Not Many of Us Knew How Bad Hank Was
Not many of us here in Sandalwood knew how bad Hank was. Sure, everyone in these parts knew he was bad but they were thinking ‘bad’ like “not the right person to cross” especially after a few beers were in him. I knew. A few of us who made the mistake to stand up to him knew for sure. The hard way. It didn’t have to be something important. You just had to let him know that on this one thing you weren’t going to be intimidated by that evil glare and that feeling of raw hatred that he could just pour out at you. That was when you found out how deep the bad went in him. I thank God that I don’t have any close family like Ray did. Sure, I was puking my guts when I saw what he did to my old dog Lenny but at least I didn’t have to see what my son looked like after a threshing accident. These things happened within a week of crossing Hank. And then you got the look. You knew that any noise, any blame, and there would be a heap more of the same dished out to you and yours. That made it a fine day to be a bachelor who kept his mouth shut.
Ray changed after that day at the thresher with his son. Like someone let the air out of him. Or made him less of a man. We never talked about it – I did try to tell him once. “I know” muttered under my breath was all I could get out. I saw a light in his eyes that screamed that he needed to talk to someone but I just shook my head and he hung his head down again. Of course, he had a wife and kids to worry about. They say that when he saw his son, he went down like a sack of potatoes. I don’t blame him. There was no question about it being a closed casket. The only real question was whether they got all of the kid in it.
Sure what he did later caused a ruckus. In a small town like Sandalwood it’s bound to. It even caught the attention of the whole country for a few weeks. I guess they like to know some of that smug, self-righteousness of small town America could get slapped about a bit. When the details came out, when the townspeople found out what BAD really meant, we were reeling. I think we would have been OK if it hadn’t been for the trial. Every time Hank had a chance, he’d laugh deep great belly laughs. He wasn’t laughing at what he had done. The big joke was us – the shell-shocked, can’t believe it could happen here, hollowness in our soul that he had created. That was the great fun. The rest of it was just gravy. He had murdered a town.
Hank wasn’t always like that. I mean, he was never a pleasant kid, a bit of a bully on the playground, a bit too loud in a group, always a bit a chip on his shoulder but never really bad growing up. He was good at sports and that and his family’s money helped keep him popular and mostly out of trouble. There was little stuff, but it was easy to chalk up to the exuberance of youth and a bunch of oats needing to be sowed. Even though some of the girls he dated were a bit skittish around him later, he always had a beautiful girl with him come Friday night.
All was well with Hank until he met Clara. She was a beauty, no doubt about that. Clara was more than looks though. She was smart, sweet, funny and serious all at once. We all loved her, you had to. Clara grew up taking care of her Dad. Her Mom had died from TB when she was about 10. It worked out OK for Clara, she loved her Dad and she was his world.
Anyways, Hank fell for Clara. Not like he lusted after any girl with breasts but I mean fell for her. He doodled her name in notebooks. He would stare at her for hours in class. You could tell she was about all that was going on in his head for months at a time. It was the first time he was unsure of himself in his lifetime. It took him from the start of his senior year until almost Christmas to ask her out. She went to the Christmas ball with him. It was probably his finest hour, totally oblivious to her lack of interest. She was too polite to say it outright but there was nothing in common between the two of them. She was college bound, got her acceptance letter and great scholarships to an excellent school 1000 miles away. To us small town people, that could have been on the moon it was so distant. Her Dad planned to move out to his sister’s in the state capital – there would be nothing for him in this town.
Well, Hank was persistent after the ball. And Clara was adamant. Polite, but firm. “Thank you, I had an enjoyable time but I am too busy with my studies to go out with you.” Hank was a bit slow on the uptake but he finally got it. By June, Clara would be gone forever from his world. He started thinking crazy thoughts. Luckily he happened onto a simple and relatively harmless plan. He figured out that if he could convince a teacher that Clara was cheating on her work, it would ruin her chances of scholarships and escape.
