Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Pulling into the parking lot of the old warehouse, a couple of cars are already there waiting for me. I see Simon’s Audi and then the late model Ford Explorer that belongs to Detective Sommers. There’s a bloody handprint smear that slides down half the side of the vehicle that makes me wince.
For Christ’s sake, who the fuck does he think we are? Some backwoods fucking clan of fucktards?
Though, to be honest, it makes me laugh on the inside a little because that hand print is missing a pinky.
I step out of my SUV and snap a finger at Andrew. “Clean that fucking shit off.”
He looks at the handprint and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Lucifer, what the fuck is he thinking?”
Shaking my head, I don’t answer.
Dipping my head down into the cold wind, I head into the building. It’s getting colder now that winter is finally showing its fucking face. It’s been hot for way too long around here, we need the winter. The fucking heat brings out the crazies.
The door slams loudly behind me as I walk past the broken-down front desk. This building is older than me and hasn’t seen an honest worker in years, but that’s the beauty of it. It’s still full of all that old equipment shit, making me a legitimate business owner in a sense. Even if I don’t have any employee’s here.
Going past all the stamp presses and sheet metal cutters, I head to the back of the building. It’s not hard to figure out where all the action is. I just follow the fucking blood trail like Hansel and Gretel.
Another shake of my head, I’m getting more pissed as I see how much blood and fucking DNA evidence there is on the shit around me.
When I get to the back of the large building, I see Mickey bound to a chair with a gag crammed far into his mouth. There’s snot and tears all over his face. He looks like shit.
The detective isn’t much better. He has a black eye forming and his usually neat, orderly suit is bloody and ripped in spots.
“What the fuck happened to you, Sommers?” I ask as I come up to the trio.
Simon is the only one who looks normal.
Simon lifts his brows at me as I give a small nod of my head. Putting his hand inside the inner pocket of his coat, he pulls out a large envelope that is stuff full of cash.
“This piece of shit,” Sommers growls before lashing out with a fist at Mickey’s face. “Fucking fought me the whole damn way.”
“I can tell,” I say. “Did you not see the fucking bloody handprint on your Explorer?”
“Shit, seriously?”
Nodding my head, I watch as Simon hands the money over to Sommers. “Yeah, and all the fucking DNA you left on the way in here.”
Shaking his head, he looks at Mickey. “You stupid fat fuck!”
Sommers punches a barely coherent Mickey twice before he steps back. Spitting on the man, he says “You fucking ruined my damn suit, you pile of shit.”
Turning to me, Sommer’s has a penitent look on his face as he says, “Lucifer, I’m sorry about the mess he left coming in here.”
“Don’t worry about it. Did anyone at the precinct see Mickey? Anyone going to be an issue?”
“Nah, all my guys were on duty last night.” Putting the envelope in his jacket pocket, he pats it. “Won’t be a problem at all.”
“Good,” I say and then look at Mickey. He’s slowly coming around now. “Mickey, that was fucking stupid. You should have come to me if you couldn’t pay me back. Now you’ve caused way too many problems. I tried to give you a lesson last night, but all you’ve shown me is that you’re too stupid to fucking learn.”
Shaking my head, I walk over to Simon. Motioning with my hand, I accept the nine-millimeter pistol he places in my palm.
“Mickey, your fat twat of a wife is going to die because of what you did last night.”
Eyes bulging, he screams into the gag. His words are too garbled to understand, but I bet he is saying some sad shit to me. Least I hope he is because he fucked up bad enough that he is ending her life too.
Aiming the pistol at his head, I pull the trigger twice. Each bullet slams through his skull, exploding out the back with blood, bone and brain matter.
Turning to the two men beside me, I say, “Simon, have this cleaned.”
Simon looks unfazed by the situation. Sommers is a shade paler than normal for a black man but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. That’s good, I don’t want to kill him. I’m pretty sure he knows that too, especially since he knows I just made him a knowing accessory to murder.
Putting my hand on his shoulder, I turn him from the gory scene and start walking with him as I hear Simon making a phone call.