Vigilantes Pt. 02 of 02

As my search continued, I found myself becoming something of an expert on the outlandish behavior of a certain daughter of a hotel chain magnate with the same last name, but I had no luck finding Brandon Hilton. He seemed to have made good his escape from the one-man posse on his tail. My lack of success only hardened my determination to find him.

A part of me watched my activities in amazement. Just what did I think I would do if I found the man: fight him? I was no black belt in Eastern martial arts, no unarmed combat expert. Besides, he was twenty years younger than I, he'd surely kick my ass. How did I expect to get satisfaction from him if I even could find him?

But that line of thinking did nothing to assuage my anger. He'd preyed on my family, stolen my wife and broken up our home. He'd dishonored me and stained my reputation, insults that were unbearable to me.

In an earlier era, I knew, the answer would have been straightforward. In a matter of honor during the nineteenth century, the injured party would challenge the other to a duel with swords or pistols. But I knew from my studies that the military was largely responsible for putting an end to dueling. So many duels were fought by soldiers and sailors that the military made it a crime; they needed those soldiers for the battlefield. By the twentieth century, dueling was a dead tradition.

I knew the history, and I knew the reasons why society so adamantly opposed all such extralegal action. But I was still left with the same conundrum: how could a man regain his honor without taking the law into his own hands, without becoming a vigilante?

So I continued my obsessive solitary search for the man I hated, even though I had never met him face to face, even though I had no plan to deal with him even if I could find him. But none of that stopped me from slipping off to the computer every few days to see if any new information might be found.

By the time the spring rolled around, I had almost given up hope of ever finding Brandon Hilton's whereabouts. I was ready to accept that he had disappeared and that I would never see or hear of him again. So I was startled one night when one of my searches actually pulled up a hit from the Savannah Morning News. When I read the story, I was dumbstruck.

I immediately called Bridget to see if I could come over to talk about my discovery. I couldn't discuss it with Emily because I didn't want to upset her, and I had no interest in sharing the news with Lori, but I couldn't keep it to myself.

"I've found him!" I said excitedly, handing the print-out of the news item to Bridget. "You won't believe what he's done now!"

She quickly scanned the article and then handed it back to me. "I don't understand, John. I know you hate Brandon, but what does his getting married have to do with you?"

I couldn't understand why Bridget wasn't shocked by the news, but then I realized that there was no way she could understand the significance.

"Bridget, Lori's maiden name was Carleton," I shouted. "That bastard is engaged to be married to Cecily Carleton -- to Lori's sister and Emily's aunt!"

"Unbelievable!" she gasped. "Why won't he leave the Carleton family alone? It's like he has a vendetta against the Carleton women."

I hadn't thought about it that way, and I tried to reason it through. "No," I said slowly, "I don't think that's what's going on. I mean, he certainly knew that Lori was Emily's mother; in fact he probably got some sort of sick thrill from seducing the mother as well as her daughter. But as far as he knew, they were Lori and Emily Manning. It's unlikely that he would know Lori's maiden name -- he probably doesn't know that she and Cecily are related."

"Maybe not," she admitted, "but I still don't understand how the Carletons could let Cecily get engaged to him after what he did to Emily and Lori."

"That's the thing," I said, "they don't know either! There's been virtually no contact between Lori and her family since she and I got married. I'm sure they know Lori is alive now, but they probably have no idea who she ran off with. Rufus Carleton probably thinks he's getting a promising young lawyer from Savannah for a son-in-law."

"If Brandon doesn't know and the Carletons don't know," Bridget asked, "then what do you care what happens in Savannah?"

I shook my head. "Brandon may not know that there's any connection, but as far as I'm concerned, he's back again. He's like a thief who robs your house and then comes back later to rob it again. He owes me, and this time I'm going to do something about it!"

Bridget got a worried expression on her face. "John, what are you thinking? You're not going to try something foolish, are you? Violence never solved anything."

I didn't say it to Bridget, but as a historian I knew that old saying wasn't true. Think violence never solved anything? Tell that to the Carthaginians after Cato goaded the Romans into conquering their army, slaying all their men, enslaving their women and plowing salt into their fields to make nothing would grow for seven years. That pretty well settled the issue for Carthage, I thought.