He picked the wrong teacher though. Mr. Groober may not have been on top of everything, but he picked up on this one right away. Hank came to him and told him he thought that Clara had been copying him on the last few tests. Sure enough, they had a lot of the same answers. Hank had figured if he came forward, it would be obvious Clara was the cheat. Like I said, Mr. Goober was no pushover. He took the information seriously and had them both stay after school. It was near the end of the year. Late May, I think. He had them both retake the test at opposite ends of the room. Clara was a bit mystified, but the results were clear. Clara did just about the same on the test and Hank …well Hank showed what he was made of.
It wasn’t supposed to become public knowledge but, like I said, this is a small town. No one ever said anything to Hank directly but he didn’t graduate with us and there was a dark cloud around him. I don’t know the details, but I do know that the day after graduation a moving truck was at Clara’s house and they were gone in a cloud of dust. The sheriff was hanging around that day and not much happened. Funny thing was that Mr. Goober left that summer too. He decided to teach upstate which was a bit odd since he was just settling in down here.
Hank was changed. I think he got it into his head that everyone knew. That they knew that Clara had rejected him (probably true), that he didn’t graduate not just because he cheated but because he tried to drag Clara down (possibly true) and whatever went on that caused everyone involved to pull up stakes and run (probably not true). But, it did hang heavy on him and kind of darkened him up. He wasn’t exactly a shaft of light to start with but even his friends put a little distance between them and him. I’d like to think the change was losing the love of his life but really I think it was the first time he didn’t get his way.
Over time, Hank realized that whatever had happened didn’t seem to get him in any real trouble. I think maybe he felt a little immortal after that. Like what he did wouldn’t have any ramifications if he was just a little careful. And that is about the way it worked out, until he got carried away.
It all went really wrong about a year or so after the Nguen family moved in. We were all a bit unsure about them at first. Mr. And Mrs. Nguen had been South Vietnamese nationals back in the early 70’s when the U.S. of A. pulled out and left them in a really bad spot. Mrs. Nguen had been pregnant with their first child and they could see where things were going. Every day things got a bit more unhealthy for someone who had supported the government that was hanging by a thread. One night they just up and left in the middle of the night. They took what they could carry and made their way by road and boat to the U.S. It sounded like the promised land to them. Everything they were promised that their country would be before the troop withdrawal. They sold all the family jewelry – things that had been in their families for 7 generations – to pay their way over. At least we were good enough to grant them asylum since by the time they got back to Vietnam they would have been killed their first night in the country.
Through that determination that only immigrants seem to still have in America, they made a place for themselves. Working two jobs, doing the work no one else wanted, never complaining and slowly moving up in the world. Their first place to live was shared with 12 other people, all starting out, all with dreams and all putting everything they had into creating a life. First it was an apartment of their own, then a good apartment with heat and hot water. Then a place where their kids could go to school in safety. The real dream though was to leave the city and settle in a small town. The kind of place where people didn’t lock their doors, where they knew all the neighbors and there was a level of tranquility that couldn’t be found in a city.
So, they found Sandalwood. Housing was affordable, there were jobs for people willing to work and though there wasn’t another Vietnamese family within 100 miles, they were at least tentatively accepted by the townfolk. It was hard not to like them. Always polite, there was a healthy exuberance about them. If you spent some time with either of them it kind of rubbed off. You forget when you live in a place long enough that you might have it good. If you were around the Nguen’s for even an hour you saw Sandalwood differently. They were good for our town at least as much as we were good for them.
Being thrifty people who were used to making due with the minimum they really needed, they bought the old Saunders place. Mr. And Mrs. Saunders had been dead for about 8 years and their only son Buster already had a place of his own. The house had been vacant for most of that time. Buster had tried halfheartedly to sell the place but it was two properties away from Hank. That was enough to make most people in town shy away from it. There was a vacant lot between the two properties but still, why go begging for trouble. For the Nguens’ it was perfect – within their price range and nothing wrong that a whole lot of work couldn’t fix.
And work they did. For the better part of a year you could see the whole family cheerfully scraping, painting, planting, scrubbing and generally making an old beat house into a home. If nothing else, they showed our town who they were and what they were made of. It takes people of strong character to transform an abandoned shell into a bright happy home that anyone would be proud of. Maybe that industriousness was part of their downfall.
