Blaster

Blaster

A tale of pest control

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I grinned as I parked my truck, wondering if Angie would be surprised that I was home early. I wasn't done with the repair, but it needed parts, parts I had in stock in my shed. The job was seventy-five miles away, and normally I would have stayed until finish, but when I ordered the part I needed, I found it would be a three day wait. The farmer couldn't let his threshing machine stand idle that long, and I made repairs like this often, so I fabricated a few at a time.

If I went and got it the owner saved at least two days, and when you're farming, and it comes to harvest, time was money, and he offered another two hundred when I told him I knew where I could get the part. I never told him I made it because technically, while it wasn't illegal, it was frowned on, and I had a good relationship with my suppliers.

I had come in off the farm road, pulling up to my service building. Smiling, I parked my truck, but it turned to a frown when I saw the vehicles. A flashy vintage Mercedes convertable with the top down, and a black suv. Just as I turned my key the door flew open, and a huge black guy stood in it, a large automatic in his hands. Immediately fearing the worst for my wife, I raised my hands as he ushered me inside. I got a good look at his weapon, and though I had never seen one before, I recognized the silencer.

Fear turned to terror when he ushered me to the dining room, and I saw Angie splayed out on the table, stark naked. A small man was there, also naked, her juices still glistening on his cock. He grinned. "You're not supposed to be here, but now's as good a time as any to share the news. The bitch loves my cock, and I'm taking her home with me. We been fucking for about eight months now, it was damn covenient you traveled so much."

"Wha...why? Angie?"

She sat up, grinning. "You spoiled the plan, damn it! I was letting his come slid out right in front of where you sit, so even though I'm gone and you'd never know, you'd be eating over his cumstains. The why? He's rich and powerful, and gives me anything I want. Of course, I had to leave most of it at his house, but now that you know. Expect to see me in designer dresses in court, maybe even a fur coat depending how long it takes. "

Small Man was grinning. "Here's the deal. This is a nice place, so she gets it in the divorce. In return, you get to keep your business and whatever pennies you got saved up. It don't matter if you agree or not, it'll happen."

My house sat on thirty-five acres, all that was left of the big farm my great-great-grandfather had purchased before there was even a state here. I finally found my tounge. "Over my dead body!"

"Oh, you've chosen Plan B. I'll give you one more chance. Jerome, convince the man."

Jerome was probably six five of bulging muscles, and he was grinning. "Gotcha, boss. I won't break anything on his right hand, so he can sign."

"Good idea. If he gives you any kind of fight, shoot him. Widowhood will work just as good, it might even be better."

Jerome had laid his weapon on the table so he could kick ass. I had backed up behind the table, right in front of the old fashioned picture window my loving wife refused to let me replace. I held the opinion it raised our heating and colling costs, but Angie loved the view. He wasn't expecting it, and I threw one of the heavy oak chairs at him, catching him by surprise and knocking him down. The other guy raised his weapon and the boss was screaming to him to shoot me, so I snatched up another chair and threw it through the window, with me right behind it.

I hit the ground and bounced up running. Jerome had grabbed his weapon and jumped through the window right behind me, shooting as he ran. I could hear it make sounds kinda like compressed air, and could see the dirt gouges flying up in the light of the full moon. Then it felt like somebody ran a hot bar across my arm and it made me run faster. My tool shed was to my right so I darted in and slammed the door, turning the lock. Jerome was cussin' a mile a minute. "You little shit! Come out or I'll kill you slow!"

I was looking around desperately for a defensive weapon when I saw it. We lived in an area right on the edge of Kudzu range, and I'd bought one of those weed burners to keep them at bay. Angie loved it, but complained about carrying around the heavy propane tank. Then one day she showed me a couple of sites on Youtube. Elon Musk actually sold flamethrowers that looked like water blasters kids use, but they were sold out. There was another site called The Hack Brothers that copied it, using a kids' toy as a base.

