Sin And Vengeance Read online

  C. J. W e s t

  Sin

  AND

  Vengeance

  22 West Books, Sheldonville, MA

  www.22wb.com

  © Copyright 2005, C.J. West

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

  transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Permissions, 22 West Books, P.O. Box 155, Sheldonville, MA 02070-0155

  The following is a work of fiction. Although it is based on a real location in Westport, Massachusetts, the characters and events are of the author’s creation and used fictitiously. This book in no way represents real people, living or dead, at the winery or anywhere else.

  Cover design by Sarah M. Carroll

  ISBN 0-9767788-0-7

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Rob Russell from Westport Rivers for his teachings in viticulture, winemaking, and life at a family winery. Westport, Massachusetts, was chosen as the setting for much of this book based on our conversations and the excellent reputation of the winery. Alas, their wines are far superior to those produced by the Marstons in this book. My personal favorite is the 1991 Cuvée Maximilian.

  None of the characters in this book are based on real people at the winery or elsewhere. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

  I also referenced Winery Technology & Operations: A Handbook for Small Wineries, by Dr. Yair Margalit for an additional primer into winery operations, especially his work on sterilization and spoilage.

  Thanks to Kevin Godsey for his assistance on all matters scientific as well as his input to the novel as a whole.

  Thanks also to my prerelease readers: Jim Angelo, Jay Brooks, Kevin Godsey, Laura Sanita, Jady Sarno, and my wife, Gloria. Their hard work and insight helped me greatly improve this book before it went to press.

  To my parents:

  Thank you for grounding me with a sense that I will always be loved.

  Psalms 58:10 The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.

  Chapter One

  Charlie Marston’s hand wavered as he poured the last of the third bottle of Merlot. He ignored the red droplets on the battered table and turned toward a breeze that blew in through the unscreened window. Outside, the scraggly grass waved in the moonlight and the weathered barn stood silently in shadow. Charlie watched and listened for Randy’s return, half expecting the owner of the old house to arrive first and run him off. Charlie had met the owner only once. He knew Perry didn’t live in France and he seldom visited, but the farmhouse was his and trespassing put Charlie on edge. Randy had stated his philosophy on the matter before he left, “Apologize if you must, but never waste time waiting for permission.”

  Charlie watched the field nervously, but nothing stirred. His problem wasn’t out there in the dark. It was nine kilometers away at the winery his father had just acquired. His damaged knee condemned him to season after season of growing grapes and formulating new wines instead of doing what he loved. He had been just six months short of the draft and all but promised a starting position with Pittsburgh, when a two-hundred-eighty-five-pound defensive lineman crashed down and shattered his kneecap. The scouts saw the injury from the stands and watched him carried away on the stretcher. Even if they hadn’t, it didn’t matter. After months of therapy and two years of recuperation, Charlie could barely trot.

  Two years at U.C. Davis had stalled the inevitable, but now that his coursework was complete, there was nothing to stop his induction into the family winemaking business. Charlie often imagined traveling here to the south of France as a football hero and how the money and celebrity status would draw a flock of women; being here as a grape farmer was infinitely less exciting.

  Wine was his father’s passion, his life, and Charlie joined the business with trepidation. One hope had pulled him through U.C. Davis: getting to know the man who’d been little more than a ghost during his childhood. Charlie’s graduation thrust them together and for the first time he saw his father with an adult’s vision. Charles berated employees for minor misjudgments and he never once consoled his son for his plunge from professional athlete to professional winemaker. The longer they worked together, the lower Charles Marston sank in his son’s esteem.

  The idea that he’d sprung from such a man and that he might grow to resemble him, soured Charlie’s interest in winemaking. Whenever possible, he ventured away from the twenty thousand square foot stone castle his father called “the chateau.” On one such trip, he met an American businessman named Brad Perry who told him about an old farm he had bought as a site for his new vacation home. Charlie deduced the farm’s location and decided it was a safe place to hide away. In just a few days, Charlie had cleaned away years of neglect from the interior four rooms and made himself a comfortable place to escape his father’s constant admonitions.

  Charlie stood in the house now, studying the murky space around the barn. The hum of a car’s engine drew nearer and idled in front of the garage. Charlie’s heart quickened as he imagined what Randy was doing with her down in the car. Afraid to move and drown out the sounds below, Charlie stood frozen at the window. The engine ceased. He held his breath as one door opened and then the other. His immediate thought was to hide, yet he waited. Listening. Footsteps crunched in the gravel, heels clicked on the steps, and then a flirtatious, inebriated giggle.

  She was here! Randy had found her.

  Randy’s power over people was confounding. From a distance, he looked like a guy you’d cross the street to avoid. Tall and thin, he always dressed in black and wore iridescent, reflective sunglasses tucked into unkempt hair that waved well below his shoulders. On the rare occasions he shaved, he left behind enough stubble to cover his features. When Randy had first approached him, Charlie couldn’t imagine what kind of character lurked beneath the hair and glasses. But despite the bedraggled appearance, Randy had drawn him in with a zany philosophy and a life that was all about fun. Like his hair that fanned out in every conceivable direction, Randy would say or do anything at any time. He knew no boundaries and that freedom attracted a crowd of fun-seekers when he went out. As Charlie listened at the window, he realized that Randy was exactly what this woman sought.

