The Anarchy Killer (PI Mason Black Book 3) by Nick Adams

Author:Nick Adams [Adams, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Papyrus Publishing
Published: 2025-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

FORTY-FIVE

All night he’d been up checking (then rechecking) the windows were locked. It was the longest night of his life, but he would have done it fifty times over if it meant keeping his daughter and Diane safe. He didn’t want to leave them.

It was almost time to arrive at the location, and the rain clouds shrouded the sky with a gray blanket that suited his mood. Sucking in a ragged breath, Mason crossed the street toward 388 Brownlee.

“Yo, cracka-jack.”

Mason spun around, expecting to see a gun in his face. It was hardly the neighborhood for a middle-aged white man to be out and about alone. He thought that if Anarchy didn’t kill him, one of the youths lurking on the street probably would.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Mason was looking at a black man, around thirty and wearing tacky basketball gear. A threatening look hardened the man’s eyes, but he was alone, and Mason thought he could take him if he had to. “What do you want?”

“Give me a couple bucks.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you didn’t say please.”

The man tilted his head back and looked down his nose at Mason. “Ha. Fine then, please give me a couple bucks.”

“No.”

The man startled. “Why the hell not, white-bread?”

“Because you didn’t say please the first time.”

“Fuck you.” He stormed off, waving a hand.

The rain trickled from the sky, a low grumble setting in. Mason watched the man hustling away, and then a thought occurred to him. “Hey.”

“What?” He spun around, hopeful.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. What’s it to you?”

“How about you earn…” Mason produced his wallet, flicked through the notes, and held them out in a tempting hand. “Forty-eight dollars?”

Jackson looked at the money with skepticism, as if he were being tricked. “I ain’t sucking no dick.”

“What the— No, I don’t need that.” Mason waved a hand and pointed at the building. “Come here and look at this.”

Reluctant, Jackson stepped forward and snapped for the cash. Stuffing it into his shorts, he followed Mason’s finger with his eyes, studying the building in front of him. It looked like the kind of place homeless people might seek out for warmth in the colder months.

“I’m going into this building. All I want you to do is wait here. You got a cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. If anyone comes out—anyone other than me—I want you to get a good, clear photo of him. Even if it’s five different people, all right? Just snap away until your thumb bleeds. Got it?”

“Sure, man.”

“Good.” Although he suspected Jackson would be gone by the time he returned, Mason approached the building with care. He was expecting a bomb of some sort but realized if Anarchy had wanted to do that, he’d have done it with the package.

The door creaked open, and Mason was left looking at an arrow on the floor. It was a red cutout that led to another arrow, which led to another.

Wherever that son of a bitch is, he’s in this building. I just know it.

Ever wary, Mason took a deep breath, drew his gun, and stepped inside.

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