by Brian Ewing
Andrick resorted to only partially listening to the man’s questions, after determining he was not trying to entrap him into anything. Andrick started to devise how he would elude the situation. While he was not being treated like a criminal, there had been no need to linger and let anything reveal itself. Andrick had a flashback to a man he once killed a few years back. The man was a street magician that had asthma. As Andrick revealed his true intentions towards the man and was approaching with saran wrap to suffocate the man, the magician started to hyperventilate. He was blindly reaching around in an attempt to find his inhaler.
Andrick didn’t feel that would be a dire enough circumstance, so he went with another ailment that may prove serious enough to get him out of that office room. Andrick politely cut into Norton’s current question and advised him that he had been diabetic and was feeling his blood sugar get very low at that moment. Andrick wasn’t sure how that actually worked but it sounded plausible. Officer Norton must have thought so as well. He paused his questioning and advised a female officer in the room on the opposite set of offices that he was escorting his witness to his belongings to get medication. The fact Norton referred to Andrick as his witness instead of suspect, gave him all the ease that he needed.
The two men went down the stairwell and out the exit that led behind the row of port-o-potties. Norton must have held a sensitive sense of smell. He looked repulsed the moment they set foot out of the stairwell. Andrick guided the man to the peak where Mason and he and the rest set up camp. He pointed to his tent and opened the entry. Mr. Norton advised him to reach in slow and make no knee-jerk reactions. Andrick assured him that he would not. Andrick crawled halfway in and reached behind his pillow. Mr. Norton could only see Andrick’s bottom half, so Andrick announced he was exiting slowly before doing so. He turned around and being that he was not diabetic, had no insulin. He did however have a protein bar and told Mr. Norton he just needed something to raise his blood sugar until he could get to the pharmacy for a refill.
It seemed Mr. Norton may not have dealt with many diabetics in his lifetime. If it had been Andrick and he was suspicious as to whether a man claiming to be diabetic actually was or not, would have asked to see an insulin kit. Most diabetics have a syringe with insulin, maybe a glucose monitor, something of that nature. Norton just nodded his approval and advised Andrick that they needed to head back to the office. Andrick let Norton guide him back around the line of restrooms and that is when Andrick put his quick thinking in motion.
Andrick pretended to be dizzy from a sugar rush, dropping his half-eaten protein bar. He got down on one knee and leaned over as if he were going to vomit. Norton holstered his weapon and knelt to comfort what he thought was a struggling diabetic. Andrick had not just grabbed a protein bar back at the tent, however. Also under the pillow was his fully charged stun gun, which was quickly scooped up and positioned at his waist under his shirt. It was at that moment, Andrick removed the tool from his waist, waiting for Norton to get close enough.
Hovered over and giving no sense of danger, Andrick thanked the officer for his kindness and said he was fine. Norton stood back up, extending a hand to help up Andrick. Andrick had no interest in being displayed on an episode of America’s Dumbest Criminals. If Mr. Norton had been touching him when he used the stun gun on him, the electric currents could have been passed to Andrick directly, resulting in an embarrassing snafu. With just enough distance for comfort, the act and display of weakness swept away faster than the volts were about to course through the man.
Andrick pointed his stun gun at Norton and pulled the trigger, igniting two prongs to shoot out at the man and render him unconscious. Andrick was thankful the heap of a man was not peeing himself. He had thought about leaving the man for a quick getaway but saw on his way down that some of the white catering vans that had been coming and going the entire event, were no more than thirty feet away from the side entrance to the building. Andrick heaved the dead weight of the man upwards, leaning his weight over his shoulder, and started to head around the side to the fleet of vans. It was not uncommon to have people of their lifestyle completely blackout drunk before noon. The few people he passed that saw him, simply smiled thinking Mr. Norton was just having too much fun.
