Tags:
Suspense,
Literature & Fiction,
Crime,
Mystery; Thriller & Suspense,
Crime Fiction,
Murder,
Serial Killers,
Thrillers & Suspense,
Vigilante Justice,
Kidnapping,
Mysteries & Thrillers
have to help her.
‘Thanks for nothing.’
The short doorman with the big biceps gave her a fey little wave that was all fingers. ‘Bye-bye.’
She started walking.
6
Engine dead, headlights switched off, Krank watched the girl walk away from the nightclub door. He tapped the screen of his phone, waited for the others to pick up.
‘She’s heading your way. Soon as she turns the corner, do it. Fast and rough as it takes. RV back at the usual place.’
The usual place was a small, beaten-up wood-framed house on two acres near Mulholland Drive in the Hollywood Hills, a short distance from the 101 freeway. It had belonged to Krank’s grandfather, who had left it to him as part of a trust. It came with the condition that it could not be sold for at least thirty years after transfer. As far as Krank was concerned, it was a classic move that typified his relationship with his family. Leave him something that was worth enough money to change his life, but make sure that he couldn’t actually use it to do that. Turn a windfall into a millstone. Yeah, that was his family, all right.
Using it like this was Krank’s way of subverting his grandpa’s wishes. You want me to keep the house? Okay, Pops. I will. But I’ll make sure that by the time I’m done no one will ever want to live there.
As a place to bring people like the girl, it was perfect: tucked in close to the freeway, with easy access to the Sunset Strip, but still secluded; plenty of room out the rear that didn’t back onto any other homes. Krank had added extra height to the wall at the front and put in electric gates but those were the only changes he’d made.
He hit the clicker, and the BMW slid through, then up the winding, weed-infested driveway. He parked in back. The others were already there. The Honda was at an angle, and the white van was tucked in tight next to the external steps that led down into the barn his grandfather had used to store his collection of classic cars.
Krank crossed to the main house. The door that led into the kitchen was open. MG was there, head over the sink, dousing his eyes with water. Krank pulled open the refrigerator door and took out a carton of milk. ‘Water just makes it worse. Use this.’
He had to place the carton in MG’s hand. He’d be amazed if he didn’t have to wipe the kid’s ass some day. He wondered why he bothered. Then he reminded himself that he had been like MG. It was just that he was further ahead on his journey than the kid.
‘Thanks,’ MG said, cupping some milk in hands that still trembled from the adrenalin dump of his screwed-up abduction. He splashed his eyes, which were like red slits that had been carved into his face.
Krank had to hand it to her: she’d got MG good. It was something he would use later with MG as a teachable moment. Showing mercy, hesitating in the fight, could only end badly for everyone. Now what would have been a quick death had been prolonged.
He leaned against the kitchen island, with its knife block and red granite top, and watched MG get cleaned up. Finally, he said: ‘You ready?’
MG looked at him, or as best he could with his eyes like that. ‘I don’t know.’
Krank advanced on him. He reached across and tapped MG’s left temple with his knuckle. ‘You’re thinking too much. Thinking time’s over.’ He dug out a Nietzsche quote he’d used before in this kind of situation. ‘“When faced by unpleasant consequences, one is too ready to abandon the proper standpoint from which an action ought to be considered.”’
MG ran a hand through his dense mop of hair and gave a little nod. Krank slapped him on the back. ‘First one’s the hardest. It gets easier after that.’
PART TWO
7
Even though he wasn’t a father, Ryan Lock understood the power of children to change people. Some of the biggest idiots he’d met ‒ and, in his line of work, he’d met plenty ‒ could often set aside their own