God Is A Killer by Max Thrax

Author:Max Thrax [Thrax, Max]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Close To The Bone Publishing
Published: 2022-05-27T00:00:00+00:00

Ten

1

An old Durango pulled up behind the sheriff’s office—Levesque’s man.

Huffy the Slasher looked about fifty years old, with his brown hair thinning on top and his muttonchops streaked with gray. Despite the warm weather, he wore a green army jacket.

“Thanks for coming,” Fitzroy said as Huffy sank in the leather chair. “Drove from Berlin?”

“Yeah,” Huffy said. “Anyway, Berlin’s where I sleep. I’ve lived all over the state: Belmont, Rochester, Franklin, Cushman.”

“How’d you meet Levesque?”

“A few years ago, he went broke loansharking in Manchester. Helped recover some debts and he sent me more work.”

“He tell you about this particular work?”

“Not exactly.”

Fitzroy poured two glasses from a bottle of White Horse. “We have a person of interest. Causeway House. You know the place?”

Huffy left the scotch sitting on the desk. “Yeah,” he said. “A fine-ass woman lives there.”

“That’s right,” Fitzroy said. “Her name is Sarah Van Bommel, and she’s getting harassed by a guy named MacDougall. Ex-husband. Talkative. I want you to find him, goat-tie him, drag him back here. If he can’t be goat-tied, shoot him.”

“MacDougall packing?”

“If you see a pistol,” Fitzroy said, “I’ll get you compensated.”

“Sounds good.”

“One more thing,” said Fitzroy, reaching back in the desk. He handed Huffy a knife with six-inch serrated blade and a cross carved on the pommel.

“When you see MacDougall,” Fitzroy said, “show him this. He’ll be delighted to see it.”

2

The man introduced himself as Agent Dumfries. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Nice to visit Bentham County, too. How long you been sheriff?”

“Twelve years,” said Fitzroy. “This fall, I’m up for re-election. Can’t say I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

“Not a single arrest in six months?”

“Bentham County is small.”

“How’s it been the past few weeks?” Dumfries said. “Anything unusual? I don’t mean unusual as in needing federal intervention. Nothing like that. Asking if anything caught your eye.”

“Hank Nash used to wash dishes at the resorts. He got caught with a shotgun at the Northern Inn, and after that he’d been trouble. Spent a night in the bullpen. Came around to our way of thinking.”

“The name Brentwood Dentiste mean anything?”

“No.”

“Dentiste’s a friend of mine,” Dumfries said. “He worked undercover for the DEA. I’d bring it up with the department, but Dentiste isn’t supposed to be in Bentham County. Six months ago, he took a leave of absence. Everyone thinks he went to his mother’s in Rhode Island.”

“Why’d he tell you?”

“Like I said, Brent’s a friend. Last year his wife left him. Being Brent, he didn’t marry just any woman, but some old lady he met while spooking the Diablos. I told him it was a mistake. Working undercover like him, as long as he’s been undercover—you forget you’re a cop.

“A week after his wife left, Brent heard she got with the Stone Men. He called her, followed her—told me all about it—until one day her phone went dead. Brent had no evidence for a RICO warrant, so the department turned him down. Then he went black.”

“Think he’s alive?”

“You have agents and you have agents. Dentiste was the best goddamn agent I ever saw.

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