Part One - Brad Kilgore

  Chapter Three – The Little Pissant.

  Kilgore gasped, sucking air in through his mouth and nose. The man stayed on the feed box. He was almost out of view. Brad scanned him anyway. He looked just like one of those stupid farmers. Questions came to him. Was he one of them? A business deal gone bad? One of the little pissants that owed money and couldn't pay? Or someone who decided to get back at him for something? None of that really mattered. He was just another mark after all, or he will be. The marks never come out on top.

  Frank spoke solemnly, “I already know what happened. I am going to ask you a question. If you lie, I will pull you up off the chair with the rope. I don't really care if you lie. That's your decision anyway. You will decide by your actions if you live or die. At any point, I can stage the scene. The world would be very glad to find that you hung yourself. Right now, you can help yourself. You can make the best choice for you.”

  Brad tried to speak. The garbled sounds that came out were not words. The attempt to speak emptied him of breath. So, he stopped. He could wait. If the man needed an answer, he needed him to speak. He needed him alive. He had time to think. Is this a hit? Could he be a pro? Or is he an amateur out for revenge? This guy is fast. I couldn't do anything when he took the gun from me. I didn't see this staged suicide angle coming either. He doesn't seem angry or nervous? He could be a pro, but everyone wants something. That's all I need to know. Once I get my hooks in him, I can get out of this. He is a sucker just like the rest.

  Frank sat on the feed box. He seemed bored.

  For Brad, each breath was getting harder. Fatigue was setting in. He realized that normally he could not outlast the man. But he had an edge. His girl was returning soon. He would have an advantage. Eyewitnesses do not fit into staged suicides; even if she was a piece of trash. This guy would have to do something with the hired help. And that would blow up his suicide idea. He can't know everything. The more stuff that gets in his way, the better off he was going to be.

  Frank stated flatly, “I see you looking around. It’s not time yet. Your hired girl won’t be back for about two hours. You do look good for a murder suicide. You really shouldn't have treated her so badly in front of all those witnesses. This gives you some time to decide whether you want to live or die. This is simple. Tell the truth and you live. Do anything else and you don't. I am here to obtain one of two things. The outcome is up to you. Tell the truth, you live. If you lie, you don’t. I am sorry, there is no need for all this pain. You can easily avoid it.” He wasn’t sorry.

  Abruptly, Brad was pulled to his feet. Then he felt the rope loosen. He thought, now I have him. But when he tried to move, he realized that he didn't. The slack in the rope only made his position more dangerous. The chair wobbled, and he fought to get his balance. This activity served to distract him from the thoughts he was having about his help. It happened so quickly he didn't even realize it. Brad grumbled. He hadn’t seen the man move.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Flatly Frank said, “Someone had asked me not to hurt you, but you don't have to worry about that now.”

  Brad wondered when the man left the feed box?

  Frank maliciously rubbed a stone on the fat man's forehead. Then with the rock, he pointed to a spot on the barn floor. “I'll put this in front of you. That'll make it look like you fell off the chair. You know, during your attempt to hang yourself. It will explain the gash in your forehead. Where you hit yourself in the head with the shotgun. I'm going to cover that up with the obvious explanation. You’re clumsy as shit, and blood is easy to find.”

  Brad blinked. He was unaware of the gash on his forehead.

  Swiftly Frank hit Brad on the forehead with the stone. The bleeding restarted.

  Brad groaned loudly and tried to hold back a scream. He broke out into a rant and cursed profusely. There was no intensity in his rant. It was weak and muffled by his lack of air. Blood flowed onto the stone.

  Frank placed the rock on the barn floor.

  Kilgore swayed with each breath he took. Greedily, he clung to one thought. The girl was an innocent. This guy wouldn't hurt her. Normal people don't do that.

  Frank adjusted the rope. “I don't want you interrupting me. I really don't like being interrupted.”

  Brad gasped as he struggled for air. He straightened his legs and attempted to breathe deeply and stay on the chair. He was still angry, and he was too arrogant to admit to any fear.

  “Well fat man, the night is almost gone. I am going to ask you a question. You will answer me with yes or no. If you say anything else you will be risking your life. If you ask a question, you will be risking your life. If you beg, plead, try to borrow, try to explain, or threaten you will be risking your life. Also, if you try to outsmart me and I catch on; I'll let you die. If you understand me, you won't say anything when I release the pressure on the rope.”

  Kilgore felt the pressure ease. Quickly, he drew in several breaths. He thought; I have this sucker now. Then he said, “I got money. I'm sure we can make a...” He began to choke and grew short of air.

  “You don't follow instructions very well. This could lead to your death. I'm very sorry for this, but you have to learn.” Frank said as he pulled on the rope.

  Brad felt a sharp blow to his kidneys. He wanted to yelp in pain, but he did not have enough air. He didn't try to speak again.

  There was a long pause before Frank spoke again. “Oh, that is so much better. It's never too late to pick a good time to shut up. Remember, only answer when you're spoken to, and only answer the questions asked.”

  Calmly Frank said, “Did killing her make you feel like a big man?"

  Brad Kilgore did not want to show his surprise.

  There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Take a good look at where it got you. Well, did it make you feel like a big man?”

  Kilgore felt a sharp pain in his kidney.

  Frank spoke with false empathy, “Oh, I'm so sorry. That seemed like it hurt.” He jabbed again. He wasn’t sorry.