But I didn't want to alarm Bridget, so all I said was, "I don't know what I'm going to do, but I can't stand idly by and watch this happen."

Now that Brandon Hilton's whereabouts were no longer a mystery, my mood only darkened. The possibility of revenge was no longer a fantasy; now I had to resolve the dilemma of what to do.

I'd always been a believer in the law. As a historian I knew all too well what happened when individuals took the quest for vengeance into their own hands. But after what had happened to me and my family, I simply could not sit by idly and let that man get away with his predations. My pride, my honor and my sense of justice all demanded a response: Brandon Hilton had to pay for what he had done.

Finally, after a long, sleepless night, I made my decision. Once I had finally done so, I found I was able to devise a plan to get satisfaction. I didn't have a lot of time, but I thought I could do what needed to be done if I hurried.

I now began to use the internet to research the steps I would have to take and to acquire the resources I would need to accomplish my objective. One by one I tracked them down. During this time I was often away from home running errands in pursuit of my quest, but I hoped that caring for two babies would distract the others enough that they wouldn't notice how busy I was. The last thing I needed was a lot of questions and second-guessing.

But both Emily and Bridget could read my mood, and finally, just before "D-Day," as I called it, they confronted me. I was working on my computer one evening when I looked up to see Emily standing on the threshold to my office with a look of concern on her face.

"Hi, Baby," I said lightly, "what's up?"

"Bridget is here," she told me. "We need to talk to you."

This was unusual -- I hadn't planned to see Bridget tonight. I quickly shut down my web browser and started to stand when Bridget walked in the door. She wasn't smiling.

Before I could say anything, Emily spoke up. "Daddy, Bridget told me that you've found Brandon." I shot Bridget a dirty look, but she simply folded her arms across her chest and stared back at me with a determined look on her face.

Emily pressed on. "Daddy, I'm scared to death that you're going to do something crazy. I know how upset you are with everything that's happened, and you have every right to be. But if you wind up in jail or go and get yourself killed, that's only going to make things worse."

Bridget stepped up and put her arm around Emily's shoulder. "Please, John, Emily's right. Whatever it is you're planning, don't do it. I've already lost one man to senseless violence -- I couldn't bear it if that happened again."

I saw the tears in both their eyes, and at that moment I was tempted to forget about my plans. These were the two women I loved most in the world, and the last thing I wanted was to cause them any pain. But I simply could not call it off. A line from one of the Cavalier poets crossed my mind: "I could not love thee dear so much, lov'd I not Honour more."

I came around my desk and hugged the two of them. "Thank you for caring about me -- that means a lot. But you two are worrying about nothing," I tried to reassure them. "I'm not about to do something stupid. You know me better than that."

Emily looked up at me with hopeful eyes. "Promise, Daddy?"

I had a flashback of Emily as a little girl, and I extended my little finger to her. "Pinky promise, Baby," I swore, and she took my finger with hers and smiled. But I saw a look of doubt from Bridget, and I knew I hadn't fooled her. I guess losing a husband in battle will do that to a woman. I'd have to be careful to avoid frightening her into trying to stop me.

I thought I had done a pretty good job of reassuring Emily, but my efforts were nearly undone when she took a delivery from the UPS man while I was still at school. When I got home, she handed the box to me with a troubled expression. "What is this, Daddy? The package says it's from The Armory. It's heavy. "

I knew immediately what it was -- I'd ordered it some time ago and had been worried about whether it would arrive in time. "It's nothing, Baby, just a gift for a colleague in the History Department," I lied.

She didn't say anything more, but I could see the doubt on her face.

That night I was in my office double-checking the driving directions when Lori startled me by walking in the room and closing the door. I'd made it very clear that I was not happy about having her and her baby in our house, and up to now she'd kept her distance.

"Well, what do you want?" I asked coldly.

