Protecting your family.

I’m a father, and a husband. And I will fight to protect those close to me that I love. Easy words to say, but I can back them up. Let me tell you about me.

I was trained in military tactics, in weapon handling. In hand to hand combat. In preparation for war, which I was in for 3 1/2 years, on the front lines. Which was hard to define, because it was a terrorist war, there was no front line. It was everywhere. In the bush, in towns, big and small. So we had to be aware at all times. The training was intense. My duties encomppassed prisoner interrogations, intelligence gathering, enhanced interrogation techniques. It was for an ongoing war, and once I was discharged, I would not need those skills again. Or so I thought.

That was 15 years ago, in another country, on another continent, another life. Now I was older, married, a father, comfortable at home playing with my kid and loving my wife. All that training was behind me, never to be used again. Or so I thought. But something happened to change all that.

Let me back up for a minute. I live in the United States now, and really thankful that I do. I’m also a lawyer, practicing family law, and criminal law, and other miscellaneous law as it crosses my desk. I’ve noticed that criminals get away with their crimes quite easily, by technicalities, loopholes, or even by lazy lawyering with plea bargains to reduce court backups. Our justice system is overburdened. I don’t trust it anymore, and retired from the field. It doesn’t work properly.

so something happened to my friend’s girl friend, where she was raped at a party. She was drinking, and a man took advantage of her, and forced himself on her. She filed a police report, and 2 months later he still hadn’t been arrested. So my friend reached out to another friend, and they took matters into their own hands, and had a conversation with him. Privately. Actually, they planned the operation very professionally, they wore gloves, face masks, black clothing, and carried baseball bats to emphasize their strong language. ( they beat the crap out of him). My friend trusted me, and discussed what they were thinking of doing, so I gave them some ideas and my support. They went for it.

‘About 2 years later my 13 year old grandson came to me crying. I had noticed that he had been acting differently than normal, quiet, serious, distracted. Not the happy kid he usually is. I asked him what was wrong, and he opened the floodgates. It turned out his Boy Scout leader had been molesting him. Just minor accidental touching and brushing against him at the begining, and it escalated from that to full on molestation of unmistakable sexual contact, with threats of retribution against him and his family if he told . I was so enraged I could hardly talk coherently. I hugged my grandson and told him it was not his fault, he did nothing wrong. The Boy Scout leader was at fault, and he was going to pay for his evil and harmful deeds. I asked him if he knew of any other boys he did this to, and my grandson said yes, 3 other boys had told him that he was doing it to them as well. I told him I would take care of it and not to worry. I also said he was not going back to his troop meetings for a while. He seemed relieved.

remembering what my friend told me, I started organizing my plan. I needed a partner as backup, someone I could trust. And someone strong enough, skilled enough, and ruthless enough to inflict a beating on this pedophile scum. I immediately thought of my friend who trusted me enough to tell me his plans for the rapist. I asked him if he would be my back up, and he said yes, especially when I told him why I was doing this. Next I thought of what I would do to him- a beating did not seem harsh enough, death was too extreme. So maybe a terrorist style interrogation, bag over head, waterboarding, bright lights, threats, torture, the whole works. Scare him to death, without him dying. But I wouldn’t really care if he did. No loss there.

The first thing to do was intelligence gathering. Where he lived, who lived with him, his schedule, stuff like that. With that in mind, I staked out the next troop meeting, and followed him home. I took photos, to show my grandson to make sure it was the right guy. He confirmed it. Then I reconiotered his house and street, the route in, the route out, the secondary escape route out just in case I needed to get out another way. I staked out the house for a few days and nights, to see what activity was like. None. He lived alone, and when he got in after work, he didn’t go out again. It looked like he sat in front of the tv. And then went to bed by 10pm. The immediate neighborhood was quiet. No activity. I was ready. I planned on going to the house that night, knocking on the front door, and when he opened it, push my way in, overwhelm him, put a bag onver his head, zip tie his arms behind his back , tie him to a chair in the kitchen, and begin an enhanced interrogation. My friend would be involved, as back up and to look menacing and scary. We would both be wearing black clothing and balaclavas, which made us look terrifying. We set out in a van my friend owned, with stolen license plates on it, just in case it is seen, and reported to the authorities. Looking ahead to possible problems is a good practice to follow.