Once he made his way to the row of vehicles, he jiggled the handles and found an open one on the first try. He quickly threw Norton’s lifeless body in the back and jumped in behind it. There were some empty hot boxes and plastic containers, along with a mesh basket filled with dirty kitchen rags. He positioned the unconscious man to where he was completely hidden to the naked eye. If anyone had searched too deep, they would easily see the man and cause Andrick to flee after quickly ending the life of the snoopy inspector. There had been a chef coat hanging up on a hook as well. This was probably company policy, in case one of the caterers accidentally spilled on themselves, they would have a backup. Andrick stripped off his leather vest and put on the white button shirt.
The men and women that were dropping off food in regulated intervals were interchanged numerous times. Andrick thought there was no logical way to maintain order to a dozen sets of keys when going back and forth so frequently, resulting in one logical option. Andrick reached above to pull down the visor and hopefully find the keys waiting for him. That was not the case and Andrick started to wonder if he was in a more vulnerable position than he first assumed. He looked in the side of the driver’s door to see if the keys were in the plastic moldings of the handle indention or below where miscellaneous items were stored. No results once again, Andrick started looking around for another way to get off-premise.
The idea hit him that maybe if there was a badge or identification, he could try to quickly wave it to get past the exit checkpoint that the police department had setup. Having already looked in half the crevices that the van had to offer, he systematically looked in the glove box to find no badge or keys. As he sat upright, he rested his right arm on the middle console, which to his surprise, slid back upon contact. He looked down and realized the middle console was not just a resting place for his arm but provided a hidden compartment. Looking in it, he saw the gleam of a key ring. Sticking his hand in, he pulled out a ring that could have easily held a half dozen keys or more but only had two dangling from it at that moment.
He drove off calmly as if it were his vehicle, trying not to draw any attention his way. Upon exiting, there was an officer that looked pre-occupied with listening to the voice blathering something from the speaker attached to his shoulder. Andrick rode up and waved to tell the officer that his boss requested he go back to the restaurant and pick up another three trays of baked ziti. The officer looked like he hadn’t heard a word of what Andrick had made up. He just signaled for Andrick to unlock the back of his van. Andrick advised it was open and stared down the back of the man from the side mirror, as he walked to open the handle on the back.
Andrick shifted his eyes to the rear-view mirror to see the officer, still looking mildly pre-occupied from the annoying buzzing coming out of his shoulder radio, had a flashlight in hand. He turned it on and beamed into the corners of the catering van. Andrick told himself if the man got into the back he would have to speed off and hope the officer broke his neck as the floor he was standing on became unstable. Just then, a woman on the other end of the radio yelled some command, causing the officer to roll his eyes. Andrick was not nervous, because again, he was not afraid to die. He longed for it however, he was not willing to be a martyr or simply give in. He would continue to fight for survival. His heart rate had not elevated much more than when he was in the office being interrogated.
The officer shut the back doors of the van. Andrick waited quietly, wondering if he was going to be asked to get out of the car. Andrick realized at that moment, his showdown would begin. He would have to kill the officer and more than likely do it in a brutal and messy fashion. He would not get to perform his ritualistic routine of working slow and ingesting every moment of fear from his victim. Andri
ck wanted to see the life light fall from the scared eyes of everyone that crossed his path. It was an itch in the back of his soul that could never get scratched hard enough. He could not use the stun gun as it was already relinquished of its voltage on Officer Norton.
He did have Norton’s Glock 19 comfortably placed under his left thigh so he could take his right hand and use it if he should need it. Andrick reached in between his legs and placed his index finger on the cold metal of the trigger. He breathed in and realized at that moment; he was about to start the endgame that arose twenty-five years ago. There had never been a real possibility in his mind that he would go throughout his life and not get caught. The idea was always there that he would get to leave on his own terms, in a blaze of glory. While a reality accepted long ago, it still felt like a dream that wouldn’t happen. So now, at that very moment, he was ready to start the domino effect which would lead to the end of Andrick Wesley.
“You’re good to go, pal. Get it outta here.”