Then next year, they wanted to plant a garden. After inquiring about the empty lot next store, Marv sold it to them real cheap. He never could figure out what to do with that land, being right next door to Hank and all. The Nguens cleared all the scrub brush and planted a beautiful garden. Vegetables, flowers and paths. People in town would go out of their way when walking just to pass it by and admire it. It was even worth the risk of an occasional run-in with Hank just to see it.
Of course, Hank hated it. It was beautiful, which he considered a waste of time. It was practical, which he wasn’t. It drew people to the area which he felt invaded his privacy. But I think what stuck in his craw the most was that the contrast between that garden and his own front lawn full of discarded appliances and unidentified trash was almost like hanging his deficiencies on a big sign in front of his house. Nope, he didn’t like being showed up, not by anyone but in particular not someone he… well, couldn’t identify with ethically. To put it gently.
So, one day when Mr. Nguen was out alone tending his garden, Hank went over to have a few words. I’m sure Hank was looking for more than words but the Nguens were not easy to rile people. His loud abrasiveness was met with quiet politeness. Right up until he took a swing at the man. Hank found out there is a difference between being at peace and being a pushover. Hank probably had 75 lbs and 8 inches on him. However, Hank may have grown up fighting but Mr. Nguen grew up fighting for his life. They both got messed up but if you saw them both it was pretty obvious Hank didn’t get the satisfaction that he was looking for.
Hank laid pretty low for a few weeks. I ran into him on one of his beer runs but am not fool enough to ask questions. Mr. Nguen pulled me aside after church and asked questions that someone should have answered before they moved into that house. I didn’t give him the whole story, which will cause me heartache for the rest of my days, but I did caution him to steer clear of Hank, lock his doors and windows and not to let his kids play out of sight. Even though I held back too much, I think I hurt him more than Hank did. I may have shattered part of his dreamland view of Sandalwood, but you don’t let people play with rattlesnakes without telling them that the rattle isn’t the dangerous end.
Well, finally something happened. Maybe it was the phase of the moon, maybe it was Hank’s biorhythms but something happened to Hank that Friday night inside his head that made him go off like a bomb. A psychopathic lunatic atomic bomb.
We will never really know what happened in that house over the 24 hours that Hank was in there, but we sure knew the result. Five really good people met an end that you couldn’t wish on the most vile mass murderers in the world. Hank did what he did real slow and deliberate. He let them all watch. The police report was pretty clear about that. It was clear about many things I never wanted to know and will never forget. I would seriously consider ripping out my eyes if it would make me could forget what he did to those good people.
At the trial, Hank and his defense attorney didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t do it. After all, he had been literally caught red handed and unlike Lady McBeth he didn’t try to wash the blood off. Instead, they went for insanity. It seemed like they would get it too, considering the ghastliness of what happened. The general idea was that he just snapped and never considered or even understood what he was doing. The press was ready to eat that up. This was a small town after all and things like this couldn’t stay hidden for long. The jury was ready to go along with it. They all looked kind of gray and dazed. Days of looking at photos and hearing testimony from the coroner had them so off balanced they could hardly stand. We don’t watch the stuff people do today on TV in Sandalwood. We go to church suppers instead of seeing the latest bloodbath psycho-thriller. Our one theatre in town only shows P and PG movies. Maybe that was how I was able to deny what Hank was until it was shoved in front of my face.
Well, I couldn’t let it go that way. Hank had squashed most of the braveness out of us over the years but I couldn’t stand to see him walk out of this without a murder charge. I may have kept my eyes closed for too long, far too long, but it was time. I owed the Nguens a debt that I could never repay. I talked to the prosecuting attorneys that evening and the next day I was on the stand. It was mostly hearsay and not related to the crime but the judge let me speak because so much depended on this not being a pattern with Hank. I told about my dog, about the threats, voiced and implied, and the way Hank controlled the town. Of course the press didn’t believe it, not in Smalltown, USA but they sure ate it up and soon there was more interest. It might have stopped there but I think that the whole town felt responsible for what happened to the Nguens. Like we had the chance to stop it but we looked the other way. So now justice was our burden too.
