My bedroom door opened near midnight last Friday and the sound awoke me. Through the bright hallway light I see my son walking toward me. He begins to speak and says he has some really bad news to tell me. My first thought was that he had crashed the car. Christopher proceeds to tell me that my older Brother Joey had been killed. His life taken by some drunken scumbag that did not even have a license nor should have even been in this country of ours.
In Loving Memory of
Joey Vaughn Locke
February 23, 1964 - October 9, 2015
Killed. Still hard to grasp what has actually happened. It has been a week since my Brothers murder. In all honesty I expected him to die in some high speed crash but I did not expect him to be killed by some piece of shit illegal immigrant.
Joey was my older brother and was always there for me. I still remember that time while we were hunting on the farm when we were little kids. We were working our way through the woods to another track of land and crossed by a trailer where someone was living. At the time I did not know who it was but it turned out to be my crazy grandmother's sister. I think she was a little mental because she got a gun and started shooting at us. We took off running like a bat out of hell. I heard a few bullets narrowly miss us. I kept stopping to wait for Joey but he kept telling me to keep running. I did not want to leave him. We reached a fence and looked back to see if the crazy lady was still there. We could see her reloading her rifle. Joey grabbed me and tossed me over the fence and told me to run like hell. Luckily the old bitch was a poor shot. I have dozens of more stories. Each one Joey was my protector and was there for me.