Chapter 1

“Vengeance is mine say the Lord” Paul in Roman’s 12:19

“Sometimes the Lord needs a little help” say me.

Before I start this story let me tell you a little something about myself. My name is Kevin, my last name is unimportant. I was what people of my generation called a “Long haired country boy”. I was raised out in the woods on my daddy’s farm. I went to school and when I came home I helped on the farm. I have one brother who is two years older than me.

At an early age I knew there was a big difference between my brother and me. Like when it came time to kill chickens. He could not do it. I took the hatchet out of his hand and with one swipe cut the birds’ head off then hung it by its’ feet so the blood could drain. He almost threw up. Dad was not happy with him.

Then it came time to kill a hog to hang the meat in the smoke-house. Dad handed him the rifle. He was shaking so bad I figured he would just wound the hog so I took the gun out of his hands and shot the animal between the eyes. It dropped dead and Jim ran crying into the house.

The summer I graduated high-school, Jim, Dad and I were sitting on the front porch. Jim was home from college where he was studying engineering. I announced I was joining the Marines. Dad was proud. He had served in the Pacific during WW ll and had a purple heart to show for it. Jim was beside himself. You see this was 1965 and Viet Nam was in full swing. Jim wanted me to go to college and get a college deferment like he was doing. I told him it was not right that people who could afford college got deferments and those who could not were forced to serve in the army. You know the old saying, “Rich kids go to college, poor kids go to war.”

Jim finished all the classic arguments of the day about war, Viet Nam and politics then when he saw it was no use talking any more he went into the house.

My dad looked at me and said, “The Marines will like you. You enjoy killing things.”

“Dad, I don’t enjoy killing anything. I am just good at it.”

Well six years and two tours in the Nam and I am back sitting on that same porch. Jim graduated State and somehow avoided being drafted. He took a job with a car manufacturing company up in Michigan. He married some little Yankee girl and vowed never to return to the farm. Dad died last year, mom had died while Jim and I were in grade school and Dad ever remarried. Hell the man never even dated. When Jim and I would tell him that we would be okay with it he would just roll up his sleeve and point to a tattoo he had. “Semper Fidelis” to the Corps and to your Mom he would say and then get up and leave the room with tears forming in his eyes.

I inherited 640 acres of bottom land and pasture, 50 head of cattle, 4 hogs and about 20 laying hens.

I had served 6 years in the Marines as an infantry man. I had seen my share of “action” and I just wanted to work the farm and not be bothered by anyone. I sold the television and did not own a radio. What happened outside of the county I lived in was no matter to me. Now you understand my mental state so let’s get on with the story.

I had just came back from a cattle auction and was unloading the trailer. I was not paying enough attention when one of the young steers decided to stay in the trailer and the gate was slammed on my hand. It broke three fingers on my left hand.

I got the new steers into their pens for the night and I headed to the emergency room at the hospital in town. It was a slow night and I was the only patient. I was put in a room to await the doctor. If it is a slow night why do I have to wait on a doctor? Doctors always have to seem like they have such important things to do. Things like finishing his coffee or talking to his girlfriend on the phone. While I wait a pretty black nurse comes in and washes my hand and is asking questions about how it happened. I know her.

“Hey aren’t you Layla? Sorry I forget your last name, but I was two years ahead of you in school. My name is...”Your name is Kevin____ I remember you.”

Now let me tell you something about Layla. She was easily the prettiest girl in school. Definitely the prettiest black girl in school. She was smart, a cheerleader and dated the star on the football team.

I started a conversation to get mind off my hurting fingers.

“I know you were dating Leroy during high school whatever happened with that?”

“I married him after college. We have a little girl that is turning four years old next month.”

“And Leroy? Is the still playing football?”

“No he played in college but he was never drafted by the pros. So we ended up back here. I graduated nursing school and he got his commercial license to drive an 18 wheeler. He lost his job last month so he is out of work right now but something will come up soon.”

The doctor walked in and looked at the x-rays that they had taken when I first came in an hour ago.

“Well you have three broken fingers and I am going to have to set them. I’ll give to something to deaden the pain and we will get started in about 20 minutes.”

“No just set the damn fingers and I’ll get out of your hair. I’ve wasted enough time here already. I need to get home.”

“Okay, but this is going to hurt.” I laid my hand on his table and I felt Layla take my other hand. I looked into her beautiful brown eyes as the doctor pulled on one of my fingers. He was right it hurt like hell. I just smiled at Layla and she smiled back. It was then that I noticed she was wearing make-up to cover a bruise along the left side of her face. I asked her about it and she said she had run into a door rushing to get to her baby girl who had fallen off her tri-cycle. About that time the doc pulled the other finger.