Being a welder, a machinist, and a mechanic, it didn't take me long to figure something out. I used an old .410 shotgun that a friend gave me because it was damaged, and no good. I bought the parts, running a metal pipe up the barrel, then installing a burner head I'd modified until with a twist, it could go from a flame about six inches around to one a fourth that. A side effect was when it was turned down it shot three times as far. It was rated at 3400 degrees at full volume, and I figured it did about four thousand when it was choked down. I put an adapter on to convert it to be able to run off the small cylinders campers used for stoves and lanterns. A full tank would last about fifteen minutes, and I removed the trigger and replaced it with a high powered igniter, because the standard would choke down if you tried to ignite it with the valve wide open. The valve was right in front of the trigger guard, a flick of a finger opened it.

Angie loved it, named it The Blaster, and here it was. I managed to screw a new cylinder on while he beat on the door, then reached up and unlocked it, just as he slammed it with his shoulder. He fell inside, scrambling up, pistol in hand, looking for me.

When he saw me, the blaster was about eighteen inches from his face. His last vision on this earth was the flame blossoming. When you get hit in the face with three thousand degrees of heat at that range, bad things happen. Your eyeballs melt instantly, and your nose is charred down to cartilege. Your lips are burned off, and your tongue looks like a bratwurst left on the grill too long. The flame travels down your throat, searing your lungs. You flop on the ground making strangled 'gakking' noises, in extreme pain I imagine, until you die.

Not that I cared, but I dragged him out of the shed because his clothes were on fire. I looked at the misshapen lump on top of his shoulders, and remembered the sneer on his face as he was going to attack me. Fuck him! He probably got what he deserved, and I wondered how many other husbands had excperienced pain at his hand.

My adrenalin was still pumping, and now I was angry. Very angry. I picked up the Blaster, and the pistol, checking the magazine. Three bullets left. Then it occurred to me he would not travel without a reload, and found two magazines in his belt. I slammed a full one in, racking the slide as I walked towards the house. I didn't have a plan, but as I went by the little sports car, I had an idea. One long spray with the blaster had it on fire, even the tires were burning. I waited by the door, waiting for them to notice. Three minutes later there were shouts and screams, and his other goon opened the door, and was immediately shot in the face twice before he fell, deader tham my marriage. I shoved the pistol in my belt, and walked into the dining room.

Angie must have embraced a nudist lifestyle, because she was still naked, as was asshole. He had a small automatic in his hand, but before he could bring it to bear, I gave him a shot with the Blaster. Right in the groin. He was incinerated from the top of his thighs to the bottom of his stomach. I'd never heard anyone scream that loud, and he twirled around, looking for... I have no idea. He still had hold of the pistol, and was emptying the magazine randomly. Two rounds managed to find Angie. One to the head, the other to her crotch. She was dead before she hit the ground.

This wasn't what I had in mind at all, but I didn't have time to deal with it. Instead I focused on the asshole. He still held the pistol, more from instinct from anything else, but it was empty. The last thing he saw in this world was the bloom of fire as I gave him a three second blast to the face. It took him about five minutes to die. Exhuasted, I started to sit down, when I realized the house was on fire! It seemed I hit the curtains, and they went up in flames. My old house had interior boards made of heart pine, that I had sanded down and stained. My insurance agent told me it added five thousand dollars in value, but that wasn't the point. The stained wood caught fire pretty quick.

I realized this could solve a lot of my problems, and I ran out past the burning car, threw the dead guy in a wheelbarrow, and rolled him up to the door, tilting it and dumping him beside his partner. I ran back to the shed, shut the door, jumped in my truck, and drove away, slowly, going out the same way I came in. Just before I got out of sight there was an explosion and a ball of fire shot into the sky, so the fire must have reached the gas tank of the car. As soon as I hit the main highway I sped up, without passing a soul for ten miles. An hour and a half later I pulled into the little mom and pop motel I was staying at, and went into my room.

Then the shakes hit, as well as the regrets. I'd killed three people, and was responsible for the death of my wife. I didn't sleep the rest of the night, but when dawn broke, I showered, walked to the diner next door, and managed a small breakfast. The farmer was surprised to find me in the field so early, and I told him I discovered I already had the part in the truck. Two hours later it was up and running, and I watched for half an hour to see if it was going to hold up.

