Unleashed

by Jacob Stone

  Before Stonehedge could catch himself, he asked, “It didn’t bother you to kill this man?”

  Johnson gave the actor a look as if he were crazy. “Why would something like that bother me?”

  “I just want to make sure you’re the guy I need for this job.”

  Johnson laughed under his breath. “The dumb slob had already handed over what was in the cash register. I didn’t need to shoot him. I did it for kicks. Are you satisfied yet?”

  “I’m satisfied.”

  Johnson’s back was facing the door and he didn’t hear Morris Brick and Charlie Bogle enter the room, nor Bogle approach from behind. It wasn’t until Bogle reached around him and yanked down his leather jacket so that it acted as a makeshift straitjacket and left his arms pinned to his side, that he realized there was anyone else in the room.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Johnson yelled as he struggled to free his arms.

  “Easy there, son,” Bogle said.

  Bogle took the 9mm pistol wedged in the back of Johnson’s pants, and after more searching found a sheathed hunting knife in Johnson’s left boot. Morris took the seat next to Stonehedge and faced an increasingly irate Trey Johnson. He placed a digital recorder on the table, introduced himself and Bogle, and then played back Johnson confessing to killing a liquor store employee.

  “That’s entrapment!”

  Morris didn’t bother explaining that tricking someone into a confession wasn’t entrapment. Instead, he placed a photo of Grace Warren in front of Johnson.

  “Trey, all I care about is finding Grace,” he said.

  Stonehedge was reminded of a cornered rat as he watched Johnson struggling against his restraints, but he saw the moment something clicked in the man’s eyes. Johnson settled down after that and took a look at Warren’s photo.

  “Little Gracie,” he said with a hard smirk.

  “She was last seen on June eighteenth. You were with her.”

  A calculating look shined in Johnson’s eyes. “If I tell you what I know, you’ll get rid of that recording?” he asked.

  “I told you already all I care about is finding Grace.”

  Johnson made a decision. He asked, “How about you fix my jacket and I’ll tell you what I can?”

  “How about we talk first.”

  Johnson didn’t like that, but the fight had gone out of him. “I remember the last time I was with little Gracie, and it might’ve been that date,” he said. “Yeah, June something seems about right. We were in this dive bar in Inglewood, maybe four miles from the airport, and she ditched me for some other guy. A badass type.”

  “What do you mean, ditched you? She left with him?”

  He made a face as if he’d swallowed vinegar. “I didn’t stick around to see. But even a blind man could see that he took ownership of the bitch.”

  “You were okay with that?”

  Johnson might’ve shrugged if his arms weren’t restricted. “That girl had a mouth on her that just wouldn’t quit, and I don’t mean that in a good way. She was always riding me, always with the smart-ass cracks. I wasn’t all that sorry to see her go. And I damn well wasn’t going to lose any blood to keep her. Good riddance, you follow me?”

  “Tell me about this other guy.”

  “Like I said, a real hard-ass.” He stared at Stonehedge. “Same height and build as this rat, but a much harder dude. I could see in his eyes that he was a stone-cold killer.”

  It takes one to know one, Stonehedge thought. From the bare trace of smile that had crept onto Morris’s lips, he must’ve been thinking the same.

  “Hair and eye color?” Morris asked. “Beard, mustache, tattoos, piercings?”

  Johnson thought about it. “I can’t tell you eye color. Just rattlesnake eyes, you know what I mean? He had his hair short, like in a buzz cut. I think it was a dirty blond, but I might be wrong, so don’t quote me on that. No beard, no mustache, no piercings, at least none that I remember. He had a beauty of a tattoo that made me jealous. A wolf’s face on his wrist with the fangs bared, like it’s about to rip someone apart. Some real dope ink, man. Much respect.”

  “Age?”

  Johnson looked like he would’ve shrugged if he could’ve. “Older than the rat over there. Younger than you.”

  “Name of the bar?”

  “Man, I can’t remember something like that. Outside was painted black, with the name of the place in gold letters. Inside it was a real dive.”

  “Why’d you take Grace there?”

  “To get some drinks.”

  Johnson was lying about that, but Morris didn’t press him. Instead, he said, “Tell me someone famous that he looks like, and we’re done.”

  At first Johnson’s face was a blank, but then a thin smile crept onto his lips. “You know that old movie Escape from New York? He looks like the dude in that.”

  “Kurt Russell?”

  “Yeah. That’s his name. Not like he is now, but from that movie. No eye patch, though. And like I said, shorter hair.”

  Morris took out his phone and called Annie Walsh, the LAPD detective working out of the robbery-homicide division, so he could tell her he had a confessed murderer for her to pick up. “The suspect’s name is Trey Johnson. He robbed a North Hollywood liquor store a week from last Thursday and killed an employee.” He gave Stonehedge a questioning look and the actor pointed to his left eye. “I’ve got a witness to the confession and an audio recording. According to the witness, Johnson indicated that he shot the employee in the left eye.”

