Free Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel by Randall H Miller Page A

one piece. You are one lucky bastard. Take it and move on, or go back to work and keep pressing your luck? That is the question.
    He lowered his gaze and settled his eyes on the thin purple scar that ran across his abdomen. The Family’s surgeons had stitched him up as best they could, but Mark thought it still looked like a medieval C-section. Not to mention a constant reminder of darker times.
    Berlin. Thanks again for the souvenir, Brother.
    After opening the windows to air out the house, he plopped down on the sofa with a bowl of cereal and turned on the news. A drop-dead gorgeous blond woman with piercing blue eyes spoke into the camera from a studio plastered with patriotic themes.
    Red, white, blue, and blonde.
    “A gunman opened fire at a church picnic in a suburb of Minneapolis yesterday and detonated an explosive device as a group of brave parishioners attempted to overpower him. Fifteen people are dead and dozens of others injured. This is the third such attack on American soil in as many weeks. Is this the new normal? Is the president doing enough to keep Americans safe? We’ll have an all-star panel …”
    Mark turned off the TV and finished eating his cereal in the kitchen booth. His phone whistled like a catcall from a construction worker, indicating a text message from Luci. He smiled, picked up his phone, and looked at the screen.
     
    SENDER: Luci
    MESSAGE: Google the “valley insider” if bored … c u @ 8.
    REPLY: Will do … see you then.
     
    Twenty minutes later, Mark was sprinting up the hill in shorts, running shoes, and a t-shirt loose enough to mask the 9mm strapped tightly to the small of his back. When he reached the top of the hill, he slowed to a trot, turned around, and let gravity do most of the work on the way back down to the house. On the tenth ascent he kept going, turned right at the end of the street, and headed toward downtown.

Twenty
    Approximately one hundred miles north in New Hampshire, John McDonough popped two of his wife’s anxiety pills into his mouth and chased them down with a glass of cold water. He closed his eyes and slowly rolled his head from side to side to loosen the muscles in his neck. Then he rolled his shoulders from front to rear a dozen times before moving on to his breathing exercises.
    Inhale through the nose—one, two, three, four. Hold it—one, two, three, four. Exhale through the mouth—one, two, three, four. Inhale through the nose—one, two, three, four. Hold it—one, two, three, four. Exhale through the mouth—one, two, three, four. Inhale through the nose …
    His heart rate began to settle and his muscles slowly relaxed.
    That’s it. Just breathe. You are okay. Everyone is okay. Nothing is happening. It’s all in your head. Just breathe and relax. Inhale through the nose—one, two, three, four. Hold it—one, two, three, four. Exhale through the mouth—one, two, three, four …
    Three quick knocks at the locked bathroom door shattered his focus.
    “Honey, are you okay in there? I’m running out for my checkup so I’ll see you later, okay?”
    Linda. It’s Linda. It’s only Linda. Calm down. Inhale through the nose …
    McDonough bowed his head and his lightheadedness quickly turned to confused terror and tunnel vision. He reached blindly for the sink with his left hand to steady himself, staring at the Smith and Wesson M&P 9mm gripped tightly in his right hand, the barrel pointed at the thin wooden door. He did not remember having drawn the gun from its holster.
    Breathe deeply, then answer. Breathe deeply, then answer. Breathe deeply, then answer.
    She waited for a response with one palm flat against the door and the other pressed gently against her swollen belly. He put the gun back in its holster and supported himself on the sink with both hands.
    “Yeah, I’m fine. Just catching up on some reading, Baby. I’m good.”
    “Okay. I’ll see you tonight. Be safe out there, okay?”
    “Yeah, okay. You too. Let me know how