It Needed Doin'

Meuller managed to get his finger extended in the time Theo had been talking. However, he lacked the strength to lift it.

"So, I finally got you." Theo told Meuller. "You end here. Drowning in your own blood. But before you go, you need to know this..."

Theo spoke clearly, and with relish as he looked his former son-in-law in the eyes.

"When I get to Hell, I'm going to kill your ass again and again."

Mueller's eyes rolled, and started to close.

"But right now, I'm going to stand here and watch you die, you sonuvabitch."

++++++

The next day, after nightfall, Theo Miller went under the chain-link fence around the county junkyard, dusted the dirt off, and headed to the big steel building on the end of the lot. His path kept him from being seen by the security cameras, mounted high on the front of the building. He approached the side bay door.

Rolling the door aside after unlocking it, he then clicked on the flashlight he'd brought, and looked around until he found the metal grinders.

He started the bulk grinder, and watched as the big gears churned, their jagged grabbing teeth rolling counter to the gears alongside them.

He made certain the bin underneath the grinder was set properly, and then he threw the rifle he'd murdered a man with, wrapped in the two blankets, into the grinder.

The scope he'd left at home. It was a good scope.

Once the grinder spit out the large chunks of wood, metal and cloth, he rolled the bin over to the fine grinder. He added some small debris, as well as some bleach he'd seen sitting nearby. By the time he'd put back the bin for the bulk metal grinder, the hopper under the fine grinder had a mish-mash of coarse powders in it.

Good enough.

He ran the soggy mess through the fine grinder again, to be safe. Then he dumped the filings and wood shavings into three plastic shopping bags he'd brought in his back pocket. Very handy things, those bags. Lots of uses.

He ran water from the hose through the grinders, placed everything back as he found it, shut things down, exited, closed the sliding door and locked it behind himself, walked back to the fence, and took his leave from the junkyard the same way he'd entered.

On his walk back to his truck, he used his knife to put a small hole in first one bag, then the others. As he swung them while walking, small dribbles of the shavings and dust flew away, lost to the side of the road.

By the time he got to his truck, the bags were mostly empty.

The soggy bags found a new home in the dumpster behind the convenience store.

The next morning, Theo went to visit his daughter in the rehab hospital, to relieve his wife who had spent the night there.

++++++

Two weeks later.

"Shit." Sheriff Meuller uttered.

He and several deputies were working the scene in the woods, with several techs from the state police, at Cord's Holler.

The body had been called in by a father-son set of hunters, out scouting the woods. They hadn't contaminated the scene much, and been as helpful as they could.

"Shit." Sheriff Meuller said again.

He watched as his deputies moved through the area, trying to find anything. Meuller didn't think much was likely, the body of his nephew was dead more than a few days, allowing for the gnawings on the corpse, if he was any judge. Once the wallet with his expired drivers license was found, along with the wrappers for two power bars, it had been easy to identify and confirm it had been Ross.

It had rained twice over the past five days, he knew using dogs would be worthless.

He hoped that the shooter had made some kind of mistake... a shell casing would be excellent. The exit wound on the body had been frightening. Whatever the round was, it wasn't made for deer.

"I got a round, I think!" came a shout from downslope, in the Holler.

"Go," said Meuller to the tech beside him. He watched the young man trot off downhill, carrying a white tacklebox of tools with him, then slide a few yards in the damp leaves, barely keeping his feet under him, as he insisted on wearing those stupid plastic baggies over his shoes. Meuller could only roll his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, the tech gave his report as he dropped the mildly flattened round he'd dug out of the dirt into its baggie. He'd put a little neon red flag on a wire into the spot he'd pulled it from. The other tech was taking pictures of the spot in the dirt.

"What is it?" Meuller asked.

"I don't know," started the tech. "I need to take it to the lab and..."

"It's a 30-06," said Deputy MacHenry as the tech peered at the bag he held in front of his face. "Christ, it's easy to see."

"Uhm, yeah..." agreed the tech.

Meuller looked upslope, to where the hunting blind his nephew used had been.

"Same ammo that the rifle we found used." MacHenry said unnecessarily.

"No shit?" asked Meuller sarcastically.

"Well, it sure wasn't what killed Ross." MacHenry said with mild irritation. "Whatever it was, it was a lot meaner."

Meuller just grunted in agreement.

Sherriff Meuller wore a scowl as he ran his eyes across everything in sight. The only chance they had was if the shooter had dropped something, anything. Then maybe he could get these college kid techs to do some lab magic, and put him on a trail to something.

After an hour, Mueller's irritation was still growing. If nothing was found, for convenience's sake, he'd have to write this up as a "hunting accident."

Aside from that, there may be some unofficial avenues of search. People he could press. Ross had been a monumental pain in the ass, and Meuller had worn himself out calling in favors to keep this particular shithead nephew from getting sent up.

Ross had no shortage of enemies.

That army vet he'd stolen the car from.

That girl he'd raped... "gotten drunk and had consensual fun with,"... yeah, her.

That guy who Ross had mercilessly bullied in school, who was now supposedly going to run for mayor.

That other girl Ross had "partied with."

The dealer Ross and his buddies had rolled, thinking that meth dealers wouldn't want to draw attention to themselves. Except that dealer was part of a redneck meth network, and they were pissed.

That girl who he'd hit with that stolen car, after her boyfriend had kicked Ross's ass. The boyfriend had already gone after Ross once. Wait, wasn't that the same girl he'd been married to? Christ, what a pile that was...

Ross's former boss at the landscaping company, after Ross had sold one of his big mowers. Then Ross had paid the man a visit later with his friends and "convinced" him to not press charges... and he'd dropped his uncles names too...

Every bar owner in the county.

Every food-joint owner in the county.

Shit, the list went on and on...

"Fricke!" Meuller yelled down-Holler. "Got anything?" The shouted reply was negative.

"Smith! Anything?" Again, the answer was nothing.

"Morales! Hey... Morales! Find anything?!" Morales had not seen anything yet.

"Frankowski! What you got?"

"I got deer shit!" the young man shouted back.