“A local kid died of an overdose this past weekend,” Ken said, watching Tormon’s eyes. “Seventeen-year-old boy. He took counterfeit Oxycontin. Tell me, are the police doing anything to prevent this?”
Tormon paused midsip. “You some kind of reporter?”
“Just a concerned citizen.”
“Ken.” Angela called from the hill. “We should get going.”
Ken waved her off. “In a minute.”
“You should listen to your woman, Ken,” Tormon said, his tone warning. “I’m one gulp away from finishing this coffee.”
“All right,” Ken said, meeting Tormon’s glare, “but I hope you start doing more to protect teenagers around here. Might want to target local high schools and see about keeping fentanyl out of kids’ hands.”
Torman lifted his cup. “We’ll take that under consideration.”
“Let’s go, Ken,” Angela said.
Reluctantly, he followed her.
Once they were out of earshot, she said, “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Those cops were super lenient with us. Why’d you act like a jerk?”
“All I did was ask a couple questions.”
“There’s a time and place for that. My God, do you realize what the school district could’ve done to us if we got arrested for having sex in public?”
“Didn’t think about that.”
“Of course you didn’t. Because you were too busy squaring your shoulders and mouthing off to that cop. What, was that supposed to impress me?”
“No. It wasn’t.” A murderous urge trickled through. “Now, can we drop this?”
As they hiked the woodland trail, his mind replayed the conversation with Tormon. The look in Tormon’s eyes had been difficult to read, but his defensive demeanor raised red flags. Though it was possible he simply didn’t want to discuss his job with a civilian, Ken believed the man was hiding something.
He needed to go back and find out what.
But first he needed Angela gone.
Without warning he upped his pace. She hurried alongside him. She urged him to slow down so she didn’t rip her dress, and he pictured her dress shredded with bullet holes. He tried suppressing the image, but it cluttered his mind until they reached the parking lot.
As they approached their cars, she squeezed his hand. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Just wanted to say… All things considered, this morning was amazing.”
He wasn’t about to argue. “We should do it again sometime.”
“The breakfast or the sex?”
“Both.”
She threw her head back and laughed. It sounded forced, but under the circumstances, any laughter was welcome. “What day?”
“How about tonight?”
“Breakfast after dark?”
“I think it’s called dinner.”
She snorted. “Tell you what. I’ll go to the grocery store and grab ingredients for one of my mom’s lasagna recipes. It’s heavy on the stomach, so we might have to lie down afterwards.”
“Great.” He unlocked his Camry and climbed inside. “See you tonight.”
He shut his door, anxious for her to get into her Jeep and leave. Instead she tapped on his window. He could’ve killed her for wasting time like this, but he lowered the window.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she said.
“What?” he said, agitated.
She leaned her head through the window and kissed him.
He tried to enjoy it, but all he could think about now was getting that next kill.
Chapter 44
Soon as Angela exited the parking lot, Ken bolted for the woods. He needed to hurry. She had wasted three precious minutes debating whether to use ricotta or cottage cheese in the lasagna. He had insisted any cheeses were welcome, but she rambled about flavors and textures until he demanded she pick her favorite. After giving him a funny look, she climbed into her Jeep and left.
Now he reentered the forest at a full sprint. His pulse drummed between his ears. Blistering heat poured through his arm. Today’s local forecast suggested a high of seventy-two, but the surrounding air felt frigid compared to the mounting inferno within him that spread across his shoulders, down his chest, and into his legs. Sweat soaked his shirt and dampened his khakis. As he hurried downtrail, his sticky thighs hindered his stride.
Stop working against me, he told his gunhand. I’m chasing down a target. Isn’t that what you want?
As he rushed through the woods, he tripped over a tree root. Momentum drove him face-first into an oak tree. He shrugged off a dizzy spell and resumed running. A hundred paces later, his ankle rolled. He tumbled into a patch of underbrush and lost his glasses.
