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Nodding, Nate said, “Yeah, that was one hell of a morning, wasn’t it?”

“It’s been one hell of a day,” Martin said, relaxing a little. He pointed a thumb toward the front doors. “Got ’em outside.”

Nate nodded for Martin to start walking. “Well, show me these imported Japanese prawns.”

When Martin picked up the lantern and turned, Nate nearly shot him right then and there. This man was dead weight. And if he sees the bodies out the back, he’d be a witness to Nate’s crime.

But he didn’t shoot the prawn man, not yet. Something about him made Nate curious.

Instead of blasting a hole in the fat man’s back, he followed him out the front doors, which were still propped open by the stools vacated by Earl and Wilson.

“Here they are,” Martin said.

A wheel-barrel sat near the edge of the walkway stuffed with plastic bags marked with the stylised symbol of a big prawn.

Nate looked them over. “You hauled these here with that?”

“Yup,” Martin said, wiping sweat from his forehead for emphasis. “When the truck went tits up, I hoofed it back to the warehouse and grabbed the wheel-barrel. Then came back to the truck and filled up as much as I could.”

“There’s more?”

“Yeah, but the refrigeration in the truck died with the rest of it, so I expect they’ve gone bad by now in this heat.”

“How far did you come?”

“Third avenue. Took me eight hours to get here.”

Nate was impressed, but frowned in confusion. “Then why bother bringing these all the way here if they were just going to go bad along the way?”

Martin shrugged. “I iced them up real good, but that melted away after the first two hours.” His voiced trailed off as if he didn’t want to say anymore.

Then Nate understood. “You wanted Unger to know you tried.”

“Yeah,” Martin said, a little sheepishly. “If I didn’t do anything, or didn’t show I made an effort to get him some of his prawns here, there’d be hell to pay.”

Nate watched the fat man as he spoke. He recognized that look. Defeat. Fear. Here was an employee of Unger’s who knew the boss was unforgiving, let alone even fair, when it came to mistakes. Even ones that were completely out of his control.

Nate lowered his shotgun. “Well, Unger won’t be needing these prawns at all.”

Martin looked confused. “He won’t?” He glanced into the bar. “Isn’t he here? He’s always here.”

“Oh, he’s here. Maybe you can go explain to him what happened.”

“O-okay,” Martin said with some hesitation. He led them both through the bar, again, with his lantern.

Curious, Nate asked, “Where did you get that lantern?”

“Had it in the warehouse,” Martin said as they navigated around empty tables. The bar looked ghostly in the lantern’s flickering light. “Always wanted to use it and now I got the chance.”

Nate smiled. “I think we’ll be using it quite a bit from now on.” In all honesty, he liked what he saw in this Martin guy. A go-getter willing to do what it took to impress his boss.

A potential lackey.

They entered the office and Nate pointed the shotgun at the back hallway. “Out there,” he said.

Martin walked outside then stopped when he noticed all the bodies.

Nate kept his shotgun low, but held it so he could bring it up in a flash.

The fat man scanned over the carnage with wide eyes. His gaze settled on Unger’s corpse. He blinked and walked over to it.

“He’s dead,” Martin said.

“That would be his current state, yes,” Nate said. The apartment next door was in full bloom, its fire out of control. But neither he nor Martin bothered to look.

Martin said, “Did you kill him?”

Nate pondered his answer, then simply said, “Yup.”

Anger rippled across the little man’s face. “Bastard!” Martin reached for the front of his pants.

Surprised at this sudden change in demeanor, Nate raised his shotgun ready to add another body to the back lot’s inventory.

But instead of pulling out a gun, Martin fumbled open his fly and pulled out his dick.

Stunned, Nate watched as Martin pissed on Unger’s corpse.

“I was supposed to be the one that killed him,” Martin said through gritted teeth.

Nate laughed loudly in genuine delight. What a sight to see as this little fat man emptied his bladder on the body of his old boss. “He pissed you off, too, huh?”

“Yeah,” Martin said, angling the stream to spatter Unger’s ruined face. “And now I get to piss off him.”

Nate laughed some more. He liked this Martin guy and decided he wouldn’t kill him after all.

No, he thought. I’ll keep him for myself

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Wyatt

“Murderer!”

The woman’s scream snapped Wyatt out of his trance. He’d been staring down at his sneakers, watching the pool of blood flow around them.

The other people in the clinic were running for the door, pushing to get out.

To get away from him.

“Don’t move,” the security guard said from behind him. Wyatt felt his wrists being cinched together. Not handcuffs, he knew what those felt like. Plastic ties. Good.

“You’ve made a hell of a mess,” the guard said as he grasped Wyatt’s arm. His grip was like a vice, strong and unbreakable. “People come here to keep from dying, not the other way around.”

Wyatt was struck by the odd comment. He’d just murdered two of the Feral Kids right here in the middle of the clinic’s lobby in front of dozens of witnesses and this guy was making jokes?

The bodies of Scarface and Casket lay contorted on the floor. Casket with a knife jammed through his face, and Scarface with his throat slashed wide open like a crimson grin.

“They were laughing at Ethan,” Wyatt mumbled.

“Shut up,” said the guard.

After Wyatt killed the Feral Kids the doctor of the clinic had leapt into action, trying to save both of the them. But a quick assessment told the story. Neither Casket, nor Scarface, would be tormenting any more homeless again.

The doctor leaned over Casket’s face, looking at the fatal wound. “God damnit,” he said. He looked up at Wyatt with an expression of confusion. “Why did you do this?”

“It was their time,” Wyatt said with a dismissive shrug. “The world is a better place now.” His tone was casual, but he meant what he said. Killing them felt right, now that it was over and done with. The impulse had rushed through him, carrying him along like a twig on the shoulders of a mighty river. There was nothing he could have done to stop himself. It had to be.

The doctor shook his head then said to the guard, “Get him out of here!” He rubbed at his glasses and smeared blood along his nose.

“Where?” the guard asked. “Outside?”

The waiting area was now clear of people, most of whom stood clustered outside the front windows in the growing dark. Wyatt could hear their chattering, terrified and excited. Some stared at him with shock and horror.

A nurse stood cowering behind the reception desk, eyes locked on the two bodies.

The doctor waved at her. “Peggy! Go grab my keys in my office, quickly.”

The nurse blinked in confusion and after casting a glance at Wyatt, hurried off down the dark hallway.

“You’ll put him in my truck for now until the police come,” the doctor said, moving over to look at the crimson smile across Scarface’s throat.

“Maybe we should lock him in a room,” the guard said. “It would make more sense.” Despite the chaos Wyatt had just caused, the guard wasn’t rattled. Like a double homicide was something he dealt with on a regular basis. Wyatt couldn’t decide if that was a character trait he liked or should be suspicious of.