Hayseed!”
“That’s rude, considering you’ve broken into my home, and you’re pointing a gun at me, with a suppresser no less. Are the news reports true? Are you really a pervert responsible for kidnapping, raping and murdering young boys?”
Dominico smiled coldly and lowered the gun just a hair while he sat down on the couch opposite him.
“So it is true. You’re responsible for raping and executing eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year old boys. How sick are you, Dominico?”
“You know absolutely nothing, and you call yourself a detective.”
Pressman nodded and said, “Yeah, you had us fooled.” He paused, looked at the gun that was again pointed directly at him and said, “But where are you going to go? They’re hunting you down, Man!”
“Got it covered, Asshole. They won’t find me because as far as anyone knows, Anthony Dominico is dead . . . he’s gone . . . he’s disappeared and off the grid.”
“Oh I see. So, who are you now?” Pressman had to keep up a running commentary to cover the 9-1-1 operator from trying to speak. “A fake, made up identity?”
“Something like that,” Dominico answered with a laugh.
“I suppose the name is going to match the strawberry blond hair you have now. Hell, you even dyed your eyebrows. You have to admit though, you look sort of gay, but then again, you must be if you’re raping young boys, right?”
Dominico snarled and put a bullet into Pressman’s left knee. Luke leaned forward and grabbed it. The pain was intense, and blood ran freely down his leg and onto his beige carpet.
“Jesus! What the fuck, Dominico . . . why?”
In the distance, there were sirens.
“Why?” Dominico repeated. “Why? Because I think the world would be better off without a hick like you. I have a list of assholes just like you that need to be erased. You’re the first one on that list.”
Pressman had to keep him talking until the cops arrived, but the pain was overwhelming.
“Are you that fucked up that-“
The gun spit again, this time in his right knee cap.
“Jesus!” Pressman yelled. “Fuck!”
“Oo . . . taking the Lord’s name in vain,” Dominico said mocking him.
Knowing Dominico was running out of non-lethal body parts to shoot, Pressman asked through clenched teeth, “A list? Who else is on that list?”
Dominico laughed coldly and seemed to be picturing the faces that went along with the names.
“We made a list of those we need to dispose of. Some are personal just to each of us. Some are common to each of us . . . those who ruined our lives.”
Pressman stared at him, and as the sirens got closer, there were several things that went through his mind.
The first was that he was never going to get married or have children. He had wanted one boy and one girl and a wife to come home to each night. He knew that facing Dominico with a gun, that wasn’t going to happen. The second thing that went through his mind was the question of who was going to find him. He didn’t know, but he also didn’t want anyone to mess up his house. He knew that thought was silly because he’d be dead. But it was a worry nonetheless.
The last thing that went through his head was a speeding hollow-point bullet that rocketed out of the barrel of the gun held in Dominico’s hand.
After that, there were no more thoughts whatsoever. Just . . . nothing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chicago, Illinois
Dilaudid is a powerful pain reliever that depresses the central nervous system, so the normal dosage is usually only one or two milligrams. Most pharmacies or hospital dispensaries have it in one, two or four milligram vials, and if one uses a three centimeter syringe, one can collect twelve milligrams of Dilaudid and inject it into an IV port with little problem. Of course, twelve milligrams would be lethal, especially if the patient had two milligrams of Dilaudid already
“That’s rude, considering you’ve broken into my home, and you’re pointing a gun at me, with a suppresser no less. Are the news reports true? Are you really a pervert responsible for kidnapping, raping and murdering young boys?”
Dominico smiled coldly and lowered the gun just a hair while he sat down on the couch opposite him.
“So it is true. You’re responsible for raping and executing eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year old boys. How sick are you, Dominico?”
“You know absolutely nothing, and you call yourself a detective.”
Pressman nodded and said, “Yeah, you had us fooled.” He paused, looked at the gun that was again pointed directly at him and said, “But where are you going to go? They’re hunting you down, Man!”
“Got it covered, Asshole. They won’t find me because as far as anyone knows, Anthony Dominico is dead . . . he’s gone . . . he’s disappeared and off the grid.”
“Oh I see. So, who are you now?” Pressman had to keep up a running commentary to cover the 9-1-1 operator from trying to speak. “A fake, made up identity?”
“Something like that,” Dominico answered with a laugh.
“I suppose the name is going to match the strawberry blond hair you have now. Hell, you even dyed your eyebrows. You have to admit though, you look sort of gay, but then again, you must be if you’re raping young boys, right?”
Dominico snarled and put a bullet into Pressman’s left knee. Luke leaned forward and grabbed it. The pain was intense, and blood ran freely down his leg and onto his beige carpet.
“Jesus! What the fuck, Dominico . . . why?”
In the distance, there were sirens.
“Why?” Dominico repeated. “Why? Because I think the world would be better off without a hick like you. I have a list of assholes just like you that need to be erased. You’re the first one on that list.”
Pressman had to keep him talking until the cops arrived, but the pain was overwhelming.
“Are you that fucked up that-“
The gun spit again, this time in his right knee cap.
“Jesus!” Pressman yelled. “Fuck!”
“Oo . . . taking the Lord’s name in vain,” Dominico said mocking him.
Knowing Dominico was running out of non-lethal body parts to shoot, Pressman asked through clenched teeth, “A list? Who else is on that list?”
Dominico laughed coldly and seemed to be picturing the faces that went along with the names.
“We made a list of those we need to dispose of. Some are personal just to each of us. Some are common to each of us . . . those who ruined our lives.”
Pressman stared at him, and as the sirens got closer, there were several things that went through his mind.
The first was that he was never going to get married or have children. He had wanted one boy and one girl and a wife to come home to each night. He knew that facing Dominico with a gun, that wasn’t going to happen. The second thing that went through his mind was the question of who was going to find him. He didn’t know, but he also didn’t want anyone to mess up his house. He knew that thought was silly because he’d be dead. But it was a worry nonetheless.
The last thing that went through his head was a speeding hollow-point bullet that rocketed out of the barrel of the gun held in Dominico’s hand.
After that, there were no more thoughts whatsoever. Just . . . nothing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chicago, Illinois
Dilaudid is a powerful pain reliever that depresses the central nervous system, so the normal dosage is usually only one or two milligrams. Most pharmacies or hospital dispensaries have it in one, two or four milligram vials, and if one uses a three centimeter syringe, one can collect twelve milligrams of Dilaudid and inject it into an IV port with little problem. Of course, twelve milligrams would be lethal, especially if the patient had two milligrams of Dilaudid already
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