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Back to Chapter 32
Chapter 33 - Cassie's ex-boyfriend
Throughout the trial Jason wondered about his father, while he was
taking this, knowing that at least some of what was going on in the
courtroom would be making it to the international news services.
Undoubtedly his father would fly into a blind rage, but then, what would
he do next?
The answer to that question was�nothing. A dead man does not react to
bad news, at least not in any way that is perceptible to those of us
still in the land of the living.
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Mr. Schmidt may have been a greedy heartless sociopath capable of doing
anything to further his ambitions. However, there was one flaw he
definitely did not have, and that was the temptation to surrender to
defeat or to despair. Despairing over his circumstances was not in Mr.
Schmidt�s character. When faced with adversity, he always managed to
pull out of whatever situation confronted him at the time and push ahead
with his ambitions.
The events of April 21st and 22nd were the largest setback in life that
Mr. Schmidt ever suffered. He was horribly in debt because of all the
money he had borrowed to invest in the coup project. He would have to
start over, and start over very fast, if he did not want to have to
declare bankruptcy and sell his house and other holdings.
His associates were ruined and faced ostracism from their beloved
Mega-Town Associates. �Cutter� Stern, the closest person in his life he
had to being a friend, now was chained up in a holding cell in Danube
City and faced being shot. He wondered if �Cutter� could get out of his
situation, but more importantly, hoped that the prisoner would have no
reason to bring up his name in court. If �Cutter� kept his mouth shut,
many of the secrets the two men had shared would be blasted away by a
Danubian firing squad. Too bad for him, but maybe it was just as well.
Mr. Schmidt spent the last week of April and the first two weeks of May
working on damage control and a recovery plan. The shareholder meeting
that ended his associates� careers came and went without his name coming
up. It seemed that he would escape being identified by his company as a
participant in the disastrous coup project because he managed to hide
most of his contacts with the other coup plotters. That piece of luck
led him to suspect there was a very good chance he could find new
clients and indeed start over. He would quickly rebuild his finances
through both honest and dishonest means. The rest of the year would be
crucial. As long as he could at least make interest payments on his
debts for the next six months and replace his clients, he should be OK.
Of course that meant that the wimp�s college expenses would have to be
cut, along with the Chicago apartment and�wait a minute. Screw cutting
the apartment. I�ll cut the house instead and dump everyone. Really
start over. No house, no family, no overhead. Get rid of everyone and
everything and just start over. Why not? When they come after me�guess
what? Sorry�no money�if you don�t believe me, check my bank statements.
You�re on your own�
During the second week of May, Mr. Schmidt managed to set aside some
cash for day-to-day living expenses as he prepared to sell the house and
cut loose his family. While doing that, he continued to work for
Mega-Town Associates, assisting the company�s campaign to repair its
public relations. He became the most likely candidate to actually head
the new lobbying project, because he certainly seemed to have done his
research about the recent disaster in Eastern Europe.
There was another secret project in which he was participating, and that
was finding out who had provided the information to the Danubian
government. In spite of being broke, he contributed money to a team of
private investigators determined to find out who had given the
information to the Danubians. He and the others were genuinely
interested in finding out the truth, and if possible, retaliate. At the
same time he wanted to be in on the project so he could keep his eye on
the other conspirators and not get hit with any nasty surprises.
The first week of the investigation pursued a dead end, the Danubian
Embassy in Washington. It was a logical place to start, and a hefty
payment to a Danubian diplomat assured the investigators a list of
everyone who had contact with the embassy during April. Several
promising leads led nowhere, which prompted the investigators to look at
the Mid-West Foundation and its contacts with the Dukov government. An
economics professor called Ruth Burnside seemed to be cozy with Vladim
Dukov, but there was no indication that she knew anything about the
Mega-Town coup project.
Then they hit upon something. The Foundation had a graduate student
called Cynthia Lee as one of its members. It turned out Lee was the
sister of that singer from the banned group �Socrates� Mistresses�, that
she had traveled frequently to Upper Danubia, and currently was nowhere
in sight. Further investigation revealed that early in April she had
bought a ticket at the international airport in Milwaukee to go
to�Danube City. She had gone for just a week, came back to finish the
semester, and then took off again. Suddenly Cynthia Lee became the
investigation�s main target. It looked like they were closing in�
Then, Mr. Schmidt remembered Jason mentioning something about knowing
someone called Cynthia, a graduate student. The wheels of suspicion ran
in the man�s mind as he suddenly realized he had not heard from the wimp
since the semester ended. So, just where was he? A call to Jason�s dorm
director verified that yes; he had gone traveling with his girlfriend
Cecilia Sanchez, to Europe, if the man recalled correctly.