Hank wasn’t rattled by my testimony. He hit me with the evil eye, the sour scowl and then fell back on the wild-eyed laugh. He still felt immortal. I hadn’t rattled him at all but the jurors were looking on attentively and his lawyer didn’t look happy. After me, one by one, people took the stand and told their stories. Each person who took the stand put another brick in the wall that was going to be Hank’s jail. Hank didn’t see it that way. Just more laughter. The judge wanted to curb him but I think at some point he was all for letting Hank hang himself with his hyena laugh. You can only stay neutral for so long. I think even his own attorney didn’t care a whole lot by then.
It wasn’t a done deal yet. Sure, the insanity plea was unraveling at his feet, but the jury might have still considered it. Right up until Ray took the stand. He talked about the hole in this soul, the grief, and the remnants of his family. But mostly, what it cost him personally not to talk about what happened for fear for the rest of his family. While Ray was talking we all saw a change. His shoulders straightened. His voice grew clearer. Mostly, we saw him regaining some what he had lost. When he was done, he looked Hank right in the eye and held his gaze. The smirk died on Hank’s lips. Then he looked around the courtroom and it hit him. The whole town was steeled. No more shell shocked, glazed over faces. They just stared at him. They saw who he really was.
The next few moments happened in slow motion. As the reality of it all hit home, that Hank was powerless in this town and as guilty as sin and heading for the death penalty, he bolted. He jumped the railing and made for the side exit. There were three officers in the courtroom. All three drew their guns. 18 shots were fired. 18 holes appeared in Hank and he was dead before he hit the floor. Each one of the officers had emptied their guns into him as he ran. For small town police this was an amazing feat. Not one of them had drawn a gun in their combined 38 years on the force except for the once per month mandatory practice sessions at the shooting range. Every single shot had found Hank.
There was no inquiry. There probably should have been an autopsy but he coroner pronounced him dead and he was in the ground in less than a day.
It was a good ending to a bad tragedy. Our poor town never healed right though. The younger people moved out when they could. The older people did too, moving to be closer to the grandchildren, finding warmer places even when they had planned to finish out their days where they grew up. The town just dried up and blew away. Some good came of it. Ray was close to his old self again. At least he could bend a smile on occasion and look you in the eyes when he talked. None of us ever talked about Hank though. Or the Nguens. Some graves you just avoid. And some memories you hide behind the darker doors in the back of your mind.
Ray changed after that day at the thresher with his son. Like someone let the air out of him. Or made him less of a man. We never talked about it – I did try to tell him once. “I know” muttered under my breath was all I could get out. I saw a light in his eyes that screamed that he needed to talk to someone but I just shook my head and he hung his head down again. Of course, he had a wife and kids to worry about. They say that when he saw his son, he went down like a sack of potatoes. I don’t blame him. There was no question about it being a closed casket. The only real question was whether they got all of the kid in it.
Sure what he did later caused a ruckus. In a small town like Sandalwood it’s bound to. It even caught the attention of the whole country for a few weeks. I guess they like to know some of that smug, self-righteousness of small town America could get slapped about a bit. When the details came out, when the townspeople found out what BAD really meant, we were reeling. I think we would have been OK if it hadn’t been for the trial. Every time Hank had a chance, he’d laugh deep great belly laughs. He wasn’t laughing at what he had done. The big joke was us – the shell-shocked, can’t believe it could happen here, hollowness in our soul that he had created. That was the great fun. The rest of it was just gravy. He had murdered a town.
Hank wasn’t always like that. I mean, he was never a pleasant kid, a bit of a bully on the playground, a bit too loud in a group, always a bit a chip on his shoulder but never really bad growing up. He was good at sports and that and his family’s money helped keep him popular and mostly out of trouble. There was little stuff, but it was easy to chalk up to the exuberance of youth and a bunch of oats needing to be sowed. Even though some of the girls he dated were a bit skittish around him later, he always had a beautiful girl with him come Friday night.