  Even after a hundred readings, just thinking about her Internet ad made his heart stutter. He couldn’t believe she was about to strut into the room. It could be another woman coming inside with Randy, but Charlie wondered what “LustyFarmWife” would really be like. Her ad said she was forty-one, five-four and her picture showed a slim, curvaceous figure with the face blurred over. The first line of the ad played over and over in Charlie’s mind. “Lonely wife seeks young studs for sex, no strings, no inhibitions, willing to try anything once… twice if it’s fun.” The last part is what attracted Randy. After two months cavorting together, Charlie was sure the “anything” Randy had in mind was something he had never dreamed of.

  Charlie heard the front door open and Randy’s voice in the hall. Two sets of footsteps creaked their way up the narrow stairway, multiplying Charlie’s excitement with every sound. A head of long, fine hair led the way. The woman’s face was older than Charlie expected, different from the college girls he’d known. She was attractive, but her eyes were lined with wrinkles, her skin smoothed with makeup. She cautiously wobbled into the small bedroom unaware of Charlie at the window. Randy came in after her, placed two fresh bottles of wine on the nightstand, and firmly grabbed a handful of her behind. He reached his free hand around to her chin and angled h
er face toward Charlie.

  “Eve, Charlie. Charlie, Eve.”

  Randy nibbled at her earlobe and made his way down along her neck as if the trip up the stairs had interrupted his work in the car.

  Eve tipped her head to one side to accommodate him, smiled, and surveyed Charlie, who was feeling more than a little confused. Randy hadn’t said what they’d do or how. Charlie couldn’t imagine how to get started. He couldn’t join in with Randy blanketing her the way he was. Eve, as if that were her real name, seemed to sense Charlie’s uncertainty and waved him over.

  “Don’t be shy. I don’t like the dark and I don’t like snakes, but anything else you’ve got in mind is probably ok.”

  When Charlie failed to move in, Eve turned and kissed Randy, grinding her body against his. Slowly, she released him with a deep sigh, savoring his taste. She turned away from Randy, who was still wrapped around her, and licked her lips with her eyes focused at Charlie, licking then sucking her finger before motioning him to join them.

  “I’m sure you can go all night, but there’s no need to wait that long.”

  Randy didn’t seem to care if Charlie joined them or not.

  Charlie’s feet refused to move. He’d been with several women, but never like this. Randy was rubbing his hands all over her. While Charlie hesitated, Eve licked her lips once more then abruptly turned away, lifting her dress to reveal lacy black lingerie stretched tight over her rear end. She gyrated beneath the fringes of her silky red dress, enticing him. Randy slipped his hands under her dress, lifted it off, and tossed it toward the bed.

  Charlie crossed the room, but stopped a foot away. The wine had gotten him this far, but the gap between watching and touching seemed immense. Finally, he couldn’t resist and hesitantly placed his hands above her hips and began feeling his way around her smooth skin. Eve, still facing Randy, grabbed his wrists and pulled him to her. Charlie’s doubts vanished when their bodies touched front-to-back. He eagerly helped Randy strip off her lingerie as she wiggled between them.

  Eve was overjoyed to feel herself pinned between the two men. She turned back and forth, grinding her backside against one while kissing and rubbing the other. Every few moments she switched to face the other partner. At the third such turn, Randy pulled off his belt and led Eve toward the bed, instructing Charlie to follow. Charlie’s mouth was agape when Randy wrapped the belt around and around her wrist then secured her to the bedpost. Amazingly, she didn’t protest; she seemed to enjoy it. With a little urging from Randy, Charlie fastened her other hand, but his side was far too loose. Randy walked over and cinched it tight, leaving Eve standing naked in the middle of the small room leaning forward toward the bed. Randy, still standing behind her, quickly pulled of his boots and stripped off his pants. Charlie backed to the edge of the bed and sat in awe as they began to move in unison without a word between them. Eve saw Charlie sitting there and flicked her tongue seductively, eyeing the bulge in his jeans. She reached for him, but couldn’t move her bound hands. It was too much for Charlie. He ripped off his pants, scooted himself onto the bed and knelt in front of Eve, his hands firmly planted in her hair.

  Just as her lips parted and her head began to lower toward Charlie, there was a crash at the front door. Wood crackled. The door scraped and dragged partway open. Charlie’s attention snapped to the heavy thudding footsteps on the stairs and the hissing of a light jacket that rubbed along the wall as the intruder climbed toward them. Randy was still fully engaged with Eve as the man crested the stairs and stopped inside the room to survey the scene. He was a hulk of a man, not unusually tall, but solidly built, poised to spring, and fueled by the horrifying scene before him. His muscles tensed, his face swelled evermore furious with rage. His eyes darted around the room finding new details to deepen his horror with each passing second.