That was as far as Mr. Schmidt got.
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The day �Cutter� was scheduled to go on trial, Jason�s father returned
home to his oversized house to clean out his home office. The place was
eerily quiet. Something didn�t feel right, but he decided to shred some
papers and then take out several boxes of folders from his desk. Later
he�d have to dismantle his computer and load it into his car as well.
As he re-entered the house, that eerie feeling returned. Weird. He
decided to go upstairs to see if anything was wrong. As he climbed the
stairs he noticed the sound of a hairdryer coming from the Master
bedroom. That figures. It�s nearly noon and that lazy bitch probably
just got out of bed. Blow-drying her hair for her tennis undoubtedly.
Well, you dumb cunt, you won�t be playing tennis on my dime much more.
What was odd was that the hairdryer sound was steady, not the normal
whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of his wife moving it about her head. She must have
left it on and gone out. Of course. Fucking useless bitch can�t even
flip a switch anymore.
As Mr. Schmidt went towards the bathroom he noticed blood seeping into
the carpet next to the door. What the hell? He moved closer and saw his
wife�s foot lying in a pool of blood on the floor. As he moved towards
the door the rest of her body came into view. Her head was a shapeless
mass of hair and blood. There was a red splatter pattern on the far wall
indicating that she had been killed by a single shot to the head. The
hair dryer, hanging by its cord over the floor, gently swung back and
forth. Instinctually Mr. Schmidt turned off the device, but realized
that was a stupid thing for him to do. He should have left the crime
scene intact.
Mr. Schmidt realized right away that his own life was in danger. He knew
that it was not his wife they were after, but him. He needed to get out
of the house and call the police. Yes, the cops would suspect him of
killing his wife, but he had no choice. Unfortunately he did not have a
gun with him, but there was one in his home office.
He rushed out into the hallway�
�Hey, faggot!�
As he turned around, all he saw was a flash. He felt a tremendous
crushing blow to his chest. He was flung against the nearest wall,
bounced off and tumbled to the floor. He felt another shattering blow to
his right leg, a shot that splintered the bone and sent blood
splattering out the other side.
�So, faggot, you gonna beat me up? Huh? Still think you can do it?
Come-on, ass-man, try it. Beat the fuck out of me!�
Breathing suddenly became very difficult for the ex-linebacker. He began
feeling cold. With difficulty he turned his head in the direction of his
assailant. Standing over him was Cassie�s pothead ex-boyfriend. It was
obvious he was high on something. He had that weird, wild look in his
eyes. He pointed his gun right at Mr. Schmidt�s head.
�Yeah, we fucked up those pretty boys real good. Fucked �em up. They
weren�t so pretty when we got done with them. So how about it, ass-man.
You gonna fuck me up?�
�Uh�you�re still�uh�uh�a fuckin� faggot�shot me�no guts�couldn�t take
me�uh�man to man�uh�uh�faggot�that�s all you are�faggot.�
Mr. Schmidt saw one final flash, the one that blew his head apart. It
was the last thing in his life he would ever see.
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The bloody drama in the Schmidt house was far from over. The young man
fired a couple more shots into Mr. Schmidt�s body, just to get the
satisfaction of watching the blood splatter out of the wounds. He popped
another ecstasy tablet and reloaded his gun. He wasn�t finished using
it.
Fucking bitch Cassie�I�m takin� her out too. But I wanna see her fuckin�
face when she sees what I did to her fuckin� dad. Fuckin� bitch�she�s
goin� down. Just like her fuckin� old man�fuckin� bitch�I�m drilling her
fuckin� head�
Unfortunately, the next person showing up at the house was not Cassie,
but the Schmidt�s maid Rita. Unaware of what had
happened upstairs, the young Salvadoran rushed into the
kitchen, worried that she had missed her bus and was running nearly 40
minutes late. It was not the first time she had been late to work, and
Mrs. Schmidt had warned her that if she ever was late again, she would
be fired and a formal complaint filed to her maid service. Rita was very
stressed, hoping to enter the kitchen and quietly start cleaning before
Mrs. Schmidt noticed anything was amiss. She noticed something strange,
the home office door was open and piles of files were stacked on the
floor. That worried her, because Mr. Schmidt absolutely never left that
door open. Her mind immediately jumped to that morning she let her
boss�s son into the office, making her even more concerned that her job
might be in jeopardy.
