Patterns of Brutality: Erter & Dobbs Book 2 by Nick Keller

Author:Nick Keller
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: NKBooks
Published: 2017-09-26T06:00:00+00:00

30

THE REAL WILLIAM ERTER

“…Fucker’s got an M.O.!” Bernie yelled and held up a print out of The Wrap as William opened his front door. The magazine showed Dulce Dios’s headshot and Trades bio. “He’s hunting them down and killing them in the same way they’re being described in The Wrap. Look! This sweet goddess is flying high… He tossed her off a goddamn cliff! And this one, burn down the town… he lit her on fire, Will.”

William stood at the door, rubbed his eyes, squinted at the papers. Bernie grunted. It looked like William had just woken up. His eyes twitched back and forth reading the paper the way a vulture searched for prey from the sky, and he stunk like day old farts trapped in a vacuum pack.

William snatched the paper from Bernie’s hand and held it close to his face, locked into the words.

Bernie frowned realizing William’s bloodshot eyes, the mussy hair, the clammy skin wasn’t from an abundance of sleep, but a lack of it. He’d been up all night, at least twenty-four hours.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Huh—yeah. I’m fine, why?” William said.

“Uh…”

“This is excellent!” William said, turning into his admittance hallway. Bernie followed him quickly. William sifted ravenously through the .pdfs as he walked, staring at them. When they entered his apartment, Bernie stopped cold, staring forward with a concerned look drawing on his face. He muttered, “Jeez…”

William had slathered writing all over the main wall of his living room and around the corner across half the adjoining wall, all in Sharpe black pen. It was as if he’d slashed into a man made of numbers and symbols, splattering them across the brick in strings of numeric integers mixed with alpha-numeric variables, all of them running down the walls at different lengths in hand-scribed columns, like a mural-matrix, categorized, classified, arranged and rearranged.

“Ho-lee shit,” Bernie said.

William ignored him, still studying the printed articles. He spun around. “We can catch him,” he muttered. “Flying High? Heh—so smart.”

Bernie flinched. “Uh—what’s going through that head of yours, Will?”

“This!” he rattled the papers in his hand. “You’ve discovered S.”

“What the hell is S?”

“The formula, the formula. S is a variable. It equals how they’re being murdered.” Bernie shook his head, looked at him blank. William continued, “We’ll be able to predict how he’s going to do it. It’s like a pre-echo—something we can see before we hear the scream. Yes… all we have to know now are the other variables. And this—oh my God, Bernie, you’re beautiful, man—fucking beautiful—this will help us fill them in!”

Bernie looks at him sideways. William hardly ever cursed. Something wasn’t right. “Will…”

William shot a finger in the air and went to a mathematical formula scribbled on the wall at a central point, as if all the other chaotic configurations had spun out of it:

Q + S + T + Y = X

“This is it, right here. This is the whole case. All the chaos and all the order is depicted in this formula: Q represents who, or the victim.

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