After the night his parents had turned their back on him, Bill's attitude had totally changed. He started hanging out with the roughest crowd in school and skipping classes as often as he could get away with. If he had to pay for it with an occasional beating from his Dad, what of it? He knew he would eventually pay both his parents back for everything they had done to him.
Bill found an old weight set of his father's in the basement and started working out daily. That became his life. School became something he had to endure until he reached 16.
As Bill became stronger, his grades started dropping just as steadily. He barely graduated high school, even though he had a high IQ. Sometimes, he purposely missed test questions just to be able to go home and show his parents what he had made.
The beatings by his Dad stopped shortly before Bill's 16th birthday. His Dad had come into his room because of Bill's report card and had started to take off his belt. Bill had already had enough of being bare assed across his bed while his Dad whipped him until he was tired, so he took the belt away from him and punched him in the nose, bloodying it. His father had never tried that again. Bill kind of missed it.
Bill was the official bad boy in town. Everyone gossiped about how the son of a doctor could have turned out so bad. Bill drank and smoked anything he could get his hands on. He came and went as he pleased, which suited him just fine. His parents had given up on him long ago.
He started to break into cars to get money for his liquor and drugs. He found it amazingly simple to find people who would buy obviously stolen property from him.
He barely graduated from high school. The only thing that saved him was his grades from his early years in high school and the fact that Bill knew he didn't want to have to go another year. So he made sure his grades were good enough to pass, but other than that, he didn't really give a flying fuck.
He started smoking more and more pot. He made friends with local drug dealers and that was when he made his first real mistake. He was told that he could earn enough for a used car if he would drive a car loaded with marijuana in the trunk to Atlanta from his home in Miami. He would be given expense money for the trip there and back and when he got back, the car would be his. That was a no-brainer to Bill. And he was tired of walking or bumming a ride everywhere.
So he accepted the offer. But he got greedy. He thought about the long drive and how lonely it was going to be. All he had was the radio to keep him company and the speakers didn't work very well. So he pulled off at the first rest stop he came to, backed into a parking space at the very end of the lot, and opened the trunk.
The marijuana was compressed into bricks and packed tightly into garbage bags. Bill took out the knife he always carried and pried open the tape that held the first garbage bag tied securely. He found the bricks and carefully opened a small slit in the end of one. He had his own baggy, so it was easy to use the tip of his knife to rake out a small amount at a time into the baggy. He took his time so it wouldn't be evident that he had stolen part of what he was transporting. But he soon had at least an ounce in his baggy.
He carefully used the same tape that he had pried lose to seal the bag back and shut the trunk lid. Bill knew he was way too smart to be caught taking a small amount like an ounce when he had several hundred pounds of pot in his trunk.
He had made sure and had brought rolling papers with him. He got them out and carefully rolled three joints. That should do him, no matter how good or bad it was, he thought.
He started driving again and lit up a joint. He was pleasantly surprised. THIS WAS REALLY GOOD SHIT!!!! He had a buzz after the first toke.
The shitty speakers weren't as much of a problem anymore. He cranked the stereo up as much as it would go as he sped down the highway. The Miami rock station he always listened to started the organ introduction to "Free Bird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd just as he was finishing the first big joint he had rolled. Bill was ecstatic about how good this pot was. He was considering stopping before he got to Atlanta and seeing if he could open a few more bricks. Just a little out of this one, and a little out of that one and he could fill his baggy all the way up. He figured it might hold at least a quarter pound.
Bill was grooving to the final guitar solo as he sped down the road. One habit he had was driving faster when he was listening to really good rock music. His right foot tended to push down harder on the gas pedal as his left kept pace with the music. And he wasn't watching his speed at all. (This is me, guys. Hehehe I do this constantly. It's a wonder I haven't been pulled over during a great song!! And Free Bird is my favorite!!!)
He was going 90 in a 65 mile per hour zone when he passed a Florida State Patrol car sitting behind a fence where it couldn't be seen. It was on top of him within minutes.
Bill was a hundred miles from home. He had no idea where he was, and was still too stoned to try and outrun the cops. Plus, the car he was driving was no match for the State Patrol car anyway. He knew that. So, he didn't have a choice other than try and talk his way out of this. He hid his baggy under the seat and pulled over to the side. At least he had all his windows down so the smell of the pot wouldn't give him away.
