Free Killer by Dave Zeltserman Page A

more likely, that the guy left in the middle of the night and took his dog with him, or someone like me is able to kill the two of them and scrub the garage clean without anyone hearing it? The chances of anyone finding that dog’s blood in the yard aren’t too likely.
    The property is on enough of an incline so that after I roll the dead man’s car out of the garage I can coast it down to the end of the driveway, and only then turn over the engine. I have a long night ahead of me. I still have to dispose of the bodies, then have the car chopped up at one of Lombard’s garages, but once I’m done with it I’m finished. The car I drove over with is parked several blocks away. I had stolen it earlier and cleaned it before leaving, so I can let it sit where it is.
    Yeah, I might have a long night ahead of me, but I can’t help smiling. By morning I’ll be driving home, and the wedding will still be on as planned. Jenny might be mad for another day or two, but by Saturday my taking off the way I did will be forgotten.
    I can’t help wondering about the arsenal this guy had, that I caught him in the middle of making a sawed-off shotgun, and the whole urgency of this on Lombard’s part. I can’t stop wondering who the fuck this guy is.
    It takes some effort, but I force my mind off of it. If DiGrassi wanted me to know that, he would have told me. Besides, I have a wedding to think about.

chapter 10
     
    present
    When I showed up at work, the same kid from the night before was at the front security desk. He handed me the office keys and tried hard to look through me, acting as if I weren’t there. He might’ve been able to pull off this air of contempt but a tightness around his mouth betrayed him, showing how uneasy he was. I tried to think of something to say to put him at ease, but couldn’t come up with anything. What was I going to tell him? That I was over sixty now, a changed man, and too conflicted over what I’d done in the past to even consider any more violence in my life? Fuck it, it would’ve been a waste of breath. In the end, neither of us said a word to the other.
    Like the other day, I started on the bathrooms first. I had my portable radio set up on the cleaning cart and tried listening to music, but I found my mind kept drifting. It didn’t help that my dinner had left me sluggish. I’d had my first cheeseburger and fries since being arrested, and while I’d poured a pot of black coffee down my throat, I’d also had my first beers in fourteen years and I was feeling the effects of them. To keep my mind focused and off the thoughts that kept trying to sneak in, I tuned in to a talk show.
    For the first hour they had an author on talking about his latest book. The guy had a thick Irish brogue and it was interesting enough to keep me distracted. I still felt myself moving sluggishly, but at least I was distracted. After the segment with the author finished, I sobered up instantly from the effects of my greasy dinner and two beers when in the next segment they started discussing my release from prison. At first it was tough listening to what they were saying, but after a while I hardened to it. The comments from the people calling in were what you’d expect; what a travesty it was that the state would make any deal that allowed me to walk out of prison. One caller had to point out my ethnicity, claiming that I wasn’t a full-blooded Italian, that my mother had been Jewish, as if that had anything to do with it. Another talked about my pop, how he knew him years ago, and how he was a good man who must be rolling around in his grave now over what I’d done.
    The show attracted a few callers who tried to sound like tough guys. These wannabes speculated about how I must have a death wish staying in the area, hinting that there were enough people with grudges against me that I’d be turned into a grease spot soon enough. They tried to sound as if they were in the game, but they weren’t. No one