Free Aftermath by Michael Kerr

you need to use it, safety off and fire at the chest until it’s empty.  I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, but it’s better to believe that you have till I take care of the problem.”
    “Where exactly are you going?”  Sharon asked him.
    “To Charleston,” Logan said.  “Use the throwaway phone to contact me if anything serious comes up.”
    He drove the same route in reverse as, unbeknown to him, Sal had taken the previous evening.  Headed to Weston and picked up I-79 south.  Fifty-some miles later he was entering Charleston city limits.  His plan was to pay Sammy Lester a visit first.  Roy Naylor had given up his address after losing the first of his big toes.
     
    It was a bright, warm, sunny morning as Sammy ambled up the walkway at the side of the building and entered the fire door to the stairwell.  He had parked the pickup two blocks away at the rear of a launderette and loaded up a washer and set it going before making his way to the three-storey apartment block.  He was wearing a ball cap with a West Virginia Mountaineers football team badge on it, and shades.  He looked totally forgettable in a gray T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed trainers.  He carried a plastic shopping bag that could have held groceries, but didn’t.
    He paused on the third-floor landing, took his cap off and mopped the sweat from his brow as he got his breath back.
    Opening the door, Sammy looked both ways.  The short corridor was empty.  He pulled on latex gloves as he walked to the right, stopped at the second door and pressed the bell push.
    Carmen had just made Roy some soup.  He was sitting on the sofa with his bandaged feet up on the coffee table in front of him, cushioned by a pillow.
    Carmen went to the door and looked through the peephole.  Recognised Sammy and unlocked and opened the door.
    “Hi, Carmen,” Sammy said to her as he smoothly pulled the silenced Glock from the bag, raised it and shot her in the face.
    Carmen didn’t feel a thing, and was technically dead before she hit the floor.  Not a bad way to go, Sammy thought as he closed the door, stepped over the corpse and walked into the living room.
    Roy had not heard the muffled shot.  He had the volume wound up on the TV and was watching the local breakfast news show.
    Sammy picked up the remote and pressed the mute button.  Roy saw the gun in his hand and knew in an instant that the love of his life was dead, and that for some reason he was probably going to end up the same way.
    “You gave me up, Roy,” Sammy said.  “And you told the guy that hurt you who I worked for.”
    “He blew my fuckin’ toes off, Sammy.  What was I supposed to do?”
    “You could have tried lying.  Instead, you’ve put us at risk, and Mr Brandon thinks that you’re a liability.”
    “He took my phone.  He had names and numbers.”
    “So you made it easy for him by pointing the finger at me, right?”
    “What would you have done, Sammy?”
    “Left my phone in the car, or not been stupid enough to get jumped.  You’re supposed to be a freakin’ professional.”
    Roy bowed his head and closed his eyes.  Knew that there was nothing he could say that would change a damn thing.
    Sammy raised the gun.  He almost felt sorry for Roy, who’d always been a stand-up guy.  But it was a dog eat dog world.  He made it quick.  Shot Roy through the top of his head twice in quick succession.
    He took his time searching the apartment.  Erased his and other numbers from Roy’s cell phone and then removed the SIM card.  Made sure that there was nothing to lead the authorities back to him, Sal Mendez or Jerry Brandon.  After turning the volume back up on the TV, he left the apartment and made his way back to the launderette.  He had timed it almost perfectly.  The cycle was just winding down.  He put the rinsed clothing in a drier and took a Michael Connolly paperback out of the bag that held the gun.  Twenty five minutes and eighteen pages