  Johnson had been smiling dumbly, as if he thought Morris was playing an elaborate prank on him, but once he realized what was happening his face went white with rage. He tried to stand, but Bogle’s hand clamping down on his shoulder kept him in his seat.

  “We had a deal!”

  Morris told Annie he’d be right back, and he gave Johnson a pitying look and asked him, “Did I ever say I wouldn’t call the police if you helped me with Grace?”

  Johnson’s face fell flat as he realized that never happened. “You made me think you wouldn’t!”

  “I can’t help what you think.”

  Johnson groaned miserably as he fully understood the situation. He tried to get to his feet, but Bogle put his hand on his shoulder and kept him seated where he was.

  “How about you stay put until the police come?” Bogle said.

  Morris got back on the phone with Annie.

  Chapter 21

  Sometimes a gift is just a gift.

  Meagan knew she overreacted when George tried to give her that gift. While she’d never admit this to him, she should’ve accepted the box and assumed the earrings or whatever piece of jewelry he bought was because he wanted her to have it, as opposed to trying to buy her affection. She also knew she reacted the way she did because it touched a very raw nerve, but once they got past their self-inflicted drama, they settled into what turned out to be a quite pleasant dinner. Meagan regained enough of her appetite to enjoy the wood-grilled sea bass and George seemed to do the same with his rib eye steak. When the waiter asked about desserts, George ordered the caramel bread pudding, which he remembered was her favorite. The waiter brought two spoons, and George made sure to eat leisurely enough so that she could have at least half of it.

  Later, when George was driving her back to the furnished guesthouse she was renting in the valley—which was really a glorified studio apartment—she asked him why he didn’t try again to invite her back to their Echo Park home. He seemed surprised and pleased by the question, and told her that he didn’t want to put any pressure on her.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I badly wanted to do that, but I kind of blew it earlier tonight and I didn’t want to risk blowing it again.”

  “You didn’t blow anything.”

  He wet his lips, a nervousness tightening his jaw muscle. “Meagan,
my love, there’s nothing I’d like more in this world than for you to come home tonight.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I’m not making any promises about moving back. We’ll see how tonight goes.”

  He looked like he wanted to high-five her. “That’s all I can ask for,” he said.

  He didn’t say another word as they drove, and Meagan knew it was because he didn’t want to risk changing her mind. That was okay. She found herself feeling both nervous and excited. She’d also been missing the creature comforts of their home. The guesthouse she’d been renting for the last six months was advertised as “cozy,” and to say it was cramped and tiny would be an understatement. The couple she was renting the unit from were nice enough, and their two-year-old daughter Allie was a little sweetheart, but Meagan missed having a shower with decent pressure and more than two minutes of available hot water, and she really missed their king-sized bed. But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to get back together with her husband. He had proved to her over the last four months that he was willing to fight for her. And it broke her heart a little each time she saw little Allie and realized that part of her life was missing.

  George got off at the first exit he could so he could turn around and head toward the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles. After he parked in their driveway, he held her hand, just like when they were dating in college. Once they were inside, he asked what they should do first.

  “Can you still make a mean cappuccino?”

  He grinned at her. “As mean as any junkyard dog.”

  George and his clichés. At least there were some constants she could count on in the world. She followed him to the kitchen and sat at the table as he meticulously measured and ground the coffee beans into a fine powder. He was steaming the milk for the cappuccino when a ding sounded to let him know he had received a text message, and he absently took the phone from his pocket. For a brief second a look of dread froze on his face. Or was it guilt? He fiddled with the phone before shoving it back into his pocket, then continued steaming the milk as if nothing had happened.

  Meagan began trembling. “That was her texting you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  She could see the lie forming on his face. He had deleted the evidence and he was going to lie to her about it. But then there was another ding indicating another text message.

  “I swear,” he said, “I blocked her. But she borrowed someone else’s phone. Someone named Samantha Rigby.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  He gave her a helpless, beseeching look. “Meagan, the only person at work who knew I was seeing you today was Bob Doltrice. He must’ve told her.”

  There was another ding from his phone.

  Her voice was surprisingly calm as she asked why Lindsey was still texting him.

  “Out of spite. No other reason.”

  “I want to see your phone.”

  “Ah, please, Meagan. She’s unbalanced. She only wants to sabotage us—”

  “Let me see your phone or I’m leaving now!”

  A pained look squeezed his face as he dug the phone out of his pocket. There was another ding and he stared dolefully at the unread text messages before handing over the phone.

  “None of those are true,” he said. “She’s trying any way she can to hurt me.”

  Meagan felt like vomiting when she read the texts.

  Hon, are you really back with the frigid little princess?

  What about all those times you told me screwing her was like screwing a piece of ice?

  I guess I can’t blame you doing what you must to keep from handing her half your stock options.

  When Meagan demanded to know how he could still be working with that woman, her voice sounded tinny to her own ears, as if it were coming from someplace far away.

  “What else am I going to do? You want me to throw away twenty million dollars?” he asked angrily as if he were talking to a child. “Because that’s how much I’d be throwing away in unvested options if we go public next year as planned!”

