“I’ve been waiting a long time to fuck up your prettyface,” Lee says, swaying the knife as if he’s trying to hypnotize Owen.
He tries to listen for the sound of people, but they’re alone out here. Still, he opens his mouth and calls,“Help!”
Lee rolls his eyes and calls louder,“Help! There’s a pussy here who’s about to get stabbed!”
No one replies, and no one’s coming.
Owen wonders if this is where he dies, in this smelly alley that even homeless people don’t bother going into. He should have stayed home during his last night in the city and kept his head down until he was miles away from his past.
But he has been through too much to die out here at the hands of this man.
Owen rushes forward, holding the lid firmly in front of him. Lee’s eyes go wide, and before he can strike with his knife, Owen slams into him like a raging bull.
The impact is strong enough to make Owen lose his footing, but he’s able to regain his balance, while Lee slams against the ground. He grunts in pain, but he’s still holding the knife, and there’s murder in his eyes. A voice in Owen’s head urges him to use this opportunity to flee, but another voice urges him to send a message. Guys like Lee won’t back down otherwise.
With another shout, Owen slams the metal lid on Lee’s chest, or at least that is his plan. Since he’s still mildly high, and there isn’t much light in the alley, itmakes his aim less than accurate.
He gasps as he realizes it was Lee’s head that he slammed the lid on.
Lee begins to spasm, spitting blood with his eyes rolling back. Despite the lack of light, the dent in his forehead is unmistakable. For a second, Owen wonders if he always had that dent, but that’s stupid.
At the sight of blood spreading around Lee’s head, Owen stumbles backward. His heart pounds as he watches in horror a man taking his final breaths.
“Oh, shit. Lee? Lee!”
I shouldn’t stay here, and I shouldn’t leave the lid with my fingerprints behind.
He watches Lee for a few seconds more, waiting for his chest to show any signs of movement, but it remains flat as a board. Owen forces his legs to support his body, which feels three times heavier than normal. Still holding the lid, he mumbles a pointless “Sorry,” then runs as fast as he can into the night.
Chapter 3
Nate
The bodies haven’t yet begun to reek, but they will soon. Nate watches the two teens slump under the bridge, the needles that killed them lying on the dirty ground next to them. He wonders if they could feel their own deaths. Was it a nasty seizure or was it more like slowly slipping into oblivion?
He bets it was a seizure. Overdosing is a shitty way to go, but it’s not like anyone forced them to become drug addicts.You reap what you sow, as his poor excuse for a mother used to say.
Sheriff Buchanan shakes his head, his bald head glittering under the sun. The man looks tired and agitated, and who can blame him? Carter County, Wayne County, Ripley County, and even Oregon County—all struggle with an overwhelming wave of drugs flooding the streets. It’s been like this for a long time, but the last few years have seen a sharp rise, and now Nate wonders if the sheriff is about to be out of a job.
“Should we check for fingerprints?” Nate asks, because it feels like something a cop should ask.
“Sheryl already took care of that. Did you know these two?”
“Nope.” He likely would have known them if they were from Van Buren, but these two teens are—were—likely from one of the other small towns in Carter County.
The sheriff sighs and shakes his head. “Where are all these damn drugs coming from?”
Nate keeps his mouth shut and watches as Sheryl scans the area for clues. A waste of time, in Nate’s opinion. What kind of clues are they going to find—a murder weapon? It’s right there, shaped like a needle.
With Sheryl about one hundred feet away, the sheriff quietly says, “Once again, my gut tells me the mayor knows more than he lets on.”
Nate crosses his arms. Accusing Mayor Walker is dangerous, which is why the sheriff hasn’t shared his suspicion with many people. He’s likely only sharing it with Nate because of his friendship with Joel back in the day.
“Why would the mayor want dead people on the streets? It’s not a good look.”
The sheriff snorts. “Ray doesn’t care. The blame falls on our department. I’d expect the mayor to be breathing down my neck to solve this.”
“And doesn’t he?”
