Free The Vivisectionist by Ike Hamill Page B

already.”
    Ben said, “But what if there’s a like a secret door or something, and that’s where he keeps his victims. Cops are always missing that kind of thing, and then the guy gets off and goes right back to killing.”
    “Sure! That happens all the time,” mocked Jack. “Oh yeah—
in the movies.
Bad movies at that.”
    Ben pretended to be offended—“Man, that’s just not nice. I just had an idea, and you had to make fun of me like that. Why do you have to be like that.”
    “Seriously, Jack,” said Stephen. “Now he’s going to go off and make a secret torture-chamber and hide it from the police in a pink tree-house. See what you’ve done?”
    They all laughed.
    “You know what we ought to do?” asked Jack. “We ought to find out if those stupid guys shot that dog.”
    “How are we going to do that?” asked Ben.
    “Well, if you find the bullet that killed that dog, then you could probably get the cops to match it to their gun and stuff,” answered Stephen. “But that would be really gross, because you’d have to cut up smelly dead dog. The best way would be to catch them shooting another dog.”
    “Oh, you think they’re going to do it again?” asked Jack. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
    “Why do you think they were looking for that other dog?” asked Stephen. “They were trying to find it so they could shoot that one too. Those types of guys always come back for more.”
    “Hey—I should bring my camera,” said Ben. “It’s in my bag somewhere. It’s got an awesome zoom on it.”
    “How are we going to know when they’re going to do it again though?” asked Jack.
    Stephen answered—“We just go over there and stake it out. It's too bad you don't get any cellphone reception around here. I've got zero bars and we need communication—do you have any walkie-talkies or anything.”
    “Sure, but they’re probably not charged,” said Jack.
    “Let’s get everything together,” said Stephen.
     
    **********
     
    Planning and plotting absorbed most of their morning. When they headed out, the boys each carried a pack with provisions for their stakeout. Exchanging excited banter, they made their way through the hot midday sun, taking their favorite trails. Still twenty minutes from the quarry, they started to plan their approach. The west side seemed safest—they could come up through the woods and be high on the ridge with the sun at their backs all afternoon.
    Stephen brought up the possibility that the older kids were already at the quarry, so they decided to check the parking spot before trying to approach the pit. This detour added significant time to their hike, but they all agreed that it made sense to be cautious.
    They found the road empty, and found no sign of the dead dog from days before. Moving through the woods to hide their tracks, the three climbed to the western lip of the large pit. They agreed on a spot mostly shadowed by a maple tree, but with clear line-of-sight.
    To pass the time they started naming the areas of the pit below them. Passing the binoculars, they took turns attaching monikers to the various rocks and describing how to locate them.
    “Okay,” said Stephen, “I’m betting they come around the side of ‘Big Rock’ and then pass by ‘Digger’s Corner’ before settling into ‘The Big Open Spot.’”
    “No way!” said Ben. “They have to be coming out from behind ‘Jack’s Pillar’ because their car will be parked back there.”
    “It 
is
 the best way,” added Jack.
    Within an hour they had lost their energy for the stakeout and dug into their lunch supplies. Chewing on sandwiches, and drinking sodas, a shot, fired down in the pit, interrupted lunch. They dropped their food and scrambled to the edge of their lookout.
    Down in the pit they saw a solitary man on one knee, pointing his gun off to the right. He looked older than the two men from the other day. Using the binoculars, Ben described the shooter to his