All was well with Hank until he met Clara. She was a beauty, no doubt about that. Clara was more than looks though. She was smart, sweet, funny and serious all at once. We all loved her, you had to. Clara grew up taking care of her Dad. Her Mom had died from TB when she was about 10. It worked out OK for Clara, she loved her Dad and she was his world.
Anyways, Hank fell for Clara. Not like he lusted after any girl with breasts but I mean fell for her. He doodled her name in notebooks. He would stare at her for hours in class. You could tell she was about all that was going on in his head for months at a time. It was the first time he was unsure of himself in his lifetime. It took him from the start of his senior year until almost Christmas to ask her out. She went to the Christmas ball with him. It was probably his finest hour, totally oblivious to her lack of interest. She was too polite to say it outright but there was nothing in common between the two of them. She was college bound, got her acceptance letter and great scholarships to an excellent school 1000 miles away. To us small town people, that could have been on the moon it was so distant. Her Dad planned to move out to his sister’s in the state capital – there would be nothing for him in this town.
Well, Hank was persistent after the ball. And Clara was adamant. Polite, but firm. “Thank you, I had an enjoyable time but I am too busy with my studies to go out with you.” Hank was a bit slow on the uptake but he finally got it. By June, Clara would be gone forever from his world. He started thinking crazy thoughts. Luckily he happened onto a simple and relatively harmless plan. He figured out that if he could convince a teacher that Clara was cheating on her work, it would ruin her chances of scholarships and escape.
He picked the wrong teacher though. Mr. Groober may not have been on top of everything, but he picked up on this one right away. Hank came to him and told him he thought that Clara had been copying him on the last few tests. Sure enough, they had a lot of the same answers. Hank had figured if he came forward, it would be obvious Clara was the cheat. Like I said, Mr. Goober was no pushover. He took the information seriously and had them both stay after school. It was near the end of the year. Late May, I think. He had them both retake the test at opposite ends of the room. Clara was a bit mystified, but the results were clear. Clara did just about the same on the test and Hank …well Hank showed what he was made of.
It wasn’t supposed to become public knowledge but, like I said, this is a small town. No one ever said anything to Hank directly but he didn’t graduate with us and there was a dark cloud around him. I don’t know the details, but I do know that the day after graduation a moving truck was at Clara’s house and they were gone in a cloud of dust. The sheriff was hanging around that day and not much happened. Funny thing was that Mr. Goober left that summer too. He decided to teach upstate which was a bit odd since he was just settling in down here.
Hank was changed. I think he got it into his head that everyone knew. That they knew that Clara had rejected him (probably true), that he didn’t graduate not just because he cheated but because he tried to drag Clara down (possibly true) and whatever went on that caused everyone involved to pull up stakes and run (probably not true). But, it did hang heavy on him and kind of darkened him up. He wasn’t exactly a shaft of light to start with but even his friends put a little distance between them and him. I’d like to think the change was losing the love of his life but really I think it was the first time he didn’t get his way.
Over time, Hank realized that whatever had happened didn’t seem to get him in any real trouble. I think maybe he felt a little immortal after that. Like what he did wouldn’t have any ramifications if he was just a little careful. And that is about the way it worked out, until he got carried away.
It all went really wrong about a year or so after the Nguen family moved in. We were all a bit unsure about them at first. Mr. And Mrs. Nguen had been South Vietnamese nationals back in the early 70’s when the U.S. of A. pulled out and left them in a really bad spot. Mrs. Nguen had been pregnant with their first child and they could see where things were going. Every day things got a bit more unhealthy for someone who had supported the government that was hanging by a thread. One night they just up and left in the middle of the night. They took what they could carry and made their way by road and boat to the U.S. It sounded like the promised land to them. Everything they were promised that their country would be before the troop withdrawal. They sold all the family jewelry – things that had been in their families for 7 generations – to pay their way over. At least we were good enough to grant them asylum since by the time they got back to Vietnam they would have been killed their first night in the country.
