The Unstable One: A Murphy Thriller Book 1 (Markus Murphy) by Mike McCrary

Author:Mike McCrary [McCrary, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bad Words Inc.
Published: 2020-10-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Murphy said “Hello” to his mother ten minutes ago.

Feels like hours have limped by.

Since this call began, she’s coughed twice, grunted once.

He can tell she’s still on the line because the sounds of prison-crazy ramble and rage in the background. Some woman offered a full-throated wail about cutting another woman’s tits off. There have been various random shouts echoing similar thoughts and sentiments. Another sign that the call is still in progress is the sound of her labored breathing. The sounds of a lifelong smoker stress the phone’s speaker. Murphy closes his eyes off the wheezing.

A loud clang from her end of the call shakes him from his trance. More bodily harm threat barked, then more struggling breaths. Murphy doesn’t know how much more of it he has to endure.

This is a game she’s playing.

He knows it.

The game of control.

Give her time, Mr. Nice Guy chimes in.

Entering the lobby of the resort en route to the elevator, Murphy still waits for her to speak her first words. She doesn’t have to speak until she wants to; he knows that too. He can’t make her talk. The thing, the only thing, working in his favor is that there’s no way in hell she has unlimited phone privileges. She has to crack open a can of conversation soon.

It’s also a fair assumption that every word of this call is being monitored, recorded and analyzed to the nth damn degree.

You happy, Mr. Nice Guy?

This the quality family time you seek?

His devil tattoo itches. Warmth spreads up through his arm. A reversal in Murphy’s thinking takes hold. A switch flipped. Peyton is working her magic. She knew when this call was happening too.

Does she want more Mr. Nice Guy than Murphy?

Fifty percent Murphy the proper mix?

He imagines Dr. Peyton sitting sipping a hot cup of tea, balancing his brain as if pulling together a grocery list. Something inside of him takes over. Finding words becomes easier. Wanting to say words to his mother becomes easier. He envisions Peyton sliding her fingers along the glass. Altering his chemistry as he speaks.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, Barbara.” A warm tone he didn’t realize he had to offer. He didn’t know her name seconds ago, but it fell from his tongue as if he talked to her yesterday. “I only wanted to reach out. Let you know I’m thinking of you.”

“You are a piece of shit.” Her voice is raspy, thick with a southern drawl.

“Pardon?”

“How goddamn dare you.”

“Okay. Not sure what you’re—”

“I’m locked up in this piss-pit because of you. And now you’re doing what? Out there nailing strange ass and killing at will?” She hacks up a lung. “This what you want, Mr. Fancy Balls? Call me up? Tell Mommy all about it? Have ourselves super sweet bullshit convo, you deviant little asshole.”

Murphy—Mr. Nice Guy—takes a beat. Hopes that wave has ended.

“Locked up because of me?” He braces for the answer. Wanting to know more.

“Oh, stop that shit.”

“Just need—”

“Please cease with whatever game you’re playing.

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