Free Savage Rage by Brent Pilkey Page A

blow up at.”
    Aaron looked at Jack for a moment, not speaking, then nodded. “Yeah, well, you definitely could have handled the situation better.”
    â€œSo I’ve been told,” Jack agreed, gesturing to Juliet. “But, honestly, I don’t understand it. I mean, I know he’s depressed, but he burned a sandwich. I could understand it if he was getting evicted or something, but it was so . . .” Jack groped for a word.
    â€œInconsequential?” Aaron suggested.
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œThat’s what made it so bad,” Aaron said, shaking his head at Jack’s ignorance.
    â€œYou’ve lost me,” Jack admitted, truly bewildered.
    The Crown Vic roared to life, telling Aaron it was time to go. He ducked his head into the car. “Hang on a sec.”
    Straightening up, he said, “I’ve got to make this quick.” He ran a hand over his scalp, looking at Jack as if he was searching for the easiest explanation. “Depression is often described as hatred turned inward. A depressed person will think things like ‘I’m no good’ or ‘My family would be better off without me.’ They feel loathsome or useless.”
    â€œThat’s what he said,” Jack remembered, pointing at the rear seat.
    â€œI don’t doubt it. If you or I had burned our lunch, we would’ve said, ‘Shit, I’ll have to make another one.’ Ted thought, ‘I’m so useless, I can’t even make a sandwich.’ Get the idea?”
    Jack nodded slowly as understanding dawned. “I think so.”
    â€œDon’t they teach you about mental illness at the college? Depression, schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder?”
    Jack laughed, embarrassed. “I’ve never heard of that last one. They teach us our grounds for arresting under the Mental Health Act, that’s about it.”
    â€œUnbelievable,” Aaron said and in that one word Jack heard a depth of frustration. The car jumped as the engine revved. “That’s my cue to go.”
    â€œHey, thanks for the help and the quick lesson. I’m Jack Warren.” Jack held out his hand and Aaron gave it a quick, firm shake before climbing into the passenger seat.
    â€œAaron Wallace. No problem, guy. See you around.” Aaron slammed the door but not before Jack heard him say to Officer Hydrant Head, “Jeez, guy. You’re one impatient bitch, aren’t you?”
    Jack’s impression of Nurse Little Manny jumped a few notches.

Wednesday, 14 March
    1437 hours
    Jesse Polan was horny.
    If there was one thing worse than needing some crack and not being able to find a dealer, which rarely happened in Jesse’s neighbourhood, it was being horny with no one to fuck. Jesse wasn’t just a bit horny, he was that blue balls, gonna explode kind of horny. The kind of horny he only experienced when indulging in some particularly fine rock. And he had scored some exceptionally fine crack yesterday, not as good as that Black stuff on the streets last summer, but pretty damn good. He’d also been able to afford half an eight-ball thanks to a couple of easy house breaks. He had spent all of last night high with enough rock at hand so that every time he felt himself coming down all he had to do was light up and he was back to feeling fine.
    But he had woken up this morning — or was it afternoon? — with a fucking giant case of blue balls. After a quick hit to get him started, he headed out, looking to get fucked. He hoped to run into what’s-her-name with the green hair. She was skinny as shit with a couple of lumps she called tits but could she ever suck a dick. Fuck! He was getting hard just thinking about her. When he found her, he’d offer to share what was left of the half eight-ball if she came back to his room. That would be fucking fine. Nothing like fucking on crack. He was so hard it felt like he had a steel pipe shoved down