  Charlie looked over at the fingers gripping the bedpost and noticed a worn diamond ring. He hadn’t seen it earlier and even if he had, it wouldn’t have stopped him. He looked back to the man at the door. For an instant the man held fast, his anger building as he saw the two naked men, the bound hands, and the apparent drunkenness of his wife. His overwrought mind searched for a target to lash out upon. He found it when Randy eased out of the woman and backed up half a step.

  “God damn you, Deirdre!” he screamed, the sheer volume of air rushing from his lungs testified to the power of this man. In two thunderous bounds, he buried his shoulder into Randy, knocked him backward against the dresser, rolled over him, and slammed him to the floor beneath the open window. Randy, still considerably drunk and clothed only in his sunglasses, was more confused by his abrupt change of position than injured by the rolling tackle.

  Deirdre yanked at her bindings, struggling to get free. Charlie couldn’t be sure if she intended to help her husband or run from him, so he left her there and hopped off the bed. Randy was now pinned to the floor by the hulking man kneeling on his chest. He pounded repeatedly with his right fist, smearing blood across Randy’s face. Charlie wheeled around looking for a weapon. He found only shoes and clothes strewn about before turning back to see Randy’s head lolling with the blows. He wouldn’t last much longer. Charlie stepped up and hit the man between the shoulders with all his strength, jolting him forward, but having little effect. The man ignored Charlie and continued punching wildly.

  Charlie remembered a lesson Randy had given him one day by the punching bag. He grabbed a handful of hair just above the man’s forehead, pulled upward, and landed a second punch to the base of his neck. He wobbled and dropped forward just like Randy had said he would.

  Randy, stunned and bleeding, sluggishly threw the man off and pulled himself up. He leaned against the dresser, breathing heavily and glaring down at the assailant at his feet. Three fingers reflexively brushed across his cheek, smearing half his face crimson and making his cheek look as if it had been torn open. His face turned angry when he saw his own thick blood on his fingers. He reached down and put on his sunglasses, which now had a large crack across the left lens.

  The dazed man struggled to push himself up from the floor. When he reached his knees, Randy summoned all his might and slammed his foot into the man’s ribs, dropping him back down. A whoosh of air escaped his lungs as he landed. Randy grabbed him by the shirt and the belt and hoisted him to his feet. He signaled Charlie to grab onto the other side, likewise. Together they turned him toward the far side of the room, dragged his stumbling body four steps forward, and then heaved him headlong into the wall. His face crashed through two narrow wallboards. His jaw lodged half-in and half-out of the wall, suspending his torso three feet off the floor. Randy rushed to the nightstand, picked up a full bottle of wine and rushed back toward the trapped man.

  Charlie stood motionless and watched Randy rush by Deirdre, watched her foot jut out behind her and tangle with Randy’s ankles, watched Randy fall forward and skip off the floorboards, lucky not to catch any tender flesh in one of the crevices.

  The intruder moaned at the clatter and struggled to work his head free.

  Deirdre yanked at the bedposts.

  Charlie stood empty-handed, naked, and confused.

  When Randy scrambled back to his feet, the stubble and glasses couldn’t hide the intensity of his rage. He looked as if he’d dismember both of them barehanded. He slapped Deirdre with an open hand, instantly leaving a red welt on her behind. The stinging clap on soft bare flesh renewed the fight in her husband, but Randy reached him before he could free himself from the wall.

  Charlie watched as Randy rushed past with the bottle. Randy took a stutter step, planted his feet and swung the bottle with incredible force, pounding the man’s head further into the wall. Charlie stepped away, horrified. The man neither moved nor breathed and neither did Deirdre.

  Randy grabbed the back of the man’s collar and yanked him free from the wall. Jagged splinters scraped long white lines across his face, but the man didn’t flinch. When Randy let go, he crumpled to the floor in an unnatural heap.


  The room shook and a small package dropped to the floor. In the stillness and intense awareness of the moment, the sound was clear. Another package fell. This time, each of them saw the green and white packet slip from the wall and land on the man’s head. Randy leaned closer and ripped off the cracked section of board. An avalanche of the little packets followed. They were hundred dollar bills, the wall was full of them and now there was a pile of them on the floor, lumped on the man who lay facedown and motionless.

  Chapter Two

  The scene plunged from kneeling on the bed pulsing with the most exhilarating anticipation Charlie had ever felt, to utter madness and confusion when Henri Deudon, a dairy farmer from Piolenc, hit the floor. The air was filled with Deirdre’s screams for her limp husband, “Henri!...Henri!...Henri!”

  Panic-stricken, Charlie watched Deirdre rail against her bindings like a pit bull struggling against its chain. He had no idea what he’d do if she broke free.

  In contrast, Randy was no more upset by her naked screams and the dead man at his feet, than if they were a TV movie with the sound turned off. He balanced several stacks of bills in each hand. “Charlie, you met this guy, right? … Did he look rich to you? You think this money’s his or did he steal it?”

  Charlie didn’t respond.

  “Help him you bastards, help him!” Deirdre yelled.

  The sexiness was gone from the naked woman bound in the middle of the room. She yanked desperately on the bedposts, moving the bed a few feet toward her husband, but something on the floor stopped it there.

  Randy shook his head and muttered, “Fuckin’ pathetic.”