Through that determination that only immigrants seem to still have in America, they made a place for themselves. Working two jobs, doing the work no one else wanted, never complaining and slowly moving up in the world. Their first place to live was shared with 12 other people, all starting out, all with dreams and all putting everything they had into creating a life. First it was an apartment of their own, then a good apartment with heat and hot water. Then a place where their kids could go to school in safety. The real dream though was to leave the city and settle in a small town. The kind of place where people didn’t lock their doors, where they knew all the neighbors and there was a level of tranquility that couldn’t be found in a city.
So, they found Sandalwood. Housing was affordable, there were jobs for people willing to work and though there wasn’t another Vietnamese family within 100 miles, they were at least tentatively accepted by the townfolk. It was hard not to like them. Always polite, there was a healthy exuberance about them. If you spent some time with either of them it kind of rubbed off. You forget when you live in a place long enough that you might have it good. If you were around the Nguen’s for even an hour you saw Sandalwood differently. They were good for our town at least as much as we were good for them.
Being thrifty people who were used to making due with the minimum they really needed, they bought the old Saunders place. Mr. And Mrs. Saunders had been dead for about 8 years and their only son Buster already had a place of his own. The house had been vacant for most of that time. Buster had tried halfheartedly to sell the place but it was two properties away from Hank. That was enough to make most people in town shy away from it. There was a vacant lot between the two properties but still, why go begging for trouble. For the Nguens’ it was perfect – within their price range and nothing wrong that a whole lot of work couldn’t fix.
And work they did. For the better part of a year you could see the whole family cheerfully scraping, painting, planting, scrubbing and generally making an old beat house into a home. If nothing else, they showed our town who they were and what they were made of. It takes people of strong character to transform an abandoned shell into a bright happy home that anyone would be proud of. Maybe that industriousness was part of their downfall.
Then next year, they wanted to plant a garden. After inquiring about the empty lot next store, Marv sold it to them real cheap. He never could figure out what to do with that land, being right next door to Hank and all. The Nguens cleared all the scrub brush and planted a beautiful garden. Vegetables, flowers and paths. People in town would go out of their way when walking just to pass it by and admire it. It was even worth the risk of an occasional run-in with Hank just to see it.
Of course, Hank hated it. It was beautiful, which he considered a waste of time. It was practical, which he wasn’t. It drew people to the area which he felt invaded his privacy. But I think what stuck in his craw the most was that the contrast between that garden and his own front lawn full of discarded appliances and unidentified trash was almost like hanging his deficiencies on a big sign in front of his house. Nope, he didn’t like being showed up, not by anyone but in particular not someone he… well, couldn’t identify with ethically. To put it gently.
So, one day when Mr. Nguen was out alone tending his garden, Hank went over to have a few words. I’m sure Hank was looking for more than words but the Nguens were not easy to rile people. His loud abrasiveness was met with quiet politeness. Right up until he took a swing at the man. Hank found out there is a difference between being at peace and being a pushover. Hank probably had 75 lbs and 8 inches on him. However, Hank may have grown up fighting but Mr. Nguen grew up fighting for his life. They both got messed up but if you saw them both it was pretty obvious Hank didn’t get the satisfaction that he was looking for.
Hank laid pretty low for a few weeks. I ran into him on one of his beer runs but am not fool enough to ask questions. Mr. Nguen pulled me aside after church and asked questions that someone should have answered before they moved into that house. I didn’t give him the whole story, which will cause me heartache for the rest of my days, but I did caution him to steer clear of Hank, lock his doors and windows and not to let his kids play out of sight. Even though I held back too much, I think I hurt him more than Hank did. I may have shattered part of his dreamland view of Sandalwood, but you don’t let people play with rattlesnakes without telling them that the rattle isn’t the dangerous end.
Well, finally something happened. Maybe it was the phase of the moon, maybe it was Hank’s biorhythms but something happened to Hank that Friday night inside his head that made him go off like a bomb. A psychopathic lunatic atomic bomb.
We will never really know what happened in that house over the 24 hours that Hank was in there, but we sure knew the result. Five really good people met an end that you couldn’t wish on the most vile mass murderers in the world. Hank did what he did real slow and deliberate. He let them all watch. The police report was pretty clear about that. It was clear about many things I never wanted to know and will never forget. I would seriously consider ripping out my eyes if it would make me could forget what he did to those good people.