ok, zero hour is here, we are outside his house, just down the street a bit. No one was outside, the street was dark and deserted. Some lights were on in houses on the street, no dogs were barking. We got out, and walked to the front door. There was no cameras, which we knew from the earlier reconnaissance we conducted, put on our ski masks, and knocked on the door. Soon, we heard footsteps inside , and the door opened. I pushed the door inward, knocking the Boy Scout leader down, and we swarmed him, put a bag over his head, hit him hard a few times to stop his struggling, and zip tied his hands.during the whole time we were silent. We closed the door, and my friend stayed outside to monitor action on the street. Meanwhile, I force marched our captive to the kitchen and tied him to a chair. I removed the bag from his head, and gagged him, to stifle his screams. Then I put the bag on his head again. The whole time he was babbling, pleading, crying. I kept silent. If he got too loud, I slapped him and told him to be quiet. I started the interrogation. “Do you know why we are here? Tell the truth, and it will go easier on you”. “ no, I don’t know. You must have the wrong person” he said . I slapped him hard. “You know what you’ve done. We aren’t making a mistake. I’ll give you one more chance, then something bad will happen to you. Why are we here, what have you done to make us do this to you?” “ I’m telling you, I don’t know, I haven’t done anything”. I reached behind him, and placed his pinkie finger in a bolt cutter I pulled out of my pocket. Then I squeezed, and cut off his finger. He screamed , but it was distorted and not loud because of the gag. “Wrong answer, shit head. You’ve got 9 fingers left. Don’t make me cut off all of them. What did you do to make me do this?” “oh god, ok, ok, I touched a boy in scouts. I did, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.” “Good, so you do know why I’m here. What is the boys name?” “Eric” “ no, I didn’t know about Eric. What’s the other boys name?“. “Please, don’t hurt me. John, it’s John. Just once, I swear.” “ ok, shithead, so there are more boys that I don know about. If you don’t tell me the right boys name, you will lose another finger, maybe more. What’s the boys name?” “Please, I’m being truthful. I screwed up, touching all these boys. It’s Timmy, I swear that is all.” Timmy was my grandson, but I didn’t want him to know that. “Timmy, I don’t know that boy. You’re being a bad boy, I warned you. Why are you not telling me the names of all the boys yoy molested? You don’t like having all your fingers?” He broke down crying and blubbering, simpering softly. “I don’t remember the other 2 boys. That was last year, and they left the troop. I swear, I’m not lying. I swear.”

so I think I had got all the names and number of boys he had molested. No more torturing needed. Just the punishment. “Ok, shithead, I believe you. But tell me, how should I punish you?what’s fair?” I asked him. “ I’ll leave town, you’ll never see me again. I swear.” ”oh, that’s too easy. You hurt those boys. Their trust is gone, their innocence lost. You need to be punished for your actions. I’m going to punish you, and besides leaving town, in fact the state, you are going to confess your sins to all the parents of the boys in the troop. And trust me, I’ll be there to watch you. The troop meeting is tomorrow. Be there”. I snarled at him, and he flinched, and cowered down on the chair. “ and now, here’s your punishment”. I swung the bat into his stomach, and he screamed, the sound was muffled due to the gag. I I poked him hard in the stomachs with the bat, and he released all his breath from his lungs. He toppled over in his chair onto the floor, and pleaded for me to stop. I did, and walked out of the kitchen into the front room, smashing every piece of furniture I saw. I pulled a spray paint bottle out of my jacket pocket, and sprayed ”pedophile” on every wall. I ripped the phone out of the wall, and I left, joined up with my friend, and we left in his van. Mission accomplished. All I had to do now was attend the Boy Scout troop meeting with my grandson, and hear his confession. And if he doesn’t do it, and doesn’t leave town, well, I guess I will visit him again. But I don’t think he will molest any boys again. Just a hunch.