Exacting Revenge.

He wiped his nose in his sleeve as the verdict was read out. He didn't even stand. The lead juror stated what I feared was coming. The prosecutor told me that a worst case scenario was possible. I crumbled to the floor, hitting the side of my head off the wood in front of me. I bled, but a deeper darkness enveloped me. I was numb.

The next thing I remember was being lifted into an ambulance. My only remaining family member, Jessica, held my hand through muffled sobs. My twelve year old daughter was fast becoming a woman. My health suffered in the months after my wife and son had been brutally and savagely taken from us.

The stress of hospital bills, funerals and prosecuting one of the city's top officials all took their toll. That bastard, Brendan Houston, had driven home drunk and killed two members of my family. My wife, Imelda, survived on a life support machine for three weeks, but it was all in vain. My son, Jason, was killed instantly. He was six years full of innocence.

Brendan Houston was a city councillor, sitting on two of the five most lucrative executive boards in New Mexico. He was in his early fifties and was one slithery customer. He had never run for office as affairs and two failed marriages all but counted him out by top Republican brass. But he had uses and they had kept him on for more nefarious schemes. Houston was a cigar-smoking, back-slapping, scotch-drinking, plaid-sport-jacket wearing, red-cheeked asshole.

I knew I couldn't prove it, but I knew he was behind pushing my medical insurance beyond it's threshold. There were tests performed on my wife that weren't necessary, that pushed the bills beyond a certain point. I was then liable for the shortfall - money of which I couldn't spend to investigate and prosecute the bastard. I worked in the IT department of the hospital where my wife had died.

I could testify first hand that Houston was a dangerous man. Three nights before the trial started, one of his goons paid me a visit. My strength hasn't been what it used to be, and I could barely raise my wrists to defend myself. Even my bruised face in court didn't seem to make a difference to the jurors. A journalist friend told me six months later, that he suspected that two of the jurors had been bought. He had no proof of that action either.

On returning to work, I was informed that because of my ill attendance, I would have to re-apply for my old position. His influence was fast becoming a joke at this stage. But considering I was one that had suffered tremendous loss in the past year or so, my bosses threw the paperwork in the bin and reinstated me. If I had lost my job, I may have thrown in the towel. I would have had no means to pay bills, pay for school for Jessica - I owed my co-workers a huge debt of gratitude.

Almost two years had passed since then, and my level of anger toward that bastard still had not dissipated. Not only was I reminded of his sins whenever I saw his picture in the papers, but he seemed to be gaining further influence. He was now sitting on the Republican Committee for Presidential Nomination.

Now he had power outside the state. This asshole had to be stopped.

His downfall began when "on a night out with friends", he had a mild heart attack. I had heard that he was in the company of two hookers in a sleazy motel, off route I-96. And his attack wasn't mild - it near killed him.

His file actually passed over my desk as I input the list of patients up for stent, bypass and pacemaker heart surgery. I nearly fell off my chair when I saw his name.

This is where I decided I had to be the one to stop him. I had to kill Brendan Houston.

That morning's paper gave me the idea. It was the technology section of the Albuquerque Journal. I deemed it was fate's way of telling me to carry out karma.

I told no one of my plan. This would give plausible deniability for everyone if anyone suspected anything untoward. If I did this right, it would look like an accident.

I rented a flat in the city, paying cash and using an alias that only my former wife, Imelda, would figure out. It felt right to use the pseudonym, like she was playing a part. I paid in cash for three months rent upfront, including deposit. No one actually saw me come in or go out of the flat.

I purchased a small laptop, mobile phone and mobile Internet key and left it in the flat, later the following night. I placed them in a sealed plastic bag under a dingy looking bed, out of sight.

Back at work, the order was approved to process the health insurance information for Brendan Houston's new pacemaker. His slow-beating arrhythmia deemed that he needed the JP230 pacemaker.
Houston had the surgery, which went according to procedure. He was advised not to undergo any contact sports or strenuous physical activity for a period of a minimum of one month.

Once Jessica was asleep in bed, I would sneak out to my rented flat. This was where I could stop - but I didn't want to. The thrill of it excited me.

I downloaded dangerous malware software to my laptop. And then I sent it to one of the duty managers at the hospital under the guise of an email stating they had won money in a Sweepstakes competition. I then went home to sleep.

The following day my malicious email was opened. It caused chaos on our ageing internal system. Myself and another colleague were charged with fixing the problem. It was going to take some time, we explained. I accessed the one computer with all the information on installed pacemakers.

Knowing that Houston was at home recuperating from his surgery, I rang an escort agency. I sent him a present, wrapped in black silk and beige overcoat. I made sure that she told him that she was a present "from the party".

I sat outside in my car and opened my new laptop. I wore plastic gloves since opening the box. Giving them at least ten minutes to get acquainted, I watched their silhouettes dance amongst the shadows of the bedroom.

I entered the pass key for Houston's pacemaker.  I activated the short wave antenna on his pacemaker.

I didn't hesitate. I hit the enter key to "Deactivate."

I waited for three minutes until I heard the oncoming rush of ambulance siren. I drove to my flat and
dropped off the laptop. I started a slow fire and pulled the fire alarm as I exited. No one saw me enter or exit.

The next morning's front page headlines read:

"City councillor Brendan Houston has been found dead at his home in the city. Mr. Houston died from natural causes, having recently been the patient of heart surgery. He was a prominent member of the Republican Party and was recently elected onto the Committee for Presidential Nomination. According to an unconfirmed report, Mr. Houston recently had a pacemaker fitted and was undertaking strenuous activity with a friend at his home. The Police have unofficially deemed that this is a death by natural causes and that there are no suspicious elements to the case pending a full autopsy."

Now my family had closure.