While searching for them, he heard voices up ahead. One grew loud and unstable; another demanded quiet.
“It’s Monday,” the authoritative voice said. “Where’s our cut?”
“You’ll get your fucking cut when I get my fucking answers.”
“That’s not how our agreement works.”
“One of my guys was killed yesterday—you think I give a wet, sloppy fuck about our agreement?”
“You should.”
Ken found his glasses, settled them on his face, and crept forward. To avoid approaching the voices directly, he climbed a nearby hill, keeping low. A fallen tree lay across the hillcrest. When he peeked over it, he spotted four men below. Two were dressed in hoodies and jeans. The other two were Tormon and his partner.
Instinctively, Ken brandished the revolver. Then he stopped himself. Shooting now would interrupt the private meeting he’d stumbled upon. Perhaps this conversation was the reason Tormon had been so eager to shoo Ken away.
Below, an angry-looking brute with a web of neck tattoos stabbed a finger toward the cops. “I want to know who killed Hogwild.”
Ken flinched at the mention of his latest victim. Evidently those two scumbags were connected to Hogwild and the local heroin trade. But what about the cops?
“We didn’t touch Hog,” Tormon said. From where Ken was perched, all he could see was the officer’s bald head and blocky shoulders. “Remember, him being dead doesn’t help us.”
“That’s bullshit—you wanted him dead.”
“You’re arguing out your ass. Now wise up and pay up. Otherwise you can forget about our protection going forward.”
Protection? That settled it. The cops and dealers were in bed together. Now it was time for Ken to bloody the sheets. He needed to take smart shots. If he missed, the group would scatter—or worse, return fire. Both officers were packing, and he imagined the dealers concealed their weapons under their hoodies. Though Ken had infinite ammo, the gun’s cylinder was now half-empty. Every three shots would be followed by three empties, meaning his targets would have time to react. When they did, he would need to take cover.
Neck Tattoo continued his tantrum. With both fists clenched, he stomped the dirt, ranting about how critical Hogwild was to his business.
“Settle down.” Tormon held up a hand. “Try acting more professional.”
“Tell me what happened to Hog.”
“What you heard on the news is all I know.”
“Who shot him?”
“It’s being investigated. Probably got shot by a junkie.”
“Bullshit. If a junkie offed him, they’d have taken the dope. Hog had two bags on him when he died. That means one of your pig brothers shot him.”
“The bullet came from a .38-caliber revolver. No cop in my department was issued such a weapon.”
“Could’ve been a personal weapon.”
“More likely, a junkie shot Hog and panicked, then ran away.”
“Any junkie would’ve collected before running.”
“Not if they were scared out of their mind.”
“Bullshit!” Neck Tattoo glanced at his buddy, who stepped forward and whispered in his ear. Still fuming, Neck Tattoo made a vague shov
ing motion with his hands. He looked like a moron.
A moron who deserves a bullet.
Ken swallowed his homicidal urge and glanced around for a better vantage point. Crawling sideways, he settled in behind a moss-covered oak. It was the closest he could get to the dealers without rolling downhill. Even so, he was well out of range. Tormon, meanwhile, was near enough that Ken could count the creases along the back of his scalp. Though the cops were easy targets, firing at them might send the dealers running. Ken couldn’t afford that. He intended to get his final three kills and end this nightmare.
Shoot them.
Shootshootshoot.
He lifted his cast. The revolver must’ve understood it was feeding time, because his arm no longer trembled.
As he lined up the shot, a twig popped under his knee.
“What was that?” Tormon asked.
Ken ducked.
“If you brought anyone,” Tormon said, “order them to stand down.”
“We brought nobody,” Neck Tattoo shouted. “What about you? You bring pig support?”
“It’s only us two,” Tormon said. “Tell your boys to stand down.”
“We came alone, man.”
“That’s a goddamned lie. You’ve been hostile since we arrived.”
“Only cause of what happened to Hog. You owe us answers.”
