lot of things I say,” I admitted with a shrug. “But I assure you, I’m dead serious now.”
That started a whole new sobfest. Apparently, she wanted to have her cake and eat it, too—or have that cake eat her. Either way, she wasn’t stable.
“Put those papers through.” I stood and turned my back on her. “Or so help me, that video will go straight to the president’s inbox. Then we’ll both be out of a job.”
~
I took out my frustration during rounds, that night.
Two shady types casing a gas station, a bunch of teenagers playing some fuckwit assault game—no one was safe. Finally, I rounded the last corner before Carter Street’s bar crawl and heard a horn blaring in the distance. Over and over. Different intervals. Short, short, lonnnnng.
If someone had been in that car, they would’ve found a new way to deal with the problem by now. Ramming the other vehicle, getting out with a tire iron, et cetera. This had to be a remote. A key fob. An inconsiderate asshole.
I sprinted down the sidewalk.
Even though it was a Monday night, regulars were making rounds of their own, stumbling to and fro. Generally speaking, I didn’t give a shit about that type of behavior. What I did give a shit about were the ones making their way to their vehicles…like this schmuck.
He wandered around one of the unmonitored parking lots around back, clutching his keys. Somewhere, maybe fifteen feet away, his car came to life every few seconds. Lights, a honk—hell, the locks were probably wearing out by now. The guy was too trashed to notice.
Once he reunited himself with that Bonneville, he’d head home. No doubt in my mind about that. Barreling down the road in a two-ton pinball wouldn’t faze him—just like it hadn’t fazed Roman West the night he took my parents’ lives. If I didn’t intercept this asshole, someone was going to get hurt.
My muscles tightened in anticipation as I skirted the farthest row, getting behind him. Maybe I’d let him get to his piece of shit car. As good a place as any, right? I could rough him up, snatch his keys, and then shove him in the back. Threat eliminated. No major harm done.
With that thought in mind, I pulled my arm back. The car lit up again, blasting a warning as it blinded me. I swung fast and hard.
The blow landed on the back of his head, slamming him against the very car he’d spent so long searching for. Unsatisfied, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and repeated the motion. His skull bounced off the hood. Once. Twice. I kept going until my vision blurred with a memory.
A nightmare.
Roman had been this limp when I dumped him into that vat of crude oil—after Wallace had destroyed the man with one blow. We hadn’t gotten the answers we’d waited for. The closure we needed. All that buildup to a haunting climax. Then nothing.
Nothing.
I barely noticed the horn and the lights until one of the Bonneville’s doors flew open. A shadow spilled out with a shrill cry, and I leapt back. Gravel caught my boot. The scene tilted, and I flailed my arms to keep my balance.
Son of a…
There’d been no one in the car when I’d glanced up. I mean, I hadn’t seen anyone. They couldn’t have seen me, either, as fast as I’d acted. Maybe they’d heard the rapid-fire thuds. Maybe they’d seen silhouettes in a scuffle. No way I’d been caught.
I ducked down behind a truck and caught the breath that’d been sucked from my lungs. Okay, my gloves were on. I hadn’t left anything behind. It was time to—
No.
Shit.
No, no, no!
A kid clung to the drunkard in the darkness, the car’s headlights no longer strobing the deserted lot. She couldn’t have been old enough to drive yet. From the looks of her, maybe nine or ten. So, what the hell was she doing in a place like this in the middle of the night?
“Can you hear me?” she asked, clutching the man’s shirt in an effort to keep him upright. “Papa, please . Talk to me…”
My blood ran cold and froze
That started a whole new sobfest. Apparently, she wanted to have her cake and eat it, too—or have that cake eat her. Either way, she wasn’t stable.
“Put those papers through.” I stood and turned my back on her. “Or so help me, that video will go straight to the president’s inbox. Then we’ll both be out of a job.”
~
I took out my frustration during rounds, that night.
Two shady types casing a gas station, a bunch of teenagers playing some fuckwit assault game—no one was safe. Finally, I rounded the last corner before Carter Street’s bar crawl and heard a horn blaring in the distance. Over and over. Different intervals. Short, short, lonnnnng.
If someone had been in that car, they would’ve found a new way to deal with the problem by now. Ramming the other vehicle, getting out with a tire iron, et cetera. This had to be a remote. A key fob. An inconsiderate asshole.
I sprinted down the sidewalk.
Even though it was a Monday night, regulars were making rounds of their own, stumbling to and fro. Generally speaking, I didn’t give a shit about that type of behavior. What I did give a shit about were the ones making their way to their vehicles…like this schmuck.
He wandered around one of the unmonitored parking lots around back, clutching his keys. Somewhere, maybe fifteen feet away, his car came to life every few seconds. Lights, a honk—hell, the locks were probably wearing out by now. The guy was too trashed to notice.
Once he reunited himself with that Bonneville, he’d head home. No doubt in my mind about that. Barreling down the road in a two-ton pinball wouldn’t faze him—just like it hadn’t fazed Roman West the night he took my parents’ lives. If I didn’t intercept this asshole, someone was going to get hurt.
My muscles tightened in anticipation as I skirted the farthest row, getting behind him. Maybe I’d let him get to his piece of shit car. As good a place as any, right? I could rough him up, snatch his keys, and then shove him in the back. Threat eliminated. No major harm done.
With that thought in mind, I pulled my arm back. The car lit up again, blasting a warning as it blinded me. I swung fast and hard.
The blow landed on the back of his head, slamming him against the very car he’d spent so long searching for. Unsatisfied, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and repeated the motion. His skull bounced off the hood. Once. Twice. I kept going until my vision blurred with a memory.
A nightmare.
Roman had been this limp when I dumped him into that vat of crude oil—after Wallace had destroyed the man with one blow. We hadn’t gotten the answers we’d waited for. The closure we needed. All that buildup to a haunting climax. Then nothing.
Nothing.
I barely noticed the horn and the lights until one of the Bonneville’s doors flew open. A shadow spilled out with a shrill cry, and I leapt back. Gravel caught my boot. The scene tilted, and I flailed my arms to keep my balance.
Son of a…
There’d been no one in the car when I’d glanced up. I mean, I hadn’t seen anyone. They couldn’t have seen me, either, as fast as I’d acted. Maybe they’d heard the rapid-fire thuds. Maybe they’d seen silhouettes in a scuffle. No way I’d been caught.
I ducked down behind a truck and caught the breath that’d been sucked from my lungs. Okay, my gloves were on. I hadn’t left anything behind. It was time to—
No.
Shit.
No, no, no!
A kid clung to the drunkard in the darkness, the car’s headlights no longer strobing the deserted lot. She couldn’t have been old enough to drive yet. From the looks of her, maybe nine or ten. So, what the hell was she doing in a place like this in the middle of the night?
“Can you hear me?” she asked, clutching the man’s shirt in an effort to keep him upright. “Papa, please . Talk to me…”
My blood ran cold and froze
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