She just looked at me for a moment; then her face turned red and she began to cry. "I know I've hurt you badly and been unfaithful and made you suffer and . . ." She stopped to choke back a little sob. "And I know that I have no right to ask anything of you, but . . ." Again she had to pause before she could go on. "It's just . . . please don't get yourself hurt or thrown into jail or anything over me. I've done enough to you -- I just couldn't bear it if I was the cause of even more pain for you, or Emily, or even Bridget."

I sat there unmoved. "That's your trouble, Lori. You always think that everything is about you. Well this is not about you, it's about me. I'm doing what I need to do. You opted out of my life and you don't get to come back into it, now or in the future. Understand?"

Her face turned pale, then she turned and swiftly retreated. After a minute's thought, I reached into a drawer in my desk and pulled out the copy of the wedding announcement in the Savannah Morning News. I folded it and put it in an envelope. Then I packed everything I would need. Tomorrow was D-Day, and I wanted to get an early start.

I awoke early the next morning, and after showering and shaving I took my bags and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a little breakfast before hitting the road. I had just finished my second cup of coffee when Emily walked in holding her baby. She spotted my suitcase immediately and looked up at me querulously. "Where are you going, Daddy?" she asked uneasily.

"I'll be back late tonight or early tomorrow morning, Baby," I told her.

"Where are you going?" she asked again, and I could see her anxiety rising.

"It's fine, Baby, I promise. Everything's going to be OK," I told her, kissing both her and her baby on the forehead. Before she could speak I reached into my pocket and handed her the envelope I'd sealed last night. "Do me a favor, Baby. When Lori gets back from work this afternoon, please give this to her."

Now there was real fear in her eyes, but before she could say any more, the baby started to cry, and while she was tending to it I used the opportunity to slip out the door. As I pulled out of the driveway, I wondered whether Emily would wait until Lori got back before she read the announcement. That made me think, and I reached into my pocket and turned off my cellphone. I didn't want to speak to anyone until I'd done what I had to do.

It's about a four-hour drive from Atlanta to Savannah, so I got into town a little past noon. After a fast food lunch, I checked into a cheap motel to rest and change clothes. After all, I wanted to look nice for the wedding.

It was still springtime, but Savannah was already hot and humid. There was a breeze off the ocean, of course, but it did little to bring down the temperature.

I put on the dark wool suit I'd brought with me. It was unremarkable but perfectly acceptable to wear to a wedding. That was fine with me -- I didn't want to be noticed, at least not now.

The air conditioner in the car kept me comfortable on the ride over to the cathedral, but as soon as I'd parked and began walking toward the entrance to the cathedral I began to sweat. I checked to make sure my suit coat was buttoned.

The wedding was by invitation only, but no one ever checks the invitation list. I waited until a knot of guests walked up the steps and fell in behind them. I even made idle conversation with a couple as we waited for the ushers to escort the ladies to the pews. When asked, I told the usher I wanted to sit on the bride's side, not because I gave a damn about the Carleton family but because there were more people seated on that side of the aisle. Better camouflage, I thought.

The cathedral made a lovely setting for a wedding. The high peak of the nave was impressive, and lilies and white roses overflowed the altar. The bride was lovely in her long white gown as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. That old reprobate was beaming at the congregation. I made sure to turn my head away as he walked past my pew.

The wedding mass was traditional -- the priest even asked if anyone present knew any reason why the loving pair ought not to married. I was tempted to speak but held my peace. The setting wasn't right for what I meant to do.

After the wedding, the entire congregation adjourned to the country club for the reception. I waited until most of the parking lot had cleared out before following, not wanting to stand out in any way.

The reception was being held in the main dining room of the club. Rectangular tables had been set up in a line along one wall to form an extended head table. The rest of the room was filled with round tables, each big enough to seat eight. The tables were arranged in a semi-circle so as to leave an open area for dancing. At a guess I figured there were 60 tables. I'd have a nice audience for my performance.

I found a table in the back of the room that wasn't filled and took a seat. "Must be employees or distant relatives," I thought. The other exiles at the table were glad to have company, and we began a desultory conversation about the wedding, the reception and how much Rufus must have spent. "This must be costing him a fortune," one woman told me breathlessly. "He actually got Paula Deen to cater the whole thing!" I believed her: the food was very good. If this was to be my last meal, I thought, at least it was an enjoyable one.