At the trial, Hank and his defense attorney didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t do it. After all, he had been literally caught red handed and unlike Lady McBeth he didn’t try to wash the blood off. Instead, they went for insanity. It seemed like they would get it too, considering the ghastliness of what happened. The general idea was that he just snapped and never considered or even understood what he was doing. The press was ready to eat that up. This was a small town after all and things like this couldn’t stay hidden for long. The jury was ready to go along with it. They all looked kind of gray and dazed. Days of looking at photos and hearing testimony from the coroner had them so off balanced they could hardly stand. We don’t watch the stuff people do today on TV in Sandalwood. We go to church suppers instead of seeing the latest bloodbath psycho-thriller. Our one theatre in town only shows P and PG movies. Maybe that was how I was able to deny what Hank was until it was shoved in front of my face.
Well, I couldn’t let it go that way. Hank had squashed most of the braveness out of us over the years but I couldn’t stand to see him walk out of this without a murder charge. I may have kept my eyes closed for too long, far too long, but it was time. I owed the Nguens a debt that I could never repay. I talked to the prosecuting attorneys that evening and the next day I was on the stand. It was mostly hearsay and not related to the crime but the judge let me speak because so much depended on this not being a pattern with Hank. I told about my dog, about the threats, voiced and implied, and the way Hank controlled the town. Of course the press didn’t believe it, not in Smalltown, USA but they sure ate it up and soon there was more interest. It might have stopped there but I think that the whole town felt responsible for what happened to the Nguens. Like we had the chance to stop it but we looked the other way. So now justice was our burden too.
Hank wasn’t rattled by my testimony. He hit me with the evil eye, the sour scowl and then fell back on the wild-eyed laugh. He still felt immortal. I hadn’t rattled him at all but the jurors were looking on attentively and his lawyer didn’t look happy. After me, one by one, people took the stand and told their stories. Each person who took the stand put another brick in the wall that was going to be Hank’s jail. Hank didn’t see it that way. Just more laughter. The judge wanted to curb him but I think at some point he was all for letting Hank hang himself with his hyena laugh. You can only stay neutral for so long. I think even his own attorney didn’t care a whole lot by then.
It wasn’t a done deal yet. Sure, the insanity plea was unraveling at his feet, but the jury might have still considered it. Right up until Ray took the stand. He talked about the hole in this soul, the grief, and the remnants of his family. But mostly, what it cost him personally not to talk about what happened for fear for the rest of his family. While Ray was talking we all saw a change. His shoulders straightened. His voice grew clearer. Mostly, we saw him regaining some what he had lost. When he was done, he looked Hank right in the eye and held his gaze. The smirk died on Hank’s lips. Then he looked around the courtroom and it hit him. The whole town was steeled. No more shell shocked, glazed over faces. They just stared at him. They saw who he really was.
The next few moments happened in slow motion. As the reality of it all hit home, that Hank was powerless in this town and as guilty as sin and heading for the death penalty, he bolted. He jumped the railing and made for the side exit. There were three officers in the courtroom. All three drew their guns. 18 shots were fired. 18 holes appeared in Hank and he was dead before he hit the floor. Each one of the officers had emptied their guns into him as he ran. For small town police this was an amazing feat. Not one of them had drawn a gun in their combined 38 years on the force except for the once per month mandatory practice sessions at the shooting range. Every single shot had found Hank.
There was no inquiry. There probably should have been an autopsy but he coroner pronounced him dead and he was in the ground in less than a day.
It was a good ending to a bad tragedy. Our poor town never healed right though. The younger people moved out when they could. The older people did too, moving to be closer to the grandchildren, finding warmer places even when they had planned to finish out their days where they grew up. The town just dried up and blew away. Some good came of it. Ray was close to his old self again. At least he could bend a smile on occasion and look you in the eyes when he talked. None of us ever talked about Hank though. Or the Nguens. Some graves you just avoid. And some memories you hide behind the darker doors in the back of your mind.