“We don’t owe you shit. You’re the ones who—”
A gunshot boomed within the forest.
Chapter 45
Gunfire. Sweet, musical gunfire.
Though Ken’s first instinct was to run, hide, and save himself, the thundering symphony called out to him, urging him to join. He couldn’t leave, not while these men tried to kill each other. If any succeeded, he’d have fewer lives to take. Right now, there were four on the menu. He could relieve himself of his final three bullets, but only if he dug in his heels and took aim.
Snapping out from behind the mossy oak, he lifted his cast, targeted the first human being he could find, and fired.
An explosion burst within his cast. Boiling heat scalded his hand, threatening to melt his flesh. It seared through to the bone, and though his fingers couldn’t move, they had no trouble registering second-degree agony. Skin cells cried out, layer after layer roaring with pain. He staggered sideways, hitting the ground as more shots roared below.
Someone screamed. It sounded like it came from behind him.
Before he could check, more gunfire erupted. A nearby tree exploded. Bits of tree bark rained down. Someone had spotted him.
Ken ducked behind the mossy oak.
More shots rang. One man howled in agony. Another moaned.
Then came a lull. Ken peeked around the edge of the trunk and spotted Neck Tattoo. He was squatting beside his partner, who lay face down and bloody.
Hold still, you prick.
Ken leveled his gunhand and pulled the trigger. The next two shots roared, followed by silent clicks as he cycled through three empties.
As Neck Tattoo rushed for cover, he slipped in his partner’s blood.
Now scrambling downhill, Ken unloaded his next three rounds, hitting nothing. As he closed in on his intended target, his field of view widened enough for him to realize, to his horror, that both cops were lying motionless. That meant if Neck Tattoo escaped, Ken would be stranded in the woods at kill time. He feared the worst for those dining at the Cabin Café.
Return fire interrupted his concerns.
He ducked behind a fallen oak, heart drumming, as bark exploded and splinters flew. He stuck his arm out and blindly fired. After three blasts, the woods went quiet. He cycled through his empties and surveyed the area. The moment that tattooed bastard ventured out from behind cover, Ken unloaded.
He missed.
He needed to get closer.
Ahead lay a dirt clearing—a flat stretch with nothing to take cover behind other than the fallen dealer’s corpse. If Ken wanted a clean shot, he’d have to charge ahead and pray he didn’t get picked off. One thing working in his favor was his endless ammo supply. He realized he could provide his own cover fire, and that’s exactly what he did as he rushed forward. The gun’s recoil bucked his stride, but he closed the gap and circled the tree where Neck Tattoo was hiding.
The moment Ken spotted his target, he fired.
Neck Tattoo shifted sideways, clinging to cover. For a moment he vanished, then an arm stretched out, a black pistol in hand. The barrel gleamed in the sunlight. Its aim wobbled before it centered on Ken.
He dove for the dirt.
Four consecutive shots boomed.
Ken returned fire from the ground, then launched to his feet. He rounded the tree, twigs and leaves crunching underfoot as he dove for an angle. His elbow and hip struck the rocky soil. As he looked up, he watched the bastard cram a fresh magazine into his pistol. It clicked home just as Ken lifted his cast and pulled the trigger.
Neck Tattoo fumbled and dropped his weapon. Instead of picking it up, he reached for his side, where a stain was spreading.
Ken’s next bullet knocked the asshole on his back, both feet spread apart. Clutching his chest, he moaned like a wounded animal.
Ken rose to his feet, his eyes locked on his target, and moved to stand over him.
“Tell me,” he said, cycling through his empties, “do you sell to Morgan High?”
“Wh-what?” Neck Tattoo said, grimacing.
“Morgan High School,” Ken said. “Do you sell to the kids there?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“I-I don’t know. My guys don’t go there—too risky.”
Ken hung his head. What a shame. If Neck Tattoo had a connection to Pete’s overdose, this next part would’ve been more meaningful.
