One Good Turn Returns Another Ch. 01

That fuckin' asshole. Two months of hearing my neighbors arguing, he belittling her all the while she kept asking questions of who was he sleeping with and where the money was going finally ended. It ended with an explosive screaming match about three weeks ago. That's when I heard several loud slaps and then the wife scream in terror while he laughed. Seconds after the third slap, I was already at my open basement door reaching for my heavy duty drain spade. By then Chloe had run out of their house with her clothes torn, her lip bleeding, barefoot and trembling. She stopped, not knowing where to go or what to do while we both heard the uncoordinated trampling of her abusive drunken husband follow her down their back stairs.

Chloe and I had been friendly in the past, not close but friendly as neighbors. Chloe is 22 and I'm 72. Standing there looking lost; I waved and caught her eye. I put my index finger to my lip for her to be quiet. Then I motioned to her to come to my basement door where I was standing. Once she got into the basement, I very quietly closed and bolted the door. Since it's my laundry area, I pulled out a freshly laundered sheet for her to cover herself and a set of my garden crocs to wear and then led her to the interior windowless furnace room, closing the door and turning on the light. There was no way her asshole husband would be able to find her now. This old fart always turns out the lights by 10:00 and it was now close to midnight in my dark home. We heard him call out her name for the next 10 minutes until he got into his car and drove away.

I got great friends. However, I knew that they would later bitch me out for waking them and their spouses at midnight. I also knew that they would painfully tear me several brand new large sized assholes using barbwire lubricated with hot sauce if I didn't call them. Like I said, I've got great friends. It was 15 minutes after midnight when I started to call select members of our retired group - a lawyer, a social worker, a nurse practitioner and a cop. We've been close friends for decades. The financial person was not needed now and could be called later. For next the 45 minutes in my basement, Chloe got the cliff notes version of their knowledge, advice and all of our support. All it was going to cost me was a couple of extensive meals at my backyard for them and the rest of our retired boomer group. The meals are no big deal. The get togethers in late spring and summer are in my well manicured garden at my house anyway. It helps that they like my cooking. I mean, they really like my cooking. They also hate my cluttered house but they love the garden. It's been cluttered since Darleen's unknown brain aneurysm burst three plus years ago.

I was supposed to be the one that went first. Man plans and God laughs. What a fuckin' sense of humor...

I live in a working class suburb of late 1950's starter homes south of Chicago, but we headed to an ER in one of the west 'burbs, about 30 miles away. Her asshole husband wouldn't think of looking for her there. It's also closer to one of her sisters. Along with the Police, the support agencies in that 'burb and her family all helped Chloe to solidify her decision to immediately leave her husband and file. The evidence needed for abuse charges will be preserved. She called family for a place for her to stay at.

All she asked of me later that night was to monitor when her shit-of-a-husband wouldn't be at their house. She needed to get her things and a police presence was more drama than she wanted.

Her sister and brother-in-law took her to their home that early morning when she was ready to go. I left sometime after 6 in the morning. She demanded that one of her friends drive me and my car home. I was exhausted and it was not safe for me to drive with my lack of sleep.

With her parents, her grandmother Tess, a sister and two male friends, she returned five days later to her rental house while her ex-husband-to-be was at work. I had verified that he was not at home when she called, but I stayed outside of her house with my shovel in case he showed up unexpectedly. Her grandmother Tess and I had a nice conversation while the rest of the crew emptied the house of anything that Chloe owned. They did not even leave any broken or useless things. She wanted a clean break and did not want to give that asshole any reason to have to show up to 'drop her things off'. Two years of her life had been wasted with that child in a man's body.

After the Emergency Room night and morning, it took my body and mind three days to fully recover. It's hell getting older. It more than pissed me off on what he did to her. You see, I know who I am. I don't call people names. I don't defraud anybody or lie to people. I don't fuck with people because I can. I don't take advantage of others. I don't kick people that are down. I also help people in trouble. However, if I can safely help out with a bit of karma, both good and bad, I don't hold back. Unless it is to protect life and limb, I don't believe in hitting anyone, let alone a woman. What that asshole did to her was unforgivable.

All the asshole knows about me is that I used to be a semi-successful florist. More than once he intimated that I had to be a bit 'soft in the head' or a bit 'swishy' to be into flowers and plants. All he has ever seen me do is 'putter' alone in my garden in the past year. Not even Chloe knew why I was 'into' flowers; she just liked looking at my garden over her fence.

Over 4 and a half decades ago when I came back to civilian life, I took to growing things to help ease my mind. With the VA Benefits, I ending with a degree in plant biology and worked in labs for somebody else. My last 20 years working were spent in my own florist and small gardening center.

At 18 I was drafted and spent my 'vacation' time in the Mekong Delta during the Viet Nam war. My tour was in the jungle. I've since had some great conversations with other grunts that were in the sandbox over the years. War is war. We may have been 30 to 40 years apart and sometimes on opposite sides of politics, but they were still my brothers and sisters and we generally respected each other. Ask anyone who has actually fought as a grunt in an infantry company, it changes you. My PTSD was not nearly as bad as many of my fellow soldiers, but 25% of all the Viet Nam vets had it. They really didn't know the best way to treat it then. Nam vets had it better than WW2 and Korean vets, but still. The current vets.... please give them some understanding. They more than deserve it.

Anyone who puts down a vet is a piece of shit. Vets that have put their own ass on the line demand our thanks, not being labeled losers. I still remember anti-war protesters calling returning Nam vets 'Baby Killers' in airports in the 60's and early 70's. Now having a politician call a captured war hero a loser is no fucking different. Don't get me started and stop pretending that assholes like that are patriotic. You can use your considerable powers of denial on yourself, but doesn't fuckin' lie to me - and others.

