Shawn Inmon - The Vigilante Life of Scott McKenzie

On the 4 thof July, Scott woke up with a nervous stomach. He sat on his bed in his small rented room, going over his notes again and again.

I’ve been pointing to this day for so long, it seemed like it would never arrive. Now it’s here and I feel so uncertain about what I’m doing.

The week before, Scott had decided he wouldn’t be able to kill someone before they had shown they were still going to carry through with their crime. His plan, then, was to leave his room in the boarding house with no intention of ever returning. He would throw everything he owned into his pack and retrace his steps out to the Jenkins house, save the family, then hit the road.

He remembered that Brock Jenkins had gone to a barbecue at a friend’s house before returning home. To Scott’s mind, that meant that the attack must have happened sometime in the afternoon or later. His plan was to walk past the house and get far enough away that he wouldn’t be seen by anyone inside. Then, as casually as possible, he intended to slink off into the woods and work his way back to a point where he could scout the Jenkins house unobserved.

If I stay alert, I’ll be close enough to stop anything from happening. First sign of trouble, I jump out and put him down however I can. Hopefully, I can slip away before the police are called. If not, I’ll just be a passing stranger who saw trouble breaking out and came to the aid of a woman and her children. It might be a little tougher to explain why I was armed with a baton and knife, but hey, it’s a tough world out there, right, officer?

Scott stopped at the grocery store and bought some Gatorade and beef jerky to get him through the long hot day. He tucked it into the top of his pack and began the walk toward Greenbrier Lane. As he walked through the downtown area, he saw flyers stapled to telephone poles advertising the 4 thof July Extravaganza. A community picnic was scheduled to start at 6:00, and fireworks were set to go off a little after 10:00.

With any luck, I’ll have this behind me and I’ll be well out of town by the time the first boom happens. I just want to get off the beaten path somewhere. I can lie up in some farmer’s field for the night and put some real miles under my boots tomorrow.

Scott walked by the Jenkins house a few minutes before noon. On this day, there was plenty of activity. A pretty young woman sat on the front steps with a chubby baby boy on her lap. The older girls were spread out in the yard around her. The woman caught Scott’s eye as he walked by. She smiled and raised a casual hand in greeting.

Scott gave a small wave back, but didn’t slow his pace.

Looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Scott’s heart beat a little faster.

He walked on past the house a full quarter mile, then turned and walked slowly back. His head swiveled left and right, doing his best to see if anyone was watching him. He didn’t see anyone anywhere, so when he approached the tree line that ran alongside the Jenkins house, he dropped into the ditch. He eased his way into the trees, which were sparse near the road, but thickened the farther in he walked.

There was no trail through the woods, so Scott picked his way slowly.

Don’t need to sound like there’s a moose loose in here. There was no pickup truck at the house, so he’s off to the barbecue. Feels like things are lining up exactly the same way they did last life.

Scott hiked through the trees until he estimated he was approximately as far back as the Jenkins house. As quietly as possible, he moved toward their yard. As the greenery started to thin out, he was able to push a small sapling aside and saw that he had overshot the house by a few yards.

Good enough. From here, I can see them, but I don’t think there’s any way they can see me.

He glanced around, hoping for a friendly stump he could sit on to pass the time. No such luck.

He maneuvered himself around a bit and found a spot in the shade where he was perfectly hidden, but had a small opening he could look through to see where the kids were playing. He shucked off his pack and set it softly on the ground. He unzipped the top of the pack and removed his Gatorade, jerky, and his two weapons. The karambit was in a sheath that he hooked through his belt. He left the steel baton shut and slipped it into his back pocket.

He drew a deep breath.

Ready.

Scott may have been ready, but any drama that was going to unfold in front of him was not. He stood still for the better part of an hour, waiting, waiting. The only part of the scene that changed in front of him was what game the kids were playing. Sylvia Jenkins went in and out of the house several times but was never gone for long.

Eventually, she carried a rolled up Slip ‘n Slide out from the house and laid it out in the yard. She unrolled the hose and connected it. By the time she had turned the water on, the kids were jumping up and down, ready to slide.

Scott had lived a long time without television, internet, or any distraction other than a book, so he was used to patiently watching and thinking. He did that for the next few hours while the Jenkins kids slipped and slid, jumped and laughed. Sylvia Jenkins even rolled her pants legs up and scooted the toddler along for a turn or two.

Scott shifted in place, stretched his back, touched his toes, and did everything he could to stay limber. He had made tremendous progress since being wounded, but he still stiffened up easier than he would have liked.

Finally, a little after five, the green Dodge pickup that Scott had been waiting all day for rolled down the road and turned into the driveway.

Sylvia Jenkins hustled around the yard, picking up a stray tennis shoe, a thrown ball, a dropped dolly. She smiled at her husband, but even from a distance, Scott thought there was strain behind it.

Scott focused in on Brock Jenkins.

Is he steady on his feet? The theory was that he had been drinking heavily at the barbecue.

If he was drunk, he showed no sign of it. He was dressed much as he had been the last time Scott had seen him. His trucker’s hat was pulled low over his mirrored sunglasses. At one point, he turned and stared directly in the direction Scott was standing.

There is absolutely no way he can see me. Right?

Brock Jenkins took three deliberate steps toward Scott.

Scott stopped breathing. He had to will himself not to twitch nervously.

Brock Jenkins stopped, but continued to look directly into the woods. Slowly, he rolled his shoulders, as if releasing tension. After a few more long, breathless moments, he turned back toward the front of the house.

Sylvia Jenkins opened the garage door and set two webbed lawn chairs out. While Brock sat in one, she went in the house. She was back moments later with a beer for him. She sat in the chair next to him.

The four children, who had been so childishly playful all day, settled down. The two older girls sat off to the side holding onto a dolly each and talking between themselves. The toddler moved a Tonka truck back and forth.

Brock Jenkins stood and went to his pickup. He reached inside and pulled out a package of sparklers. He sat back and pulled a lighter from his pocket.

Brock flicked three sparklers out of the box, held them together and lit them with his lighter. The girls stood around with their hands at their sides. He handed each of them a sparkler, then gave the last one to Sylvia, who slowly waved it in front of her, entrancing the toddler on her lap.