Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) by Jack Lively

Author:Jack Lively [Lively, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838047566
Publisher: General Projects Press
Published: 2021-04-01T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Eight

The guy had no ID on him, or anything else for that matter, except for a Glock 19 in his hand and an extra magazine in his pocket. I pried the Glock from his death grip. The gun had a full magazine, plus one in the chamber. I slipped it into my waistband at the back. The extra magazine went into my front pocket.

When I returned to the house, Hank was in the kitchen with his dead mother. I had come around and was standing over the murder artist’s body. The boy was sitting at the little breakfast table, his eyes wet with tears, face red as a plum tomato. A Mossberg 500 was on the table. I figured that was the bear gun. Helen’s body was slumped on the floor between the kitchen and living room. Her face blank with the eyes shot out. I stepped over the dead guy, came through the kitchen door and Hank looked at me without malice.

He said, “Why did they do this?”

I said, “I don’t know exactly. I guess they thought they could get away with it.”

I pulled a light blanket from the sofa and covered Helen’s body.

Hank said, “Who are they?”

I walked to the corpse of Helen’s killer. The body was laid out on the dirt and already looked unhealthy, like a magnet for insects and worms. I searched the dead guy and confirmed what I already knew, nothing. No ID, empty pockets. Same as his younger friend up in the woods. And just like the friend, covered in Neo-Nazi tattoos.

I figured that even members of the 1488 gang got out of jail once in a while.

I looked up at Hank, he was sobbing into his hands.

I said, “Hank, help me move this body inside. The drone might come back.”

Hank didn’t respond, he wept onto the table, tugging his hair with both hands. He was moaning in anguish. I came back into the kitchen and looked at him for exactly a second and a half. On any other occasion I would leave the kid alone, but we weren’t safe, so I wasn’t going to let him wallow in despair just yet.

“Hank.” No response. I stepped over to him and pulled his head up by the hair. Forced him to look at me. “Hank.” He didn’t struggle or avert his eyes. He looked at me, mute and flush, cheeks wet with tears. I said, “Mom’s dead, Hank. I liked her, even though I only knew her for five minutes. She didn’t suffer, didn’t get too old. You just got an advanced start on your own life as an independent person, like a second birth. You went from teenage dependent to grown up man in about fifteen minutes. You can either take that badly or take it well. If you take it well you’ll be more of a help getting back at the people who sent these assassins to kill you and your mom. If you take it badly, you’ll be less helpful. That’s pretty much it.

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