But tonight may be the night for a little payback for Trevor, Chloe's soon-to-be ex-husband. One of the things that I found out from Chloe is that he took his fucks to my hot tub when I was away from home. The hot tub was given to me by my kids and grandkids to ease by aches and pains, both physical and emotional. Chloe mentioned that she first became suspicious when she found a pair of towels reeking of chlorine in their hamper. A little investigation over the next few weeks showed that it was on the Wednesday nights when she worked a 12 hour shift, from 7PM to 7AM at the hospital. One of Chloe's sisters staked out her house for her on that day of the week. The woman skinny dipping in my hot tub with Trevor was twenty five year-old Brea O'Malley Kowoloski, the wife of Jerry Kowoloski. Jerry is one of the hospital's 11PM to 7 AM shift medical technicians.

It's just like Clue -- Chloe's husband Trevor, with his candlestick in Brea, in the hot tub.

Tonight is Wednesday, the weather is quite warm and both Chloe and Jerry are working. My car is parked across town and my house lights have all been off since yesterday. The additional 'Danger - NO TRESPASSING' signs have been up for over a week. Exit gates to the ally at the back of the garden have been modified to not open and the entire fence bordering the alley is now my new 5' tall trellis for several of my quite large transplanted ever blooming rose bushes, very thorny rose bushes. The lights in or near my tub have all been disconnected.

I learned things while a grunt in Nam. Over there, trip wires could maim or kill you. Punji sticks could disable and maybe poison you if coated with a variety of substances. Today, the trip wires will be a drug delivery system. As a botanist and owner of a small garden center, I know of many plants that produce some pretty nasty skin reactions in people. This is especially true for naked, wet and frightened people not wearing shoes and needing to run away very fast. I strategically placed trip wires to cause anyone running in the garden to fall face first on select ornamentals. These beautiful plants will cause skin welts, blisters, itching and if I am lucky, weeks of non-lethal pain and discomfort. If I am real lucky, it will hit his privates and that'll put a stop to his extracurricular trysts for a while. Funny thing, this is legal. Things that may cause death are not. First responders wandering in your property should not be injured or killed.

I help others with their gardens in the neighborhood. I'm very good in properly pruning overgrown rosebushes. In fact, I've been so good that I even take away their trimmings. Those extra dried thorn bearing branches are great to leave all over the garden, especially on the paths, right after the trip wires and near the back fences. The dried stems are quite invisible in the dark.

Chloe introduced me to Jerry Kowoloski after she filled him in on his wife's extracurricular activities. Unfortunately it was not the first time Jerry's wife decided to 'experience life' by getting a little on the side. Jerry said that she swore that it would never happen again, but he quietly had the legal paper work drawn up. He wasn't surprised at the revelation from Chloe. Jerry wanted to help me, but only in legal ways. All I needed from Jerry were several recordings of his scripted voice, him loudly closing his double barreled shotgun that he uses for skeet shooting, the distinct sound of his car that needed a muffler, car door slams as well as a couple of discharges from his shotgun. He did help me set up hidden Bluetooth speakers in the driveway, hot tub area and in the garden. We tested out the mp3 audio clips for a couple of different scenarios. The volume settings were calibrated for quiet, 'standard' and loud background noises. I also practiced mixing and matching these clips on my tablet at home wearing headphones. It even became fun after a while.

The lawyer in our group was very helpful in guiding to protect me from liability from the 'trespassers'. Nothing I set up was deadly. It would not bother anyone walking in my yard wearing shoes in the daylight.

Everything has been ready to go for two days now. I was 'on guard' last night awaiting the trespassers. After 10PM, I sent Chloe and Jerry a text, "Begin". That would be the earliest that asshole could come over. I've been staying up until 12:30 or 1AM. That's when I sent them both an "END" text and went to sleep. If anything were to happen after "Begin", I was to text them, "The Eagle Has Landed". We needed to be sure that they both would be seen by their supervisors, co-workers and Cops at the hospital where they both worked. It was most important that there was no way that Jerry could possibly be at my house. We scripted and recorded some very short vicious angry statements from him. These were so very much unlike Jerry's usual soft spoken demeanor.

Now I've been sitting here in my basement for an hour in the dark, just staring out at my neighbor's house. I think that it's actually owned by some corporation, or at least it's managed by some reality firm. It was picked up in the last property crash. The previous owners got laid off and decided to walk away when they couldn't find another job after 6 months. They were good people that were ruined by the downturn. Thankfully they walked to the bank, gave them the keys and headed out to who knows where. That's a pretty popular place when you are in massive financial trouble and need to start over. I was sorry to see them go and they were too. They were good people.

Listening quietly to music on my phone, I let my mind wander. A year ago I got a copy of Aphrodite's Child's 1972 album, 666. It's an acid rock cult classic of mystical music and songs based on the book of Revelations. I smoked so much dope listening to this after I came back from the army. The song, the Four Horsemen (of the Apocalypse) is starting now. "... The leading horse is white, the second horse is red, the third one is a black, the last one is a green..." Damn, it brings me straight back to happier times. The refrain starts again and I smile and mouth the words with the music. "... The leading horse is white, the second horse is red..." Suddenly I see headlights light up the front of their house. I kill the music and look toward the street. A car door opens and the asshole and a woman get out of the car. Jerry gave me a jpeg of his wife and there she was in all her glory running into his house while grabbing for his ass and laughing. Ah yes, young and dumb. Reminds me of an old t-shirt I used to have. Age and Treachery will always overcome Youth and Skill. I send out the pre-set text, "The Eagle Has Landed". Two minutes later, I hear his back door open and they come out wearing towels. Let the fun begin.