  “Don’t you dare lose your temper at me! I’m not the one who cheated! You are!”

  “Why do you keep throwing that in my face? After everything I’ve been doing to try to win you back! Damn you, Meagan, I keep slicing open my veins for you, but nothing is enough!”

  The doorbell rang. George stormed out of the kitchen as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Meagan grabbed her pocketbook and followed after him, thinking it had to be Lindsey ringing the bell. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. All she knew was she couldn’t spend another minute in that house with him.

  George beat her to the door. From the angry way he swung the door open, he must’ve also thought it was Lindsey and he must’ve been waiting to lay into her. Before he could say anything there was a sickening crack, like the sound of something hard hitting a jawbone, and George flew backwards. Did she really just see teeth flying out of his mouth?

  George crashed onto the floor and Meagan saw that it wasn’t Lindsey at the door, but a man dressed in black and wearing a ski mask. This stranger must’ve hit George with a club he was holding in his right hand. It was a foot long and a dull black, like it was made of leather, and the end fishtailed out like a beaver’s tail. When he stepped past George’s unconscious body and headed toward her, a wild panic took over and she turned and ran toward the bathroom on the first floor.

  She almost made it. Her hand was reaching for the doorknob when she was struck on the shoulder. The blow crumpled her and she fell to the floor. The pain was so intense it sucked her breath away, leaving her incapable of screaming for help. Hands grabbed onto her ankles and started dragging her away.

  Chapter 22

  Duncan couldn’t help chuckling, thinking about what happened to George Campbell when that idiot answered the door. The guy was just so damn careless, flinging open the door like he did without knowing who was there and sticking his face out as if he were about to give someone an earful. The only way Duncan could understand it was that Campbell must’ve gotten so used to living in a tony neighborhood like Echo Park that he had convinced himself the ugliness of the real world couldn’t touch him. Well, Duncan showed him just how wrong he was when he swung the leather sap at the man’s chin like he was throwing an uppercut. The end of the sap was weighted with lead and it struck Campbell right under the chin, hitting him hard enough to knock out teeth and lift him off the floor. A quick look was all Duncan needed to see that Campbell was out for the count. He then ran after the wife and, just like he had with Jill Kincade, he broke Meagan Campbell’s collarbone. That he did intentionally. He wanted to make sure the police recognized a consistent pattern.

  With both husband and wife lying helplessly on the floor, he took his time following the same script he had used with the first couple; first dragging them both into the kitchen, then stripping off Meagan’s clothing and securing her with duct tape to a chair. Just as he had with Alex Frey, he left Campbell fully dressed when he positioned him, so he’d be facing his wife. Campbell was out cold when Duncan shoved a dishrag into his mouth, and from the unnatural way the man’s jaw moved, he could tell that he had shattered it the same as if he had struck a glass vase with the sap.

  It was such a rush, obliterating Campbell’s jaw. Campbell, after all, was the person Duncan really wanted to hurt, and if it wasn’t for his plan he would’ve beaten the man to a bloody pulp. But he had his plan, and he knew that for it to work he had to follow it to the letter. So he used an ammonium carbonate capsule to bring Campbell back to consciousness and otherwise left him untouched. After that, he followed the same script he used before: First slicing off both of Meagan Campbell’s nipples, then cutting and stabbing her dozens of times before offering Campbell his Faustian deal. To Duncan’s surprise, Campbell accepted it.

  “I want you to think long and hard about what you’re agreeing t
o do,” Duncan warned him. “Just so we’re clear, if I cut you free and you don’t choke your sweet little thing to death, it’s going to be even worse for her. We’re talking ninth-level-of-Hell stuff. You’ll live, but I’m serious about breaking every bone in your body. So champ, what’s it going to be? You sure you want to do this?”

  Campbell nodded, and so Duncan used the knife to cut off the duct tape. Campbell stood up slowly, rubbing his arms as he took a step toward his wife, but then he tried to spin and duck while at the same time throwing a punch at Duncan. The man had forty pounds on Duncan and while he wasn’t bulky, he looked like he worked out regularly with weights. Still, on his best day Duncan would’ve taken him apart like a loaf of wet bread, and this wasn’t Campbell’s best day. He had a broken jaw and for forty minutes his arms had been bound behind a chair, leaving them without any circulation. His hero attempt was pathetic and Duncan hit him across his broken jaw with the leather sap. Campbell hit the floor like he’d been shot in the head.

  Duncan stood over the man, shaking in his rage. What the hell! He had warned him what would happen if he tried a stunt like that, and the idiot went ahead and tried it anyway? The hell with him! Duncan was going to live up to his word, but first he needed to wake Campbell up. He broke an ammonium carbonate capsule under the man’s nostril, but Campbell didn’t stir. He tried another one and again got no reaction. The man’s breathing was shallow, but he was still alive, and he was stubbornly refusing to wake up!

  Duncan grabbed Campbell under his arms and lifted him back into the chair. After he secured him again with duct tape, he waited. A half hour later he tried yet another ammonium carbonate capsule, and again, nothing.