Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(12)

Sammy groaned and rolled over, but didn’t open his eyes.

Harold looked down at him. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Does it matter? All that matters is that he’ll never bother us again, and that you’re not involved. The only thing that you did is keep a secret. Now grow some fucking balls, look me in the eye, and swear on your mother’s grave that you’ll take our secret to your grave.”

Harold thought for a second, and a sigh of resignation seeped from his lips. He looked up at me. “Fine. You win. I’ll never tell anyone. Ever.”

“Excellent. Oh. Almost forgot. There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re never to see Mary Sue again.”

“What? What the hell?” He sounded like he was going to cry. Big surprise.

“You’re a nice boy, but you have a lot of growing up to do before you’re man enough to hang with her.” I stood up and stuck the Glock in my belt.

I remembered that Sam’s SUV was far away and I needed to retrieve it. I asked Mary, “Any open bays in the garage?”

“Yeah, one. Do you need to pull your truck in?”

“Not my truck, his SUV. Can you move the car that’s blocking the open bay?”

“On it.” She grabbed her keys and trotted over to the door that led to the garage.

She came back two minutes later. “All set, door’s open too.”

“Good. Do you have any plastic drop cloths?”

“I think so, in the garage. I’ll check.” She came back a few minutes later with a clear plastic drop cloth, the kind a homeowner would use for a painting project.

“Excellent. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” I grabbed Sammy’s keys and hiked out to his SUV, hopped in, slid his seat back, and started her up. I drove into the garage and shut the door. So far, so good.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Sammy was wide awake, sitting up, and talking to Harold.





12





“You were right, kid, I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was just having a little fun.” He smiled at Harold and tried to stand up. Mary Sue stood behind him, frozen, her skin pale and her eyes the size of saucers. My eye caught the glint of the ten-inch butcher knife that she cradled against her chest with both hands.

I took out my Glock and made eye contact with her from the doorway. When she saw me, I swiped my head to the right, indicating that she should back up from him. She understood my gesture right away and took two steps back. Smart kid.

I felt relief, not wanting her to go through life with the heavy burden of having killed a man. Not just killing, but stabbing, which was just so damn intimate. Unless you had the reach of Andre The Giant, you’d wind up being close enough to breath in their last breath. I hated that.

Plus, the average body holds one and a half gallons of blood. I looked down at the kitchen floor and noticed the small gaps between the vinyl tiles that would act like magnets to his spilled blood. It would take us hours to sop all that mess up. I’m in great shape and all, but four hours on my hands and knees and my lower back would be sore for a week. Screw that.

Sam continued his used car salesman pitch, complete with ear-to-ear grin. “All’s you got to do is let me go and you’ll never see me again. I promise. Scout’s honor. So what do you say?”

I gingerly stepped into the kitchen and crept up behind him. I was in plain view of Harold, but he never looked at me. Good boy. He was learning. I got within arm’s reach and then smashed my Glock into the back of Sammy’s slicked-back head. He collapsed like an old abandoned building being demolished with dynamite.

I grabbed the plastic drop cloth, shook it open, and spread it out on the floor. I rolled Sammy up in it.

“Oh God,” Harold moaned, as if the visual of Sammy’s face disappearing under the opaque plastic drove home the seriousness of the situation.

I took my time wrapping him up. The less DNA and greasy hair follicles I left behind, the better. I dragged his fat ass out to the garage and heaved him into the back of his SUV. I closed the hatch, happy to be getting this douchebag out of the house, and Mary Sue’s life, forever.

I went back inside and instructed Mary Sue, “Wipe the floor down with a strong cleaning solution. Think of anything he may have touched and wipe that down too. Anything. Doorknobs, countertops, tables, chairs, toilets. Then burn the paper towels you used. I’m leaving.” I waved the Glock over at Harold. “Call me if he gives you any trouble.” I pointed the pistol at his chest. “I’ll come back and finish him off.” I winked at her and left.





13





The back of Sammy’s head hurt like he’d been whacked with a Louisville Slugger. When he’d first opened his eyes and realized he was still alive, he’d felt pure jubilation. The euphoria faded fast when he tried to move and realized that his hands were tied behind his back and he’d been rolled up in a plastic sheet. And he was lying in the back of a moving vehicle.

He recognized the new leather smell mixed with his favorite air freshener, forest pine, and realized that he was lying in the back of his own vehicle. His heart raced and his breathing picked up. Always a mild claustrophobe, he imagined the plastic tightening around his torso like a noose, constricting his breathing. His chest tightened and he wanted to scream out. His pulse quickened, and a cold, clammy sweat dripped from his body. Nausea hit him like a Mike Tyson body shot, and he felt faint. Calm down, just breathe. He closed his eyes and focused on slowing his breath and figuring a way out of this. He’d dug enough holes and buried enough rats in his life to understand what was happening. If he didn’t get his shit together, he was going to wind up in a hole. Tonight.