Defying the Law of Equilibrium

by Lloyd B. Abrams

Benjie was nicknamed “Bungee” after that tragic Vahalla Bridge bungee-jumping accident. Ever since, he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t concentrate, and the doctors said nothing more could be done for him.

Although he loved going to school before, it had become a waste of time. He couldn’t concentrate on books he used to easily read. And forget about math and biology. He couldn’t hold on to anything.

But Bungee was really good with guns. One story that went around was that he once hit a running squirrel square in the eye with a pellet gun.

When his parents found out he wasn’t bothering to show up at East Hills Junior-Senior High, his father, Wade, and his uncle, Wyatt asked Bungee if he wanted to work for them.

“Sure Pop. I got nuthin else to do. Whatcha got for me?”

“You know, uh, we got this little business goin. You know sumpin about it, right?”

Bungee shrugged.

“Well, we need ya to guard it while we’re working.”

“Yeah … sure. Anything to do something and make some money.”

So the brothers got hold of a Remington 700 .308 sniper rifle, got it tricked out with a night vision scope and a silencer, and built a hunting blind in the massive oak overlooking a supposed-to-be abandoned cabin in the holler – the one where they’d been cooking up batches of methamphetamine, mostly at night.

They took Bungee down there with them. “Everything inside this ole split-rail fence is yours. Unnerstand? You don’t let nobody but us inside that fence unless we signal to ya.

“Just for ya to know, we wuz gonna put up chainlink and spiky wire but that would attract too much attention, if ya get what I mean. It’s gotta look like nuthins goin on.

“Now get up there and see what you can do.”

Bungee climbed up into the blind with the rifle, put aside the 10-round detachable magazine, loaded the 6-round internal magazine, and lay down in a tactical position. With just a minor adjustment, he gently pulled the trigger and put a round directly in the center of the bottom step, splintering it. Besides the shattering impact, there was no noise from the blind.

“Yeah,” Bungee said. This’ll do just fine.”

The last thing the brothers wanted was to make Bungee bored and unhappy. They kept him supplied with magazines, cold soda and sometimes a beer, and the best of Mickey D’s. They also paid him well … in cash only, of course. And Bungee was good – always on time, never screwed around. Wade was proud to see Bungee being productive, watching his back … proud to have him as a son.

And Wade and Wyatt were also savvy enough to keep their business contained and movable, just in case. In their corner of the Appalachians, deep in the woods, they didn’t want to attract attention but just make an honest buck – well, a dishonest buck – but it was a business that put food on their tables and enabled them raise a baker’s dozen kids between them and keep their wives happy.

But when factors change, the equilibrium of a system is altered. And things always have a way of changing.

And on that fateful night, four inebriated dumbasses wearing headlamps on their foreheads set out to do some illegal night hunting. One problem about cooking meth is that the chemical processes produce sharp odors that smelled like ether or ammonia. And despite how remote the dilapidated cabin was, those telltale smells wafted over the holler on gentle nighttime breezes.

So when the four men came upon the cabin, and passed through the gate, and there was no stand down signal from his dad or uncle, Bungee, aiming at those headlamps, fired off four quick shots and the front yard of the cabin turned into a bloodbath. They men never knew what hit them.

With all eventualities, there were problems. In this case, the four dead men, with some of their heads missing, were corrections officers – prison guards – screws – with families and jobs and connections to their communities. They wouldn’t and couldn’t have simply disappeared. They would be missed.

And thus, there would be an investigation.

So his dad and his uncle hastily finished processing what they were cooking, removed their equipment and then with Bungee’s help, dragged the decapitated bodies into the cabin.

They sprayed their highly-flammable chemicals all over the front yard, then throughout the inside of the cabin, and set it all on fire. And after Bungee retrieved his traceable gear from the blind, they set that on fire, as well.

Hopefully, it was over.

Unlike many other drug dealers and manufacturers who made quick money, Wade and Wyatt hadn’t squandered theirs. They’d put enough aside to tide them over until they set up somewhere else.

But Bungee was no longer satisfied killing squirrels and rabbits or the occasional fox or possum. He had his first taste of real blood.

And from then on, nothing else could ever satisfy him.

Rev 3 / November 9, 2022

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November 9, 2022 … Copyright © 2022, Lloyd B. Abrams