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I knew it would be bad, but it was still a shock. All that was left of my home were two chimneys and a third of my backporch wall. The cops, the coroner, and people who showed no uniform but had 'cop' written all over them watched me pull up. One deputy walked up slowly. I'd gone to school with Hal, we'd got drunk together for the first time when we were sixteen, double dated, I was even an usher at his wedding.

"What the hell happened?"

"I'm sorry dude. It was almost gone when we got here and there was nothing the fire department could do."

"Where's Angie?"

He put his hand on my shoulder. "She was inside. We're waiting for the hot spots to go away so we can recover the bodies."

"Bodies?"

"Yeah, she wasn't alone. At least three more, and before you ask, we have no idea what's going on."

I looked past him, noticing the two burned out husks in the front, and two more behind in what was the living room. It all caught up with me, the deaths, the betrayal, being awake for forty hours straight, and I passed out. I came to on a guerney, with an IV in my arm. The EMT's were also friends, it was hard not to know everyone in a small community, and Cherry put her hand on my chest. "Lay still, honey. You went into shock, so we're taking you to the hospital for observation, and they'll probably keep you overnight."

"What happened?"

Sherry grimaced. "I don't know. We've never worked a scene like this and I hope I never do again. The only reason we were here to start with was to haul the bodies to the morgue." She realised what she had said, and put her hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Johnny. Let's get you on the bus."

I was admitted, checked over pretty thoroughly, and given a small shot, that knocked me out for eleven hours. When I woke some kind of alarm went off, and a pair of nurses and a doctor came in immediately. They put me through a set of small physical and mental exercises and declared me fit. "How soon can I get out of here?"

The doctor grinned. "In a hurry? The kitchen is featuring meatloaf tonight, and I know you don't want to miss that. Seriously, we'll check you again in five more hours, and unless something unforseen comes to light, you can leave then."

The nurse stayed behind. "Do you feel up to visitors?"

"Who knows I'm here?"

"Everybody in the county, and probably the state. A burned down house with four dead bodies tends to make the news. Hal (the deputy), three guys from the SBI, and two guys who won't say but have 'fed' written all over them, and your family."

I might as well get it over with. "Send in the cops first."

Hal made the introductions. One homicide investigator and two arson experts from the state, and two Homeland Security special agents. The state boys started to ball rolling. "First, let us convey our condolences for your wife. I know this is hard, but do you feel up to talking?"

"Sure, but I don't know what to tell you. I left day before yesterday with a kiss from my wife and a nice house, and I come home to find my home burned to the ground with her in it. I probably got more questions for you than you do for me."

"Let's start with your timeline. I understand you have a business that requires you to travel from time to time, correct?"

I gave them the reader's digest explanation of my business, and that travel was required two or three times a month, but most of my business was local and I worked from home, traveling as little as half a mile to thirty miles for clients. That was my whole business, you couldn't come to me, so I came to you, for a very good rate. "I'm assuming you can verify your whereabouts?"

I gave them the number of the farmer I'd worked for. I also gave them the numbers to the motel, as well as the name of the diner I'd eaten at. They wanted more detail. "How am I supposed to do that? I went to the job. I did the job, ate at the diner, slept at the motel. I'm sure they can give you a better timeline than I can. Do I need a lawyer? Am I accused of anything? My wife is lying in the morgue, for God's sake!"

One of the Feds spoke up. "No one is suspecting you of anything, as yet. If you feel you need a lawyer we'll stop, and make it more formal. Judging from your reaction, there's a lot more at play here than you realize. We'll have all the bodies identified by tomorrow, but we got a lot of information from running the rosa-blanca.ru. Once we get verification, we'll proceed." My blood pressure spiked, alarms went off, and the nurse threw them all out.

Hal showed up by himself the next morning, picking me up and taking me to the station, where I was interviewed again. The Feds were asking random, unconnected questions, and I felt like they were fishing. My temper finally got the best of me.

