My Way Ch. 05

It was his way of telling me to go fuck myself, the self-righteous bastard. Damn, I hated politicians. As Harold and I left the office. He told me that the body would be released in a couple of days after they do an autopsy. How fucking stupid. The man doesn't have a face. I could save them money and tell them the cause of death. Some of the stupidest things really piss me off. Harold called me the next day and told me there would be a private graveside service for Jeff a few days later and wanted to know whether I would like to attend. I told him yes.

With my loving Julie on my arm, we attended the service. Harold, Christy, and Cheryl were there as well as his brother Ray and a few other family members. It was a closed casket service, and there were a few police officers there to turn away anyone not invited.

I was surprised to see Jeff's ex-wife Marsha show up. I thought what a fucked up situation it all was. Moose might have been a serial killer, but there were people who were crying because he was gone. I was one of them. How did his life ever arrive at such a point? That was something we would never know.

After the service, Harold asked the daughters as well as Marsha if they would meet him at his office. He mentioned I wasn't in the will, although I might need some of the information for my book, so I could attend if I chose to.

At the office, Harold explained to the daughters about their inheritance. They were totally taken aback to find out their father had left them nearly two million dollars each.

"Why am I here?" asked Marsha.

"Marsha, Jeff hated what you did to him. But deep in his heart, I believe he still loved you. About six months before he killed your lover and attacked you, he bought an insurance policy for a million dollars. He made you the beneficiary."

"What? I don't understand. Why would he do such a thing?"

"He dated a woman who was selling insurance. He wanted to help her out, so he purchased this policy. I think I've explained why he made you the beneficiary."

Marsha broke down and started crying. Even my Julie was crying. I guess women are like that. Later, Harold told me that the insurance company was one of the groups that kept the appeal process open on Jeff while they fought to nullify his policy. They lost.

For some strange reason, Moose's death brought Julie and me closer together. We realized how fragile life really was and decided to make the best of it. A week after the funeral I got a call from Cheryl. She said she had all the stuff in her father's chest if I would like to look through it, but she wanted it returned after I finished.

The chest contained a lot of personal information that Moose kept. He had pictures of the girls growing up. I guess his father had sent them to him. The girls were in his life, but they never knew it. How sad.

I came across some papers that had the actual names of some of his brothers in combat on them. There were even pictures. I stared at the one that was of Moose and Harold Zimmerman in it. On the back were two words: Snipe and Snap.

Then it struck me. Harold Zimmerman was the one person capable of shooting Moose from such a distance. He also made a point of telling me there was nothing he wouldn't do for Moose. Could he have put him out of his misery?

I questioned why Harold gave me that phone number to call. I thought after the shooting it was all right for someone to finish the job and kill Moose. Now I wondered if it was to make me part of the plan somehow. Harold could have called that number himself. Did it implicate me in any way at all?

Of course, that was all conjecture on my part, but it also made sense. Harold was Moose's best friend, and he came out of the parking garage minutes after the shooting. He handled all of Moose's personal affairs. Plus Moose had promised me during the interviews that I wouldn't have to testify.

I thought about telling the attorney general about my hunch. The papers said the police still had no suspects In the shooting death of Moose. But I kept thinking about how Moose always took care of things his way. He hadn't relied on others to take care of what he saw as injustice and wrong-doings. Everything I discovered about him showed the man left nothing to chance—not even his death. No, Moose died his way. I would tell his story, but it too would be his way.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way!
Yes, it was my way.

*

I hope you enjoyed reading this story.

Comments are welcome and appreciated.

DG Hear