by BJ Bourg
“I know how it is. You don’t get to pick when a story will happen—just like I don’t get to pick when someone will die.”
“Thanks for understanding.” She kissed me and hurried out the door.
I pulled on my boxer briefs and stepped out the back door with Achilles. He moved gingerly around the backyard, as though testing his muscles. When he was done, he limped back into the house, then curled up in the corner of the kitchen. I sat beside him for a long time, scratching his ears and talking to him. Once he fell asleep, I got dressed and surveyed the mess in the kitchen.
“Well,” I said, “I guess you’re not going to clean yourself.”
I started to push my papers into a pile on the floor when a knock sounded at the front door. I tossed the papers on the table and strode across the living room to open the door. It was my father-in-law. “Hey, Nick, how’s it going?”
“I’m good. I just wanted to drop by and see how my favorite son-in-law was doing.”
“As well as can be expected.” I held up my bandaged arm. “This thing won’t stop itching and it’s driving me crazy. Other than that, everything is perfect. How are you?”
“That’s good.” Nick walked into the kitchen, bent over and rubbed Achilles between the ears. Achilles barely moved.
“He’s been taking it easy.”
Nick nodded, taking in the disarray.
“I was just picking up the chaos from the search warrant. Now that I know how it feels to be on the other end of these things, I’ll be sure to clean up my mess next time I run a search warrant.”
Nick strode into the living room. “Damn, they tore this place apart, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” I called over my shoulder. “You should send them a bill for the damage.”
I grabbed the pile of papers from the table and walked to the garbage can. I started to drop the pile in the trash, but noticed the check Nick had given me when I first came to town. I snatched it from the pile and let the rest of the trash fall. I started to turn, when the signature at the bottom of the check caught my eye—it was the same signature as that of the notary on the deed to the plantation home. “What the hell?”
“What is it?” Nick asked from behind me.
“You lying bastard!” I spun around, but it was too late—Nick had an old single-action revolver in his hand and it was aimed directly at me. He stretched his thumb forward and cocked it. I held the check up. “You notarized the sale of the plantation house. You told me you knew nothing about it.”
Nick nodded, his face stone cold and murderous. “My one regret in this whole ordeal is you thinking Michele betrayed you. That girl never betrayed anyone in her life. She was as honest and loyal as they came.”
Sensing something was wrong, Achilles hobbled toward Nick, teeth bared. He issued a throaty growl. “No,” I ordered. “Get in the room!”
Achilles hesitated, but continued growling. I gave the command a second time, and he finally obeyed.
I waited until he was in the bedroom and leaned to pull the door closed. The muzzle of Nick’s revolver followed me. I lifted my hands, sighing as realization flooded over me. “So, it was your idea to set me up, wasn’t it? You blame me and the governor for taking your only child away from you. They’re all gone, and I’m the last straw. I was supposed to die in that explosion, but that didn’t happen. You killed an innocent man. Now what? Are you going to get your cowardly hands dirty?”
“You took away the last thing that mattered to me, Clint Wolf. For that, you have to die.”
“You know, it didn’t make sense to me that Malcolm and all would want me dead. But now I get it. All this time you pretended to be grieving with me, but you were plotting against me. You shady bastard!” As I took a step forward, I shook my head. “You don’t have the balls to pull—”
The shot was deafening. It felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach by a strong mule. I collapsed. As soon as my knees hit the floor, I heard glass break and a scream. My face twisted in confusion.
Nick didn’t flinch. He stepped forward and cocked his revolver, then shoved the burning hot muzzle to my forehead. I smelled burning flesh and glared up at him. “Do it.” I took a wheezing breath and straightened my shoulders proudly.
The explosion that followed was farther away than I’d expected. Nick’s eyes widened; he hollered in pain. His cries were cut short by a second shot that entered the back of his head and lodged against the front of his cranium, causing a knot to form immediately.
Nick collapsed in front of me, and I sank to the ground beside him, struggling for air. I heard a female’s voice screaming commands. It sounded like she was on the phone. My face rocked to its side on the floor and I stared out at the sunlight streaming through the front door. I noticed a broken dish and what looked like cake all over the floor. Something green and white was shoved into a piece of the cake. I squinted. It looked like the number thirty. I suddenly remembered it was my birthday. I grinned as I fought for air. I made it to thirty.
Footsteps pounded near, and I glanced up to see a pair of long, tanned legs approaching. I had to fight to get them to come into focus, but I could tell they were muscular.
“Clint!” The woman dropped beside me and pulled my head into her lap. Her dress was red—just like the blood oozing from my stomach.
I tried to talk, but couldn’t.
“Clint, can you hear me? It’s Susan. Hang on! Keep breathing. An ambulance is en route. Come on…keep breathing!”
I’d heard people who survived near-death experiences say they saw a bright light as they were dying. I smiled to myself because knew I wasn’t suffering a near-death experience. I didn’t see a bright light—I saw Susan Wilson wearing a dress.
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BJ Bourg
BJ Bourg is an award-winning mystery writer and former professional boxer who hails from the swamps of Louisiana. Dubbed the "real deal" by other mystery writers, he has spent his entire adult life solving crimes as a patrol cop, detective sergeant, and chief investigator for a district attorney's office. Not only does he know his way around crime scenes, interrogations, and courtrooms, but he also served as a police sniper commander (earning the title of "Top Shooter" at an FBI sniper school) and a police academy instructor.
BJ is a four-time traditionally-published novelist (his debut novel, JAMES 516, won the 2016 EPIC eBook Award for Best Mystery) and dozens of his articles and stories have been published in national magazines such as Woman's World, Boys' Life, and Writer's Digest. He is a regular contributor to two of the nation's leading law enforcement magazines, Law and Order and Tactical Response, and he has taught at conferences for law enforcement officers, tactical police officers, and writers. Above all else, he is a father and husband, and the highlight of his life is spending time with his beautiful wife and wonderful children.
http://www.bjbourg.com