Lone Lake Killer
Page 6
“Wufk… wufk… wufk…”
Chapter 13
Soldier Field, Chicago – 2010
All Lars had to do was pass the ball to that clown Bozov. And all that asshole had to do was catch it. This wasn’t like walking a tight rope or riding a bicycle. Nope. No pressure, no wind, no crowd noise, no nothing. There was even a safety net. Totally ideal conditions.
Following instructions from his ring master, Lars had thrown a perfect spiral. The tape would prove it. But the fucking clown Bozov, had dropped the ball. And then the finicky Soldier field crowd had started a light riot and booed him off. Booed poor Lars off. People were such dipshits, thought Lars. Given his massive brain and reversible thumbs, he was pretty sure he was smarter than like say 95% of the people in the stadium… and definitely smarter than this fucking clown Bozov.
This dropped pass fucked up the act and put the entire circus in danger, especially with the whole PETA afflicted media calling for a ban on circus animals. Without guys like Lars, the circus would simply be weird dudes doing really, really weird things. No wonder the kids hated the novo shit.
Back in the locker room, still raging from the painted clown’s effort or the lack of, Lars had gotten into a yelling match with him. What started as jawing soon led to shoving, pushing and a slightly tight hold on the clown’s neck. The EMTs had revived the clown in two minutes. No biggie.
Next thing he knew, Lars had been cut and shipped off to some no name shit town called Spokane. He’d lasted three weeks there.
Chapter 14
4 months later
“Shit dude,” Deputy Tyler looked up from his phone, “you aren’t going to believe this.”
“What?” Jake asked a bit annoyed. The bloody Sheriff had gone off on a vacation again leaving Tyler, himself and probably Bill to patrol the lonely streets of Lone Lake. At least there wouldn’t be any Carli drama this time, who through a series of shady schemes had made a killing on the serial killer memorabilia market. By touting herself as the Lone Lake Killer’s profiler, she had unloaded her battered Celica, most of her IKEA crap and that kooky serial killer profile to some agent in LA. And according to her Twitter, she was currently trying to score some crack on Sunset Boulevard for the experience. So Carli.
“County finally processed that gun from that Lone Lake Killer bullshit.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The prints on the gun couldn’t be found in the system.”
“Yeah dude, we already know that.”
“Apparently they sent the prints from County to Denver to DC and when they all came up empty, onto Interpol in Paris.”
“Jesus what’s wrong with these guys, it was just a murder… well okay two… but we got Marsh. Case closed.”
“Well, even they couldn’t crack it. So they forwarded it to the NSA.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t know what it stands for, but am pretty sure the folks that work there are smoking crack.”
“Probably an office policy. Like Margarita Fridays. Shit, wish we had such a policy.”
“They are saying they found our killer’s prints all over Congo… southern Congo to be specific.”
“Congo as in the country?”
“Yep.”
“The one with the rumble in the jungle?”
“Yeah that’s the one. The NSA folks are saying that the prints are consistent with a Swedish led research in Congo on gorillas.”
“Gorillaz like the band?”
“No dude, they are saying our killer… the Lone Lake Killer was a proverbial 600 pound Silverback Gorilla.”
“Da fuq.”
Also by Ian Maxwell
Moscow Machination:
International Satire
Inflight Terror:
Serial Killer Takes On Hijackers
Basics of Ransom:
Comedic Crime Thriller