After dinner, the wine glasses were removed and replaced with champagne flutes. I knew what that presaged, and my stomach tensed up. I had only sipped at my wine through dinner because I wanted to have a steady hand. But I did accept a flute of champagne, not to drink but as a prop to help set up my performance.

The sound of Rufus Carleton's meaty finger tapping on the microphone called our collective attention to the main table. After some fulsome words about his daughter and her new husband, Rufus opened the microphone for toasts.

There followed a procession of friends and relatives, each of whom felt compelled to share some marginally humorous anecdote about the bride or the groom. After each toast there was laughter, applause and more consumption of alcohol. As the ritual wore on, I got up and edged my way around the room to the side of the head table. After a few more offerings, things began to quiet down and the best man asked, as I'd hoped, "Anyone else?"

I raised my glass and in a loud voice exclaimed, "I have a toast."

Because I was standing to the side, it was difficult for most of those seated at the head table to see me. I didn't think there were many people in the room who might recognize me but I wanted to take no chances. As I made my way up to the dais behind the honorees at the head table, I could see that most of the audience was paying no attention to me. "That will change," I thought grimly.

I took the microphone and cleared my throat loudly. I wanted to get people's attention, but my throat was suddenly dry anyway. It was time to start.

"We've heard a lot of anecdotes about the past so far tonight, but I want to talk about the future for Mr. and Mrs. Hilton," I said in a falsely jovial tone. "And by the future, of course, I mean children!"

That brought a laugh and a few whoops from the crowd.

"I predict there are going to be lots of children in this couple's future," I went on. "Now I can't speak for Cecily, but I can definitely vouch for Brandon's ability in that area."

There were a few more laughs, but a little murmur arose from the audience and I noticed several people look at each other questioningly. I spoke a little louder. "I can say that with certainty because Brandon has already fathered at least two children that I know of."

I heard a gasp from Mrs. Carleton, and immediately the audience began to buzz. Rufus Carleton turned to stare at me full on, and suddenly a look of recognition dawned on his face. "You're John Manning! You weren't invited to the wedding -- get off the stage!"

Brandon had been sitting there beside the dais in a slightly inebriated haze, but when he heard my name, something must have connected with him and he started to rise. I quickly leaned over, put my hand on his shoulder and roughly shoved him back down in his seat.

Some quick-witted soul killed the microphone, but that didn't faze me. I had taught freshman history to a class of 300 in an auditorium, so I knew how to project my voice. "I have more to say," I said loudly.

Rufus yelled again for someone to get me off the stage. To my right I spied several younger men -- they must have been friends of Brandon -- trying to make their way through the tables to do just that. I was prepared for that. I reached down, unbuttoned my suit jacket and pulled back the left side to reveal the shoulder holster I was wearing. With my right hand I pulled out a .357 magnum with an 8 inch barrel and waved it at the advancing men. There were screams from the audience and the men backed away hastily.

"Mr. Magnum and I have a few more words to share with you about Brandon Hilton," I said loudly, keeping my left hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me and his eyes were as wide and as white as the wedding cookies we'd been served with dessert.

"As I was saying, Brandon Hilton has already fathered at least two children," I went on. "Would you like to know with whom?" Turning to Rufus, I snarled, "The first one was by your other daughter, Lori, and the second one was with your granddaughter, Emily!"

I heard a shriek from the bride, and I turned toward her mercilously. "That's right, Cecily," I shouted, "Brandon is not only the father of your sister's baby but also your niece's!" The poor girl burst into sobs. I felt a little sorry for her because this girl had never been unkind to me, but I couldn't say the same for the rest of her family.

I turned back to Brandon. "You've always screwed around with whomever you wanted to: another man's wife, her daughter, it didn't matter. And you've always gotten away with it, haven't you, Brandon? But not any more!"

With that I reached up, grabbed Brandon's curly blond hair and yanked back, exposing his throat. At the same time I put the magnum down on the podium, reached for the scabbard beneath my jacket on the right side and pulled out a Bowie knife.