Beacuse We Can

Because We Can

For all of his life, since he was a little boy, Steve Ryan was bigger than usual. He was just larger than boys his age. For a while he believed his parents had started him in school later than his classmates. Bone structure and muscle buildup was always ahead of the curve in his age group. No one ever dare challenged him to a fight; not even the older kids since he was bigger than a lot of them. Steve had been in a few altercations, but never much past the first punch. The initial strike always seemed to stun his opponent into realizing he could really hurt them.
Later on in childhood, once he got into high school, sports became his passion. His size and strength became a more positive aspect of his life. And with the addition of athletics came an introduction the weight training. His muscles developed at an incredible pace. His arms and legs developed that muscle on top of muscle look, with veins being in constant protrusion. With little additional effort his abs and back became rock solid. Without question he had seemed to find his calling, in that his body had the genetic qualities to make something of his life.
But all this came at a price. His physical prowess created an aura about him that made him unchallengeable. No one dared see first hand, to their own demise, what damage he could inflict. Not even the nuttiest of kids, not with a triple dog dare, would come up and sucker punch him and run away. They were just too afraid. Some of Steve’s friends would try to trick him into believing somebody said they could kick his ass. But he wouldn’t budge. Even if it were true, he didn’t want to hurt anybody.
That was the problem. To his detriment, Steve became a pacifist.
As a young adult his passion for lifting weights continued. His body developed so precisely to the way he wanted he started to compete in amateur bodybuilding competitions. Over the course of a few years he gathered trophies, medals, and ribbons, doing well but never gaining higher than 3rd place. He grew to an enormous standard of 6'5" and 245 pounds. The competitions were great and he loved the life of being a gym rat, but the lifestyle did poorly for his finances. Bodybuilding didn’t seem to pay unless you were able to consistently win.
While in his early 20's Steve went to college and got a marketing degree. He was able to secure a job with DeWalt tool company. Starting at the bottom in the company he was required to go on business trips out town. He needed to recruit new business and he figured the best way might be to visit hardware facilities in small towns. A lot of the family owned shops liked to be loyal to 1 specific dealer who usually sold from to only 1 brand of product. If he could convince them they would make more money by selling Dewalt products, Dewalt would increase their product range and Steve would get a sales rip.
Besides, he didn’t need a whole lot of money to live on in the first place. More money meant more freedom and more time to train. Simple economics.
This type of job required a lot of driving, which was ok with him since it got him out of the gym for a while and gave his body plenty of the rest that it needed. He covered a lot of the upper Midwest states, mainly Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa. This seemed to be a large and widely overlooked area. Dewalt is a well known product and few hardware stores lacked in their products. However the data shows that some places well clear of the bigger cities were wide open for asking, so why not at least go and see if these places are untapped resources.
Driving to these smaller areas meant venturing through many small communities and rural areas deep into the north woods. Some of the friendliest people Steve has ever met seemed to reside in these places. Always willing to point him in the right direction for the best food or lodging. The feeling of trust towards a new face never ceases to amaze him. Sometimes ne spent an extra day in these places to experience what the area offers or to get a feel of what the community was like. Experiences were always beneficial. The extra effort translated from place to place an the ability to at least pass off the banter of a locals. It makes for a pleasant experience and also better sales.
Not all places feel this way though. Steve could easily recognize that the internal fortitude to sustain a life in such remote areas, that often has limits on diversions, wears thin on a lot of people. Practically all the communities he came across are mainly working class. Having a mainly blue collar job is not for the timid and is especially tough in these environments. The combination of lots of work and little else to do often leads to alcohol abuses. Steve could see these effects on the people he would come across on his trips. During the day most of the faces were friendly, but a short visit to the local pub at night would bring in the loggers, construction workers, and supermarket clerks. The type of people who spends most of their day building and serving the rich folks who have cabins on pristine lakes. They knew exactly where their place in life was, so they drank heavily when they could. It was easy for them to do this with little repercussions because what in their shitty, small town could they possibly do the get thrown into jail. In a big city it would be easy to get drunk and get into trouble, but in a small town, you had to really work at it. That’s maybe why they live there. Its easy for them to say ‘I either drink because I live in a small town, or I live in a small town because I drink’. That statement deflects accountability.
