what scares the hell out of me. It’s going too well. I can’t imagine that it will last.”
“How long have you known her mother? Lisa’s just a chip off the old block. You know what a good person Pat is, and she has never changed. Lisa has those same qualities. Your problem is you never had anyone be really good to you. I know your grandparents did all the right things for you—but they were a somber pair—so stiff and correct—there was never much joy around here. Pat was the first good thing that ever happened in your life. Her daughter is the second. Stop feeling guilty, her mother is delighted as hell knowing you and her sweet daughter are having a wonderful time together—new love is terrific. It’s okay to stop and roll in the daisies. Enjoy this lovely woman, enjoy living without analyzing everything, your brain won’t rot.” Ray’s voice turned serious, “You’ve always been just too damn rational. There are a hell of a lot of things in life that can’t be figured out logically. You need to take some time to understand the feeling side of life. Just go with the feelings for a while. You can figure it all out later. You’re a hell of a good person, always have been. I’ve been lucky to have you as a friend all these years.”
“That was a hell of a sermon.”
“Well, you needed a kick in the ass. What are friends for, anyway? I’ve got to get back to work so you city folk don’t continue to kill yourselves off. I’ll take a rain check on that beer. Maybe I can stop back later tonight if things quiet down. I’ll call you.”
23
The driver killed the lights and turned off the pavement onto the small sand trail, two ruts, grass and thistles growing up between. The rusting Pontiac was pulled into the woods far enough so it could not be seen from the road. The driver, and only occupant, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, opened the trunk and unwrapped the AK-47 from an old cotton blanket. He walked through the woods to the west, his progress slowed by the heavy underbrush and the rapidly fading light. He found the sand road first and then moved along it until he could see the lights from the house. He stopped and slid a clip into the rifle.
When he got close enough, he could see there was only one car, a light-blue Mercury, parked at the side of the house. Then he saw headlights coming down the long sand road. He moved to the side of the road and lay on his stomach in the thick underbrush. He heard the car stop, saw the lights go off. He crouched in his hiding place and waited. The car door opened, then closed. The driver, a tall male, was perfectly silhouetted against a large picture window as he walked toward the house.
Initially, he fired two bursts, separated by a second or two. Most of the bullets from the first burst hit the man, jolting him, tearing gaping holes as they exited. The second burst was high, exploded through the window and ripped through the plaster of the wall opposite the window.
The shooter liked the feeling the gun gave him. He liked the smell of the spent powder. He fired one more burst, blowing out the windows of the cars.
24
It had been a late night for Ray. He and Sue had been at the scene of the shooting until well after 2:00 a.m. They had collected dozens of shell casings and found several clear prints left by the shooter’s shoes. They made castings of the prints.
They had tried to question the victim’s wife, but she was too hysterical. Ray thought her hysteria was a bit overdone, but decided not to pursue the questioning. He could accomplish more by waiting until morning.
The call from Reverend Tim came in just after Ray got to the office the next morning. The call had first been directed to Sue. She put the caller on hold and walked the few yards to Ray’s open office door.
“Are you in and taking calls?” she asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“It’s a Reverend Tim; he doesn’t seem to have a last name. He insists on talking to you. Do you
“How long have you known her mother? Lisa’s just a chip off the old block. You know what a good person Pat is, and she has never changed. Lisa has those same qualities. Your problem is you never had anyone be really good to you. I know your grandparents did all the right things for you—but they were a somber pair—so stiff and correct—there was never much joy around here. Pat was the first good thing that ever happened in your life. Her daughter is the second. Stop feeling guilty, her mother is delighted as hell knowing you and her sweet daughter are having a wonderful time together—new love is terrific. It’s okay to stop and roll in the daisies. Enjoy this lovely woman, enjoy living without analyzing everything, your brain won’t rot.” Ray’s voice turned serious, “You’ve always been just too damn rational. There are a hell of a lot of things in life that can’t be figured out logically. You need to take some time to understand the feeling side of life. Just go with the feelings for a while. You can figure it all out later. You’re a hell of a good person, always have been. I’ve been lucky to have you as a friend all these years.”
“That was a hell of a sermon.”
“Well, you needed a kick in the ass. What are friends for, anyway? I’ve got to get back to work so you city folk don’t continue to kill yourselves off. I’ll take a rain check on that beer. Maybe I can stop back later tonight if things quiet down. I’ll call you.”
23
The driver killed the lights and turned off the pavement onto the small sand trail, two ruts, grass and thistles growing up between. The rusting Pontiac was pulled into the woods far enough so it could not be seen from the road. The driver, and only occupant, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, opened the trunk and unwrapped the AK-47 from an old cotton blanket. He walked through the woods to the west, his progress slowed by the heavy underbrush and the rapidly fading light. He found the sand road first and then moved along it until he could see the lights from the house. He stopped and slid a clip into the rifle.
When he got close enough, he could see there was only one car, a light-blue Mercury, parked at the side of the house. Then he saw headlights coming down the long sand road. He moved to the side of the road and lay on his stomach in the thick underbrush. He heard the car stop, saw the lights go off. He crouched in his hiding place and waited. The car door opened, then closed. The driver, a tall male, was perfectly silhouetted against a large picture window as he walked toward the house.
Initially, he fired two bursts, separated by a second or two. Most of the bullets from the first burst hit the man, jolting him, tearing gaping holes as they exited. The second burst was high, exploded through the window and ripped through the plaster of the wall opposite the window.
The shooter liked the feeling the gun gave him. He liked the smell of the spent powder. He fired one more burst, blowing out the windows of the cars.
24
It had been a late night for Ray. He and Sue had been at the scene of the shooting until well after 2:00 a.m. They had collected dozens of shell casings and found several clear prints left by the shooter’s shoes. They made castings of the prints.
They had tried to question the victim’s wife, but she was too hysterical. Ray thought her hysteria was a bit overdone, but decided not to pursue the questioning. He could accomplish more by waiting until morning.
The call from Reverend Tim came in just after Ray got to the office the next morning. The call had first been directed to Sue. She put the caller on hold and walked the few yards to Ray’s open office door.
“Are you in and taking calls?” she asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“It’s a Reverend Tim; he doesn’t seem to have a last name. He insists on talking to you. Do you
Similar Books