On any other day Rita�s instincts would have warned her that something
in that house was very wrong and that she needed to get out, but on that
day the eerie silence only made her more focused on getting set up in the
kitchen without anyone noticing she was running so late. She began
quietly at first, arranging items to make it look like she had been
working for a while, and then deliberately started making enough noise
to let Mrs. Schmidt know that she was cleaning. What she could not have
known, without going upstairs, was that her bosses no longer were alive
to hear her.
The clatter of pans in the kitchen and the sound of the dishwasher
alerted the teenager that he no longer was alone in the house. He
staggered down the stairs, reeling from his latest dose of ecstasy,
which was just starting to take effect. The loud hum of the dishwasher
and Rita�s preoccupation with the pans masked the sound of the killer�s
steps and condemned the young woman to the same fate as her employers�
The teenager rushed into the kitchen and wildly fired into the figure
standing at the sink. As several bullets tore into her back, Rita�s body
bounced off the counter and collapsed on the ground. The young woman lay
motionless as blood poured out of her chest onto the kitchen floor.
The killer gloated over what he had just accomplished as he incoherently
stared at the body. Then slowly it dawned on him that the person lying
at his feet was not Cassie. What he felt was not regret or horror at the
thought of killing someone completely innocent, but instead intense
anger at his latest victim. He landed several kicks at the corpse and
fired a shot into her head, just to be sure�
Fucking stupid maid.
So he wasn�t finished after-all. Still had some shooting to take care
of...
He went back upstairs, emptied his pistol into Mr. Schmidt�s already
mangled body, and reloaded.
Fuckin� bitch�now I�m gonna get her�really get her�shoot her in the
fuckin� stomach�yeah�that�s what I�ll do�shoot her in the fuckin�
stomach�fuckin� bitch�just wait �till she gets here�shoot her in the
fuckin� face�
A few minutes later Cassie did show up, with her latest boyfriend. She
found it strange that both her parents� cars were at the house at that
time in the day, but maybe they weren�t around�or her dad was in that
stupid office of his, doing God knows what. As she passed the office she
noticed two strange things. First the door was open. Second, all of the
files were lying on stacks on the floor, as though they were about to be
taken out.
�Dad? Mom? Anyone home?�
She turned to her boyfriend.
�This is weird. Something�s going on��
�You stay here. I�ll go upstairs and check it out.�
With that he slowly walked up the stairs.
�Mr. Schmidt? Are you up here? Anyone�FUCK!�
Three quick shots rang out, shattering the teenager�s head and chest.
His body came tumbling back down the stairs. Cassie got a glimpse of his
face, partially blown away by high caliber bullet. She started
screaming. Then she saw the murderer, his gun pointed right at her�
He hesitated, as incoherent drug-addled thoughts caused his brain to
stall for a second. That second saved Cassie�s life. She ran like hell
towards the kitchen, only to be confronted with the horror of Rita�s
body lying in a pool of blood. The girl screamed, but a crash in the
hallway made her start running again. She tore open the sliding glass
door and ran into the back yard.
The assailant chased her down the stairs, but tripped over his latest
victim�s body and tumbled to the hallway floor. He dropped the gun and
it slid to the other end of the entryway. He struggled up to retrieve
it, but the sudden exertion, mixed with the chemicals swirling around
his brain, completely disoriented him.
Cassie�Oh yeah�she wasn�t dead yet. He staggered to the kitchen, just in
time to see her figure disappear through a gate in the back fence.
Cassie ran around to the front side of the neighbor�s house and into the
open garage. Her neighbor was painting a birdhouse with his grandson.
�HELP! HELP! HE�S KILLED �EM ALL! THEY�RE ALL DEAD! HELP!�
�Cassie! What��
�HE�S GOT A GUN! HE�S GONNA KILL ME! HELP ME!�
�Get inside! Both of you!�
As Cassie and the child ran into the house, her neighbor hit the remote
to close the door. Down�down�down�yes! Just in time. Suddenly there was
furious banging on the outside.
�OPEN UP! I�LL FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU DON�T OPEN UP!�
The older man ran inside and grabbed a shotgun off his living room
mantle. He screamed at his wife to get Cassie and the grandkids upstairs
while he struggled to load it with shotgun shells. He cocked the weapon
and waited.
So�how�s he gonna get in?
The shattering of glass at the front door answered his question. Sure
enough, a glass pane was broken and a hand was reaching through to
unlock the door. The experienced duck hunter pointed his weapon and
waited�
The door flung open and the older man pulled the trigger. Clear shot to
the chest�good. A nice clean kill. That�ll fix that little punk.
The
Freshman - Chapter 34
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