Steve didn’t often engage in conversation with the locals at night. It was better to keep to himself and drink his beer. Yet sometimes that type of demeanor just drew attention to himself and he got thrown in the mix. A big man like himself isn’t gonna quite stay hidden no matter how much he hid his muscles behind the business suite he wore. Most of the time the locals were great and let him buy the drinks. Every once in while though, the signals weren’t so clear and welcoming. The looks he received were the sometimes threatening and judgmental ones. Getting that evil eye from 3 men behind the pool tables, as though he was an invader, coming to challenge their way of life. Even more threatening were the direct confrontations. The “who are you” and the “ what are you doing here. I don’t recognize you, so get out” type of stuff. The bartenders never cared to get involved in those situations. The loss of some revenue didn’t faze them since it meant the bar would be torn apart in a giant fight. They didn’t own the place. Steve often believed the bartenders shared the same feelings towards him.
Leaving in those situations was an obvious course of action. Leaving not just the bar, but the town as well. Too much prejudice towards one town based on few tough guys wasn’t something Steve wanted weighing on his conscience. Especially if business had gone well.
No need to take these issues personally. After all Steve didn’t live there. All experiences had all types have benefits, he thought.

In March of 2004, running low on funds, Steve decided he should make a trip to Mellen, WI. Mellen, located just west of Ironwood and south of Ashland, WI at a cross roads of Highways 13 and 77. It seemed like an ideal spot to do some door knocking as he liked to put it. Not knowing how many stores were in Mellen, he was sure that there would be few prospects.
Driving out of Madison Steve headed north on I-39 to Wausau, then west on Highway 29 to Abbotsford where he could link up with Highway 13 to take him all the way to Mellen. Driving through the more sparse counties was great. The rolling hills, the smell of tall grass, and driving in the fall, with plenty of leaves that litter the ground. Yet there were drawbacks to this type of trip. Having to maneuver around farm machines blocking the lane, although most farmers would oblige the traffic being held up by him. Then being in a farm area, a lot of cows crossed the roadway leaving clumps of manure across the roads that, when dried out resembled small speed bumps that reeked havoc on the suspension components. Sometimes it felt as though a wheel might jolt off if Steve didn’t let off the gas. But these were minor issues likely due to his big city, snobby mentality.

Mellen didn’t contain much for potential places to conduct business. Mainly 1 hardware store, and a gas station/bait shop/ice cream parlor that might contain hardware products.
So Steve walked into Fred’s Hardware to talk with the clerk. The place was pretty dark and dry. Most of the lighting was through natural light coming through the storefront with a few aisles in the back that had low hung fluorescent lights.
The clerk asked, with a gruff and challenging tone, “What do you want?”
Steve responded with “Hi, my name is Steve Ryan and I represent DeWalt industries and I was wondering if you carry any of our product line?”
The only reaction at first was a stiff and hard stare back at him that lasted, in reality, for a good 20 seconds.
Finally the man responded sternly, “We don’t need anything from you and we definitely don’t need you one more second in this town.”
Feeling embarrassed about the direction the conversation was going Steve took a quick glance back to see who heard him and if they could deflect the anger the clerk was displaying by letting the clerk provide service to them.
All that Steve saw was a man who was eyeing the conversation but ducked into a side aisle, either to avoid involvement or to jump in when the moment came to break up a potential fight. For some reason, without any advanced indication, it was obvious that the clerk and everyone else felt threatened by Steve’s presence.
“I’m sorry sir. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you in any way. I just trying to promote new business by finding merchants that might get overlooked by big companies, like the one I represent, and see if our products could be beneficial to them, or the possibility that there might be a demand for them within the community,” said Steve in an obviously long winded approach that he hoped didn’t go overboard.
But the effects were the opposite that he had hoped. The clerks face appeared to be getting red and the response was going to be similar if not in the tone of a pending argument. His face started to contort. A man who was ready to smash the nearest object in a show of strength that might deter any physical challenge. It was time to just step out to avoid what was obviously going nowhere.
“I’m sorry to have upset your day sir. Forget I ever come in.” It a feeble attempt to save face and he knew it.
He was relieved to step outside. The interior environment was nowhere near as stuffy and claustrophobic as the clerks hospitality. Steve had come across people like this before. People that shut themselves out from the outside world because it gives them comfort. Or maybe it was a product of their environment and the people that grew up without that itch to leave their crappy little town stayed because they knew they couldn’t adapt or compete in a big city. There is no problem with this type of choice, but a lot of them who choose this path eventually carry a sour disposition towards strangers or anyone who might challenge their way of life. Dealing with them is like walking on thin ice. You never know when the ice is going to break.
