It is illegal to impersonate a police officer in the United States of America
F I C T I O N
Max sat on a picnic table bench on a 30-acre hilly property South of Hood River, Oregon. Zane, his adopted uncle and ex-military sniper from the 1970s let him shoot a 600-foot target with a .22 with tripod. Nothing “dark” about it like modern gun-lust high-powered rifles sold unassembled online. Uncle Zane knew nothing of Max’s childhood of pain, but was also a discarded sensitive young man in his day. The bond was natural.
Max loaded each bullet by hand- fast. Looking thru a scope, shot at a Yogi Bear cartoon. Max was dark-haired, 49 and a mix of overweight and stocky, sporting a goatee. Zane was in better shape, white-haired cut very short.
After 30 rounds or so, smoking weed and sipping a 12-oz bottle of German beer, they got into the golf cart. The “backyard” was like a steep golf course going down from the large 14-room house surrounded by birch, maple and towering Oregon evergreens trees- creating seclusion and shade. A run down camper, abandoned, fit right in to the setting. A man’s domain. All that flowered was unplanted- rhodedenderon, wildflowers- rather vivid seen thru psilicibin eyes.
Max had a whole handful of shrooms. The effect was minimal due to his chronic health problems and broken back. Zane, on the otherhand was a little paranoid. He asked Max, “Uh- are you gay?”. Max wondered if Uncle Zane was asking to protect himself or was HE gay and thought with an unsteady stomach “This is FUNNY.” Max said “Nnnnno.” And looked at the clouds so epic, sky blue with violet and said, “Your yard is awesome, man.”
They got to the target in an island of uncut 60 year old trees and bush. 95% body hits to Yogi.
“I was aiming for the head,” Max laughed.
“The scope is OFF,” Uncle Zane replied.
Max, in thought:
“I can DO this. With a scope set correctly, I would hit. 95% means this Yogi is a dead man even with these clavicle body hits! I am an assett but for no purpose. Still, it feels great! I…”
And Uncle Zane said, “Let me show you the whole property.”
T W E L V E
Y E A R S
L A T E R . . .
Max, clean shaven lay in the bushes in rural Eastern Washington by the river. Wearing black shorts- it was Summer, and a brown T-shirt, he lay very still and patient at sundown, just 135 feet from the porch of the house belonging to “The BBW”- “Big.. Bad.. Wolf”, his name for the anthropomorphic super unnatural living target- an animal. The setting was a small very densely wooded area where the wolf living in a “Tiny House” with a tool shed and a dock to a slow river that merged with a bigger river with a view of high mountains. At the dock was a boat the wolf used to rape debutants, bother Boy Scouts bound and gagged and this is what brought Max here on this day.
* c r a c k *
“I fired?”, Max thought. Yes. Yes he did. Also heard a tree branch snap- no tree in the way. That was the .22 round that entered Percival Walther Exeter’s head. That was his legal name. How can wolves acquire human names? Preposterous. Not funny. The 243 lb body fell halfway to the chicken coop. 100 feet from anything. No one apparently around to hear except for bears and deer, owls, geese, ducks and squirrels.
Max took off his gloves and left the scoped rifle to rust as a fair clue. He was not sure how The Almighty would take this action. It was over. It began to rain. Better sense told him to throw the gun into a 2 foot sink hole 4 feet wide. Plenty of them! Like at Uncle Zane’s and he buried it with 15 trips with a wheel barrow. Gloves down there too. That was it.
The twice sued wolf got away with felony charges as clean as a ballerina’s grace.
Max found the wolf. Asleep and never to wake for a “meal” again. He was in the grass. No blood except for an entry hole in the left ear. No blood! Max left the body and entered the Tiny House. Inside was a bed and a bunch of normal knick-nacks. A few pistols. He touched nothing but used his shirt to open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Nice cold water. Ate some pizza that he took outside.
Inside the house were plane tickets to Bancock and some web addresses. He saw the computer lap top screen. Did not touch it. It was on a site for prostitutes. Underage Asians- 10, 12, 14… none were older. Did the wolf never stop??? Max’s son was “bothered” by the wolf and before Christmas left a not about the wolf and then drowned himself.
After an hour of staying calm and laying, Max got up. “Wolf- you are not here,” he said. But your last snakeskin is a problem.