Be cool, Bill,' he thought. You can talk your way out of this.'
The State Patrol officers behind him took a long time before they finally walked up behind him. Bill was getting more and more nervous as they waited. He was almost relieved when they finally started to walk up.
"Get out of the car, please," the first one said.
"What did I do, ossifer," Bill slurred. He was higher than he thought.
"Get out of the car. NOW!" the officer yelled, drawing his gun.
`What the fuck is happening?' Bill thought, as he opened his door and staggered out. He was immediately thrown across the hood of his car, spread eagled, and frisked. Of course, they found the knife, first thing.
"You are under arrest for possession of a stolen car. You also have an illegal weapon on your person. You are also being charged with driving 90 in a 65 miles per hour zone. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney...." Bill kind of didn't remember much after that. His mind was filled with thoughts about what was going to happen to him.
The car his "friends" gave to him to drive turned out to be stolen. They just wanted to use him as a "mule" to get their drugs delivered and really didn't give a shit about him. He was becoming a pain in the ass anyway.
They obviously found all the marijuana. Bill was given a choice: Going to jail for a long time or joining the army as a first offender. Back then, they felt like the army could rehabilitate young criminals. Now, they send them to boot camps.
Bill didn't want to go to prison. He might be raped like Father Dan had done to him so many times. So, he chose the army.
And Bill had really liked that. He got to shoot real guns all of the time. He got to prepare to kill other people, like he'd been planning to do anyway.
Bill was now the model soldier. He progressed fast enough that he was asked if he wanted to enter the exclusive Rangers division. Bill was thrilled. He would get training on how to kill from long distance, to blow up buildings, to do everything he had been dreaming about since he was a small boy. He had found his place in life.
So he had jumped at the chance. And now he was a time bomb. And it was still ticking.
"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Bowden. Thanks for letting Bri and I come over," Mike said as he shook hands with both of Rob's parents.
"No problem at all, Mike. What's this all about anyway," Rob's Dad asked.
"Can we all go sit down somewhere? This is going to take a few minutes to fill you both in," Mike answered.
The three of them took turns telling Rob's parents everything. Well, almost everything. They left out the fact that Bri had met Bill in a gay chat room. They just said that he had met him over the net.
Both of Rob's parents had shocked looks on their faces. "Where's Rob's car right now?" Mr. Bowden asked.
"They towed it into the police lot. The Detective I talked to said he is sure that it will be totaled," Mike answered.
"Well, it's more important that all of you are safe," Mr. Bowden answered.
"That's one reason why I wanted to talk to you both. Rob's been threatened too. I think it would be better if Rob stayed at my house until Bill is caught. I'll drive the boys to and from school. I've already talked to my partners and they've agreed to cover for me so I can do that," Mike said.
"But how long will it be?" Mrs. Bowden asked.
"They know what kind of car he's driving and the color. I don't think it will be very long," Mike answered. "But we really don't have any idea."
"Rob, is this what you want to do?" she asked.
"Yes Mom. Bri's the one he's really after. I think he'll feel better if there's someone with him all of the time. And Mike can't take that much time off from work. Plus, he works every other Saturday," Rob answered.
"What do you think, Stan?" she asked her husband.
"Both of you agree to stay in the house while Mike's away?" Mr. Bowden asked.
"Yes sir," they both agreed.
"Then I agree with it. Splitting them up might just give Bill two targets instead of one. Will the police be watching the house?" Mr. Bowden asked.
"No sir. The Detective said they didn't have enough proof that Bill is dangerous to do that yet," Mike answered.
"But you said that he wrote that he wanted to kill all three of you. Isn't that enough?" Mrs. Bowden asked.
"When the Detective comes back from Charlotte, I'll ask him again. They should at least drive by several times at night," Mike answered.
"Well Rob, I guess you had better go up stairs and pack," she said.
"Come on, Bri," Rob said, as he and Bri walked out of the room.
"Mr. Anderson? This is Detective Jones. I'm in Charlotte off I-85 at the Holiday Inn on Lexington Avenue. Can you please give me directions?" Justyn asked.