This might have been a wasted trip. Time to see if anything can be done at the multi store across the road. Steve got into his Toyota Camry and drove, basically, across a four-way stop to the store that was kitty corner to the hardware store. Compared to the hardware store the gas station/bait shop was bustling with activity. Likely because it offered products to a bigger variety of people.
Brighter and more vibrant than the hardware store, the gas station/bait shop seemed to offer a big variety of products. Nothing too deep in specialty, except for the fishing products. The area Steve was in had a lot of lakes. Yet being that it was Fall meant that most of the summer families had packed up and left the area, so there weren’t too many people buying gear out of that realm of the store. Plenty of people were gassing up their vehicles and kids were still buying ice cream, so the clerks were plenty busy. This gave Steve the opportunity to snoop around.
To his dismay they were already carrying DeWalt wrenches and pliers. No point in trying to press them to carry bigger products since the place was packed with stuff, mostly junky, touristy crap. Steve just grabbed a Gatorade, bag of chips, and went to the counter. Gas could wait until he gets out of this place.
The clerk rang him up. A pretty young girl at quick glance. It almost surprised him to notice a head turner in this place.
Just as she handed him the receipt he noticed a submissive and concerned look on her face.
“Is something wrong?” he asked her.
She wouldn’t look him in the eyes, but her response was swift and softly spoken.
“Just be careful leaving. The roads are dangerous. Drive hard and fast for the first 20 miles. There are predatory people in these parts. They prey on lone travelers. You shouldn’t have traveled alone. Go! Fast!”
Steve didn’t know what to think. The drive in gave no indication of this. Yet her words were solemn and clear. Might as well keep my wits and head on a swivel just in case, Steve thought.
As he walked out the door there was the hardware store clerk still standing outside the storefront. Now there were 4 men and 2 trucks parked in the lot. 2 of the men were still sitting in their truck, but all had their eyes on the gas station. Its likely these are the “predators” the girl clerk warned him about.
Steve thought about walking up to them to try and diffuse any possible lingering issue, but he knew that this likely would result in a worse confrontation than before now that the hardware clerk’s friends were with him. It would likely escalate into a physical confrontation. Unknowing where any law enforcement was in town it felt better to just walk away.
It was relieving to see that as he was leaving, Steve looked in his rearview mirror to see that the men decided to go inside. If they were going to do anything it didn’t seem likely to happen today.
Down the road, after breathing a big sigh of relief, it was interesting to marvel at how the small side roads leading off to left and right of the main highway were named as avenues. 115th ave. and 120th ave. as though there might be a 1st and 2nd avenues nearby. It just seemed funny how there wasn’t much thought given to naming these side roads. Compared to New York City in Harlem. If someone from that area drove out here they might possibly think they were getting close to a major metropolis or that the people out here were just fools, thereby increasing the stigma small town folks already carry.
After going across a steep rise Steve noticed a pickup truck parked parallel to the road, blocking the entire roadway. Its easy to assume that a local farmer would be maneuvering his truck temporarily or something fell out of it and he need to pick it up. Steve pulled up the nose his car to the truck and waited for a few seconds. Then suddenly a shotgun was pointed out of the passenger side window.
Before he could raise his hands in surrender, which Steve was fully willing to do, the shotgun blasted. The pellets skimmed across the top of his car’s hood, causing some minor holes, but mostly a total miss of any delicate parts. Noticing in a split second that the engine was still running, Steve floored the gas pedal and headed up a steep gravel road over a rise. The rear tires scraping for traction at first, but finding momentum soon after. The truck needed to back up first in order to maintain pursuit.
The truck was clearly recognizable from the parking lot of the hardware store. Hopefully a farmer could be located working out in the open. It was unlikely that they would commence with an attack in full view of a witness.
Coming up to a sharp left turn Steve took a quick glance into his rearview mirror to see the truck about 100 yards behind him, but gaining fast. Hopefully his Camry would be more agile than the truck, but it would be dangerous on such loose surface.
His car held the corner well, but on acceleration the traction control kicked in, causing the car to fishtail. After gaining control the next obstacle would be an even steeper rise. Coming over the rise was dangerous due to not knowing what was on the other side. Plus coming over the top too fast might cause the car to go airborne with little roadway to recover if the car got sideways.
