Page 18 of Maddy's Justice

The owner clapped his hands together to unleash some nervous energy. He made a fist of each hand and briefly held them up and shook them both.

“Okay! Let’s go,” he said.

“I don’t know why the hell I can’t use a rifle,” one of the owner’s two business buddies said.

His name was Stanley Tangen and he was raised in New York, a member of a wealthy East Coast inbred Hampton’s crowd family. Stan was not a sporting hunter.

“We’ve been through this, Stan. It’s too easy. Besides the bows are more fun as well as a better challenge,” the other business buddy, Monty Kerzner replied.

Kerzner was CEO of Butterfield Oil. Tangen was CEO of Waltham Investments in New York. The two of them had gone to school together through Harvard Business School. They were both fabulously wealthy having made their money the old-fashioned way; inheritance and by being crooks. They were also bored with it.

“These are the finest compound bows money can buy,” the owner reminded them, “Matthews Vertix with Easton arrows. Three hundred and fifty feet per second. With the three-blade broadheads, you can drop an elk at a couple hundred yards.”

“You could at least put sights on them,” Stanley said.

“Too easy,” the owner replied.

The three men were in a utility shed with Odessa and three security members, including Evan Carlin. Each of the men had a three-seat Polaris Ranger to ride in for the morning hunt. One of the security men would drive while the others rode in the front passenger seat. Odessa would ride in the back seat of a Ranger with her boss in the passenger seat up front.

“All right, let’s go,” the owner announced. “You guys know the trails,” he said to the security men. “We’ll drive them to the north end of the island.”

Evan pressed the talk button on a handheld radio and when one of his men answered, said, “Okay, let ‘em go.”

A moment later they heard three sharp gunshots as their game was let loose. There were four of them this time. Each hunt had between three and six. All four of today’s “game” were Latina girls who had been purchased by the island’s owner through the auction house in Palm Springs. They were used up for every sexual perversion imaginable then discarded.

The hunt itself would last for as little as an hour or could go up to the longest one which finished on a second day. Most of the girls had no idea what they were doing or why. All were dressed in light, polyester and cotton blend, cammo clothing to give each of them a minimal chance. At least that was the lie the hunters told themselves. There was, in fact, no chance for them.

Using the hunt vehicles, the “game” would be pushed toward the north end of the island. There it came to a blunt point. It was a sheer drop off a hundred feet down to rocks. More than one of the girls had ended up taking this way out. The tide would do the disposal.

“There goes one,” Evan said.

He was driving with one hand and looking through high-powered binoculars with the other. Almost a mile away he had seen one of the girls running through the foliage.

“Yep, she’s heading right toward where Stan and Joe should be,” the owner said referring to Stan’s driver by name.

The owner was standing and leaning on a roll bar. Odessa was in the back seat also standing and watching. She also had high-powered glasses.

“Stop for a second. Let’s see if Stan can bag her.”

The hunting party had been out for a half-hour and this was the first sighting. No matter how many hunts he went on a hunt, the island’s owner could barely contain his excitement.

The three of them lost sight of the girl and after a minute or so were ready to give up on Stan. Then Evan’s radio beeped, and they heard Stan excitedly exclaim, “I got her! I got her! She came out of some trees about eighty yards in front and froze. One shot. Went right through her! Whoa! That was amazing.”

The owner reached down, took the radio from Evan, and pressed the speaker button.

“Congratulations, Stan. Way to go. Is she done?”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Stan more calmly replied.

“Great. Have Joe balloon her and keep moving.”

To balloon her meant to attach a large, red balloon to the body. It would be filled with helium and sent up with a hundred-foot rope. This was so they could leave her where she was then come back for her to make it easy to find the body for disposal.

Three hours later there was only one more girl to find. Her name was Lana and she was originally from Venezuela. Lana was a bit older; eighteen and knew all along what the gringo had in store for her and the others.

Instead of running, she found a place to hide. Lana burrowed into cover and stayed quiet. Since being let go, she had heard the engines of the vehicles hunting her. About an hour ago, they had gone past her all the way to the island’s end.

Since then she heard them working their way back. All three of them, by their sound, were moving slowly back and forth across the island. Lana also knew that unless she was very lucky, sooner or later, she would be found.

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