“Don’t kill me.” Neck Tattoo panted. “C’mon, man.”
Ken touched his cast to the man’s chest. “You’re Hogwild’s boss. Hog used to sell to my brother. Big mistake.”
He fired three times in rapid succession.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t stop until the gun clicked four times instead of three.
A whooshing relief blew through him. Though the flesh along his gunhand was badly burned, a sweet coolness numbed him. He dropped to his knees and sucked deep breaths. Then he heard a muffled growl behind him.
Across the clearing lay Officer Tormon, blood soaked. In obvious pain, the man lifted his service pistol and steadied his aim at Ken.
A shot thundered.
Ken ducked for cover behind Neck Tattoo’s tree.
After a lengthy silence, he peeked around the tree bark.
Tormon had dropped the pistol just out of reach. His index finger scratched the barrel.
Ken sped over and kicked the weapon away.
Now he had the unarmed Tormon all to himself. What a swing of fortune. Minutes ago, Ken had been crushed when he saw three men lying in their own blood. He assumed they were dead, that Neck Tattoo would be this morning’s only kill. Now it appeared he would garner two from this hectic shootout.
Tormon opened his mouth to speak. Bloody strings of saliva stretched between his lips. With his hand he wiped them before he said, “Don’t shoot.”
“You shot at me.”
“Thought you were with them… Was afraid.”
Afraid of me? Ken thought. That’s a first.
“Call…911.”
“Forget it,” Ken said. “You took money from those assholes. You profited off their poison. Now a seventeen-year-old kid is gone because of you.”
Tormon wiped his bloody lips. “Und…”
“Don’t deny it.”
“Under…”
“Under?” Ken glanced at the man’s body. Was he hiding something underneath him? Like a list of the criminals he worked with? Maybe he’d had a change of heart now that he’d been exposed. Perhaps he could reveal who else was responsible.
“Under what?” Ken asked. “What’s under you?”
“Unh…” Tormon groaned, strain
ing. “Under…cover.”
“Under what cover?” Ken asked.
Then it hit him. Tormon was working undercover. He wasn’t dirty, just pretending to be. Undercover police work explained everything—why Tormon took the late shift, why he squandered drug busts, why he negotiated with criminals in the woods. Isaacs had been so desperate to stifle local drug trafficking that he’d overlooked this possibility. And Ken had failed to properly interrogate Tormon and gather all the facts as he’d originally planned.
What have I done?
Studying the cop’s body, Ken counted three gunshot wounds. One in the leg, two in the chest. Blood painted the crumpled leaves around him. Ken was no doctor, but he didn’t think a 911 call could save the man. Nor did he think it was wise to waste this opportunity.
An opportunity, he thought. What have I become now that I see a dying man as an opportunity?
Before Tormon’s breath faded, Ken added an extra wound to his forehead.
Following the loud report, he heard something from above. It sounded like a squeal, maybe from a rodent?
But when he looked up the hill, he saw it wasn’t a rodent.
It was Angela.
Chapter 46
Ken’s breath caught in his throat. Without thinking, he swung his cast behind him, as if hiding it could somehow fool her. There was no telling how much she’d seen, but he recalled a scream coming from the woods when the shooting started. That meant Angela had been here the entire time. Worst of all, she’d seen him gun down a dying officer. This wasn’t how he wanted her to remember him. They were supposed to have dinner tonight. Her mother’s lasagna.
Ken stumbled uphill, calling out to her, “Angela, I—”
Like a frightened doe, she darted away.
“Wait!”
He topped the hill and gave chase, his burned hand welcoming the airflow through the cast. His legs pumped faster as he closed in on her, faster still as she gawked over her shoulder. The look on her face that spelled horror only lasted a moment before she tripped and went down.
“Angela!” Ken offered his hand to help her up, but she shrieked at him. He backed away, giving her space. “I promise I won’t hurt you. The cast, the gun—I can explain everything.”
Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller Page 20