"Know what? Fuck you guys! You're handy with questions, but don't like to give answers. So charge me with something, or cut me loose. I'm done talking now. Keep it up, and lawyers get involved. I may release a statement to the press, expressing my disappointment over the harassment I'm getting from authorities while my wife is laying in the morgue."

There was a few minutes and a lot of side eye glances. I finally got up, and one ot the Feds asked me to sit back down. "We've identified all the bodies. One, unfortunately, is your wife. It appears she was shot, as was one of the men in the hallway. The other, and the man in the living room, seems to have died in the fire. None of this makes sense. If two weren't shot, why didn't they exit the house?"

One of the SBI took over. "Your house was deliberately set on fire, and the living room was ground zero. We're pretty sure they used some type of accelerant, but the anaylsis isn't complete yet. Do you know who Zeb Burns is?"

"He's the Senator, isn't he? The one that's under investigation?"

"Correct. The man in the living room with your wife was his son, Brad. We suspect he was Daddy's bagman, and they were mixed up with some really shady people, with millions in play. The two men were the bodyguards he traveled with, Jerome Styles and Henderson Franks. This may be a tying up loose ends type of deal. The Senator is sweating bullets right now."

"They weren't very good bodyguards if they all ended up dead, were they? Now that you know who they are, can you find out why they were at my house? I never heard of any of them except the politician."

The Fed grimaced. "It seems your wife was having an affair with Brad Burns. We have a few surveillance photos of them together from two weeks ago, at the Excelsior."

I sighed. "I'd say that's a damn lie but you got proof so I'll accept that. Any idea how it started?"

"No, but your wife is, sorry was, a very pretty woman, and he seemed to have a knack with the ladies. As far as them being at your house, it could have been just a tryst, or something more serious."

"Describe serious."

"We have the Senator's personal assistant and his son discussing looking for somewhere away from prying eyes, and you're about as isolated as it gets. No close neighbors, surrounded by woodland and fields, with limited avenues of access."

A thought hit me. "Do you suspect me of being in on something with them?"

"That's an open question. Were you?"

I stood up. "I'm done talking now. I don't want to deal with this shit right now. How soon can I claim the body of my wife for burial?"

Hal looked uncertian bit one of the state guys said they'd be done with their examination by tomorrow. They asked me to stay and continue the conversation but I had all I could stand. "I'm leaving now. I don't like where these discussions are going, and while I've done nothing wrong, I think going forward there will be legal representation, and you can coordinate with whoever I chose on how and when further interviews are scheduled."

I walked out to see Angie's sister and mother waiting for me. Mom launched herself into my arms and sobbed, while Gail held back. I needed to have a private conversation with her, soon. I consoled her, not crying, putting it off to numbness, but after discovering her cheating, I found I had no feelings for Angie, not anymore.

We rode to the funeral home, and I let Mom pick out the coffin, and the flowers, telling them we'd call when they collect the body. The casket would be closed, becuase there would be nothing to view except for a charred piece of meat. They wouldn't be able to embalm her, and the director got me to the side and explained they would be keeping her frozen until right before the service, and specially seal the casket due to possible smell. I nodded, signed what I needed to sign, and left. I had a friend in real estate, and she found me a little garage apartment that would suit my needs. I'd still work out of the farm, none of the buildings burned. They put the car fire as caused by the heat of the house. The SUV had the paint scorched off the entire front end, so it was a reasonable assumption.

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We had the funeral on Sunday, and there was a large turnout. I played the numb, grieving widower as they lowered her into her grave.

Monday I called on my insurance agent, and got some bad news. And a little good news. "I can't release the money for the house because it's still a crime scene. As soon as it clears we'll start the paperwork. What we can do is release the life insurance, her cause of death has been determined, and you'll have the check by the end of the week. I think once the paperworks is over, we can cut you a check for the property. I'm really sorry about Angie, John. Any idea what happened?"

"Thanks, Fred. It's still an ongoing investigation and I've been told not to discuss it. Call me when the money can be released."

Then I went to see Gail. I looked her in the eye. "Tell me the truth, Gail. Angie's gone and you don't have to protect her any longer. Did you know?"