggling to come up for an explanation. “But it hardly cost anything. I was able to get a lot of bang for my buck.” I chuckled, silently admiring my own wit. A lot of bang for my buck—wasn’t that the truth?
Dawn shook her head and stomped back into the house. At least she hadn’t asked about the supplies. There’s no way she would understand what I was about to do.
I finished unloading and got down to business. A peaceful fog settled over my mind as I worked, punctuated by the hissing of the blow torch and the clanking of metal tools. As the night grew longer, mosquitoes began swarming. I swatted as they buzzed my ears and feasted on the damp areas on my back and face, even working their way under my welding mask. Just like in Nam, the little demons seemed to permeate everything.
It was a weird thing. Mosquitoes always triggered memories of my time in the jungle. I remembered what it was like all those years ago as a scared twenty-year-old, hunched down in the hooch, wide awake, ears preened listening for the sound of grenade-bearing VC. I don’t think I slept a solid night in Nam.
Tonight I was feeling that same mix of exhaustion and fear as I felt those long nights in Nam. Only back then, I never quite understood what I was fighting for. I was just trying to survive. Get back home. Tonight, however, my mission was clear. And, even though I was an old man, I was working with the efficiency of a young soldier, capable and determined, continuing into the early hours of the morning, until I had completed my task.
When I was finished, and satisfied with my efforts, I loaded the truck. Quietly, I raised the garage door and coasted down the slope of my driveway in neutral. God forbid that Dawn would wake up and catch me in the act.
Once I was on the street, I cranked the engine and headed to the abandoned plant. There, aided by a little moonlight and my headlights, I spent the next few hours setting up. When all the fuses were properly attached, the detonator set, and the entire area carefully concealed, I returned home to catch a few hours of sleep.
* * *
“Larry, aren’t you awake yet? Get up! The parade’s going to start.”
I rolled over and moaned. “Good morning, honey.” I pried my eyes open, plastered a smile on my face. “You’re hair looks fantastic,” I said, remembering that she had said something about getting her hair done this morning. Although it looked like the same old mop of brown curls that she always had, I knew that if I screwed up and didn’t mention the hairdo, I’d pay for it all day.
I levered my aching legs out from under the covers and started making my way to the closet.
“I was hoping to get a spot in the shade,” she whined at me. I just kept smiling, doing my best to ignore her. I was determined that not even Dawn’s nagging was going to ruin my big day.
I put on my red Budweiser shirt and a blue baseball cap—the one with the Camaro logo—grabbed a couple of lawn chairs and headed out the door with Dawn by my side. I even tried to grab her hand as we made our way down the sidewalk.
She batted it away. “What’s wrong with you, Larry? You’ve been acting strange lately.”
“Nothing, honey. Why?”
“Well, for starters, you noticed my hair this morning. You never notice that type of stuff. And now you’re smiling. What’s going on with you?”
“Just happy, I guess.”
“What do you have to be happy about?” She eyed me suspiciously. “No, there’s something going on. Don’t think you can hide it either. I’ll figure it out.”
Yeah, that was true. She’d figure it out. Everyone would. This was going to be a Fourth of July that Booneville would never forget.
Fifteen minutes later we were sitting on the curb outside the square, watching the parade, which was pitiful in comparison to past years—the marching band was off-key, the Corn Queen was butt-ugly, and Bubba Higgins didn’t even drive his hotrod. Halport had succeeded in destroying yet another thing—Booneville’s Fourth of July spirit. In fact, the only people smiling were geriatrics on the old folks’ float—their dentured grins wide as they waved miniature flags to the crackled sound of the
Star Spangled Banner
being played over a portable boom box. Of course most of them suffered from Alzheimer’s; they probably didn’t even know that Halport had killed the town.