"Hello Detective. Sure. Take I-77 north. It is only about a mile further up from where you are. Go about 3 miles to exit 56. Take a right and follow that road for about 2 miles. You'll see a fork to the left. There's a green mail box there with Anderson on it. That road will go for about a mile but it will bring you right up to our house," Mr. Anderson replied.
"Thank you, sir. I'm ready to leave now. See you in a few minutes," Justyn answered. "Bye."
Justyn had already checked out and packed, so he grabbed his bag, leaving the key on the dresser, and walked out. He unlocked his car, put the bag in the trunk, and drove off.
It was easy to follow Mr. Anderson's directions and he was soon on the steep path that led up to his house. Justyn saw where a car had gone off the side of the road and was sure it was where Billy had died.
Mr. Anderson walked out of a huge building that was off to the side from his house when Justyn drove up. He was a large man who looked very strong. He didn't look very friendly, though.
"Hello Mr. Anderson. I'm Detective Jones," Justyn said, holding out his hand.
"You don't look old enough to be a Detective," Mr. Anderson said as he shook Justyn's hand.
"I can assure you that I am," Justyn answered as he got out his wallet containing his Detective shield and showed it to Mr. Anderson.
"What do you want to know?" Mr. Anderson asked.
"First, why do you think your son was murdered? If Billy was driving fast down the road I just came up, it would be easy to lose control going down that hill," Justyn said. "Plus, he was driving an old car. Maybe the brakes failed."
Mr. Anderson stared at Justyn for a moment, then said, "Come with me a minute." He turned and walked back to the huge building where he had come from as Justyn had driven up.
Justyn followed him into the building and entered another world. There were old muscle cars everywhere. Justyn could count over ten Corvettes alone. There were four men working on several of the cars. Everything was as clean as a new car showroom.
"This is what I do for a living. We restore old cars like these to perfect condition and then sell them. Billy and I restored his Z-28 ourselves. Billy did a lot of the work, but I checked everything he did. He was almost as good a mechanic as I was. You want to see his car?" Mr. Anderson asked.
"Yes sir, I do," Justyn answered.
"It's out back," Mr. Anderson said, leading the way towards a rear door.
They passed a dirt track race car at the end. "Do you race, Mr. Anderson?" Justyn asked.
"Not any more. I used to. That was Billy's car. He started racing when he was 14. He was really good, too. I'll show you his trophies when we go inside," Mr. Anderson answered.
They exited the building and immediately saw the wrecked Camaro. Nothing had been done to repair it, even though they obviously could have in the shop Justyn had just walked through.
The front had caved in where it had hit a tree. That was obvious. But the parts of the car that hadn't been damaged by the wreck looked brand new. The paint gleamed like a new car finish.
Mr. Anderson walked around to the passenger door and opened it. He brought back two parts of a brake hydraulic cable. It was cleanly cut in two.
"Do you think that could have happened in the wreck?" he asked Justyn.
"No. That's too clean of a cut," Justyn answered.
"That's what I told our stupid police. But they wouldn't listen. They called it an accident and left it at that," Mr. Anderson said.
"Did your son have a computer in his room?" Justyn asked.
"Yep. He got it for Christmas when he was 14. He had his own phone line too. He paid for it himself from the money he earned working here," Mr. Anderson answered.
"Is it still there?" Justyn asked.
"Billy's room is exactly the way it was before he was murdered. You want to see it?" Mr. Anderson asked.
"Actually, I would like to boot it up and see if I can find anything that the man I am hunting might have sent Billy," Justyn answered.
"I'm not going to let you snoop through my son's personal messages, Detective," Mr. Anderson said.
"Look, Mr. Anderson, you said you wanted to help catch this son of a bitch. I know what I might find isn't going to help Billy but it might help the boy he's after now. It might be important," Justyn said loudly, as he got right up in Mr. Anderson's face.
Mr. Anderson just stared at Justyn for a moment, then got a small smile on his face. "Maybe you're old enough to be a Detective after all," he answered. "Ok, you can look through the damn computer." He turned and walked steadily towards the house. Justyn had to hurry to catch up to him.
To Be Continued
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