Time to ease off the gas. Still too fast, even at a near coast. With the wheels coming slightly off the ground, noticeable by the sudden acceleration of the engine, Steve got over the rise. Immediately straight ahead was the other truck blocking the current road he was on. There was another left turn right where the truck was. Just after sighting this, the truck behind him burst over the rise, seemingly 10 feet in the air; maybe more coming down. They knew exactly what was on the other side, as though they had done the jump 100 times.
It was clear to Steve by now that he was being led into a trap. Like he was being hunted down. He felt a bit like a rabbit being coursed by to lurchers. The only chance he would have was to get back to the highway and doing this by finding a way around their road blocks. If he didn’t, he might be surely trapped and who knows. He didn’t want to find out.
There was a shallow ditch around the backside of the truck in front of him. Hopefully the ground wasn’t too wet and his tires would get bogged down in the turf.
As he approached the truck, he slowed down as though he was about to make the left turn, as they plan for him to do. Just at the last second he floors the gas again and goes for the ditch area.
Just as he had feared. The ditch was pure mud.
The momentum however had gotten the nose of the car almost all the way through. Just when he thought he was fucked, the truck behind him didn’t brake soon enough and crashed into his rear end. With his foot mashing the gas and the engine roaring past the redline, the car got moving again. Time to keep it floored because this could be the only opportunity to escape.
After going over another rise he could see the highway. Time to go all out. The maniacal madmen recovered fast though. They on his ass sooner than he anticipated.
Up ahead, where the road should have lead straight for the highway was a humongous brush pile blocking the road with a orange and white striped sign in front of it.
The road had been closed off. But if he can get to the highway, there were cars that he could see traveling along. Stopping was not an option. Time to try one of their tactics.
As Steve approached the obstacle he slammed on the brakes and turned the steering wheel sharpy right, creating a roadblock for his pursuers. He was just about 10 feet shy of the road closure. If he could get to the brush pile he’d have a running chance. The brush would offer cover from any shots fired from a gun, and he was certain he could outrun them. But he would have to run the distance from his car to the brush.
Steve burst from is car like a rabbit scared out of deep grass. He reached the road closure sign, hurdled it, and turned to see if his modified road block worked.
Before he could even react, there was nothing but a roaring truck grill coming right at his chest.
The truck slammed on the brakes and struck his chest with great force, sending him flying into the brush pile and landing on his back. Steve couldn’t believe he was still alive. Realizing all this despite the piercing pain in his lungs and the blood coming out of his mouth. His muscle structure had cushioned the blow. Despite this luck he was still immobilized and at this point incapable of defending himself.
His assailants emerged from their truck and finally revealed themselves to him.
The men from the other truck did not appear to be in sight. They were likely perched on the last hill as a lookout, Steve thought.
The men seemed to aged around 30 years old. Not much older than him. One was short and stocky with a goatee and wearing farmer coveralls. The other was tall and lanky. He was a bit better dressed wearing a button down shirt and nicer jeans. He had a shotgun firmly pointed at Steve.
“Why are you guys doing this to me,” Steve uttered in a garbled voice, his mouth filled with blood.
At first they didn’t say anything. The small one produced a large military style blade and ambled towards him. The blade similar to what Rambo carried.
Again Steve managed to squeeze out a plea. “Why are you doing this?”
With a powerful gesture, the larger of the two men raised his hand towards the other in an order to halt.
“I’ll tell you why. I don’t like you big city people who think that you can just come into our town and assume you are better than the rest of us. Your vanities make me want to puke. You’re more obsessed with yourselves than I can stand.”
Steve could see the pure anger building in the man. His hatred, as misguided as it was, was pure. Then, he also could see the jealous side of him too. He knew this from being able to judge character after dealing with people for so long. The frustration in his face was fueling his anger.
The man continued his rant, this time in a more frightening way. “But the biggest reason is because I get pleasure out of seeing you suffer. We suffer daily in these parts. We give our life to our jobs and our families, whether we like it or not.”
Steve realized he was in great danger. That he might soon die. Their convictions were serious and real.
“I am going to enjoy watching you die! Why? Because I can.”
The larger man summoned to his partner to continue his job.

Everything about Steve, his life and body, was mutilated beyond recognition. His body was ripped nearly piece by piece. All his muscles were peeled from his arms and legs. His abs were ripped to shreds. And there was nothing he could do about it. Steve died somewhere between having his calve muscles torn from his body. He likely bled to death after having an artery cut somewhere in the decrepit process.
These men had no compassion for him. No remorse for the act they had done. To them, by killing Steve in the manner that they did, they felt the world for them would be a better place. The more of those self-righteous creatures they could kill, the better.