Max pulled the chipper-shedder to the dock edge. Gas powered. The wolf was only wearing sandles and boxers. How convenient. Max threw the sandles on and put his boots in the back of the wolf’s truck. Touching nothing. He took off his shorts and his own boxers and put on the dead wolf’s underwear as a Mayan ritual, then his boxers and shorts back on. Strange?
Max took 2 mintues to drag the body of the wolf to the dock. He tried to start the wood shredder ( a medium sized one ), rechecked the outgoing “spitter”. It was well over the dock.
He finally got it going. It was very quiet actually. Suddenly he heard banging in the boat! Oh crud. Max sauntered over to the boat, which I must mention was at a second dock with a high gate. Open. Good.
At the boat he heard a man. Full grown. Oh no. Accomplice? No. A boy. A policeman’s son he later read in the news.
The boy cried for help. “Just a second,” Max said. “I’m fighting the wolf. He is not conscious.” (For sure) “It’s bad. I beat him.” (With a 1st round punch and took his title and shorts).
“When I am done, I must leave- UNDERSTAND? You cannot see me. I’m commiting a crime but I will unlock the boat after I get the chipper going.”
The boy was quiet then said, “Okay- but YOU WILL GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, right?”
“Hell, yes, Son”, Max said, and thought:
After the nude wolf was fed into the gnarly chompers and “wolf mist” and bone and coarsely ground meats sprayed out, Max had no way to clean it. Oops. So he pushed the chipper into the water. It was VISIBLE! Crap.
Well, he asked the boy to be blindfolded. Told him he was a vigilante slayer. He asked the boy if he was harmed. He was in shock but not-yet assaulted sexually.
Blindfolded, the boy was taken to the house. Max called 911 and GPS located the farm.
“Something I need to tell you,” the boy said. My dad is the sheriff.
“I respect that,” Max said. He took the boy’s blindfold off. Max smeared mud on his face. The boy, 11, brought him a beer. “Here,” he said. “And thank you. Did you kill him?”
Max started to tear up. “His actions- the WOLF- led to this. I let him go. Into the water. He is gone.”
The boy hugged him.
“I can go anywhere, do anything. I chose to reap today- the worst responsibility. I am no hero. Tell them everything you want. Your father may find me.. but I was trained by a military man- not for this. I do not know what I will do now! I will try to forget. You and I are different, but I want you to remember that perhaps this day God put me here… and if today troubles you- if IT HELPS, remember that I will be troubled over what I have done. I was once where you are now. Life gets better. We keep breathing. I will wait…
I will wait in the bushes to see the police arrive and wave to you when I must flee. I cannot face this now. I will be a fugitive.”
The boy kept talking to him as it got darker. Max planned to appear to go North. Bright lights came over the hill, down the muddy drive. Max waved. Not meaning to, the boy subtly waved back and made the “peace” sign.
“RANDY!”, shouted a man- the Sheriff. “Who were you waving at??!” And the boy clutched his dad and said, “Let him go, dad. He saved me.
Max hiked North then East to the river. He took off his shirt and melded into the water- a bit cold. And he did not swim. He floated downstream for 2 miles, just as he planned. He found his hidden keys and dressed, throwing the boxers in the river.
He got to a motel. The “Owl’s Nest”. Native Americans consider owls unlucky and a foreshadowing of death. Max was not Native but affected the land with unknowns. Certainly the Land hates the abuses of Man. Certainly this was all justified.
He followed his conscience, looked up the Everest, WA police department. He called from a pay phone two days later and asked for Sheriff Whittaker. On the phone he said, “I reaped a wolf by the water. A man is dead.”
The sheriff said, “My son is back… Missing 5 days. Call me if you want to… turn yourself in. It may be best… to turn yourself in- you understand? FBI are all over this- I can speak FOR YOU. How can I not? Call me when you want to turn yourself in.”
Max said, “I’m outta here. You saw what he was up to??”
“Your wolf was in the top 100 for piles of heinous crimes. But our civilization is not ready for reaper vigilantes.”
“I would have been out without much trace. But your boy was trapped…”
* Laughs * – “I think you are kind of dangerous… yet you did save my son. Sweet Jesus- how are you going to save yourself now?”
“I’m glad we are talking.”
“What the hell did you do? We found a hay bailer in the water and some blood. My son said it was a chipper. We think its a bailer.”
Shot the m-, man with a .22, shredded him into the water
“I see. Okay. Uh… yikes. I have to tell you something…
Story by Andrew Harrison
No copyright, 2016