Excerpts from BROKEN
EXCERPT from "Eenie Meenie"
Smiling his wicked smile, Jack let the corpse slide from his grasp
and watched as it slid like a boneless sack of skin onto the ground.
The tall weeds were perfect for cleaning his hands and the blade of
his knife before proceeding. Staring at the body as he finished
wiping himself off, Jack watched to make sure the old man had gone
over. Can’t screw up and leave it still breathing.
Curiously,
though, a dead hand still clutched the black garbage bag, as if
refusing to part with it.
A quick search failed to find a wallet or anything of value,
but Jack hadn't expected to discover anything on the body in the
first place. The guy was simply a misfortunate target. Someone who
had caught his eye, and looked like the perfect victim. What was
curious, however, was the lack of any sort of identification.
"Guess I'll just have to call you That Old Geezer from now
on," he informed the body and laughed at his own joke.
Giving the corpse a nudge with the toe of his boot, Jack
glanced toward the roadway to see if any headlights approached. He
saw none and thanked himself for another job well done.
One good shove with his foot sent the body down the short
embankment and out of direct line of sight from the road. The
garbage bag was another matter. Throwing trash on the side of the
road was illegal in this state. It could lead the authorities to the
body before Jack had a chance to flee. There was always a dead
carcass of some animal struck during the night and left lying on the
roadside. But leave a black plastic garbage bag fluttering in the
breeze, and the first cop car to cruise by would stop to
investigate. Open it up and check the contents to see what dumbass
was stupid enough to leave something inside with a name or address,
giving the police an easy someone to blame.
Jack paused, remembering how the guy's hand refused to let go
of the sack. Maybe it was because there was something of value he
could pawn or use inside. Sighing, he pried the bag from the old
man's fingers. Lifting the sack, he started back to his car to toss
it into the trunk to examine later. After he'd checked it out he'd
find a dumpster somewhere to deposit what was left.
Without warning, the bag shifted.
Lt. Sean Walsh rubbed the grittiness from his tired eyes and
tried to focus on the front door of the dark building where they
believed their suspect was hiding out. The nearest light in the area
was a distant streetlamp, which puddled its mustard yellow glow
directly beneath it. Otherwise, a sliver of moon was the only other
source.
“Yo, Walsh. Say something. I’m so tired, I’m hallucinating.
I’m thinking every shadow I spot in the windows or hovering around
this back door is our UNSUB.”
He smiled and keyed his walkie talkie. “Do any of them wear
a skirt?”
“Skirts, bikinis, jock straps, you name it. I wouldn’t put
it past this guy to put on any kind of disguise in order to slip
past us. Hell, he could be anyone. It’ll be a miracle if we manage
to catch him. How much longer are we gonna have to remain here, do
ya think?”
He checked his watch. 1:54 AM “Two more hours, Dunlevy. I
promise. Just hold tight.”
“Copy that. I’m out.”
He tossed the walkie onto the passenger side seat and
stretched his legs to relieve the charley horse developing in his
right calf. Dunlevy was right. It would be a miracle if they managed
to snag this chameleon. The self-proclaimed vigilante was a master
of disguise, able to move in and out of situations like a phantom.
Enacting revenge on those he felt deserved punishment because he
believed the law hadn’t been dealt harshly enough. |
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