Andrick took a moment to ensure he didn’t reveal any surprise on his face. Another squawking from the radio came off the man’s shoulder. He pushed the button and replied with irritation in his voice. He didn’t repeat himself, he just simply waved Andrick on as if he were directing traffic and Andrick had been in the way of morning rush hour from progressing. Andrick released his finger off the trigger, smiled his practiced, charming grin, and waved to the officer. He slowly put his foot on the gas and made a right out of the building complex.
CHAPTER 33
“What do mean, we got the wrong guy?” Bell, sounding incredibly pissed off said over the speaker from Caden’s Den.
Sisto called Ama and told her there had been no time to explain but needed her to get everybody from the team patched into one call immediately. Within minutes, everyone was on the conference call, including Winter Pierce, who was on maternity leave.
“Bell, I am telling you, Mason Wilcox was setup. He was a scumbag and basically befriended the killer unknowingly. Morris Tearney was serving up Wilcox to the DEA, on a deal that went down recently. Have Winter pull some strings to confirm. Tearney went by the nickname Mole. Wilcox found out and needed to recruit an outcast to get rid of Mole. Someone if needed could be easily discarded. Unfortunately for him, the outcast would have killed anyone, regardless of a reason or not. Bad taste in friends, I guess.” Sisto said, explaining poorly as he was occupied getting keys from one of the patrol officer’s vehicles outside the checkpoint.
“You sure know how to create a mess, Sisto,” Bell said.
“I knew you were gonna fuck this up,” Reese Culpepper said with disgust at the situation.
“Culpepper shut the fuck up,” Wallace spoke up.
The statement made Sisto feel good, as Wallace rarely cursed and was never not polite.
“Mitchell, Wallace, you guys said that you were getting a document on that old case in Alaska. The one with the boots that were the same brand found at another one of our crime scenes. Did you ever get the name?” Sisto ignored Culpepper’s doubt in him.
“Hey Sisto,” Mitchell spoke up. “Yes, there were two boys that went missing within a week after the body of Troy Boatman was found in the river. One was Dale Benton, and the other was Andrick Wesley. Both had been questioned, as well as everyone else that night. The notes say the detective in charge of the case had a bad feeling about Wesley. He was only there because of his friend, Benton. They could never prove anything, but a week after the death, Dale Benton was found in his room by apparent suicide. Andrick disappeared, never even came to the funeral.”
“Andrick was the name of the guy Mason brought into the group to kill Tearney,” Sisto said, processing as he was commandeering a Mustain PD patrol car and started driving out of the complex heading to the I-83. “Ama, Winter, you got the info from Púca’s management service? They took a record of everyone that attended the event, right? The ID’s were scanned? Was Andrick Wesley one of them?”
“No,” The direct and cold voice of Winter Pierce chimed in. “There was however an Andrick Walsh.”
“Also,” Ama added, “Detective Bell gave me the info yesterday on the couple that was found in Findlay behind the bar, Rucker’s. The rental was under the name of Andrick Robbins.”
“Any of the three names cross-reference with any current apartment, or Airbnb, or hotel rentals in the forty-mile vicinity from Mustain?” Bell asked.
“Good question.” Sisto could hear Culpepper echo.
“No,” Ama said, “but Andrick is not a common name. So, Winter suggested we run an individual first name search on any rentals under the name Andrick, being the aliases we know of only alters the last name.”
“Andrick Benton has a rental paid up until tomorrow about ten minutes from where you are, Sisto,” Winter advised.
“In honor of his friend, Dale Benton?” Sisto questioned.
“It would make sense, yes. Take Archibald past the I-83. I sent the coordinates to your patrol car’s dashboard.” Ama stated.
Sisto looked away from the road a moment to see a GPS map on his screen. He was not far from the home. He put his foot on the gas and hit the siren, blowing through red light after red light. If Andrick Wesley had left no more than then or fifteen minutes ago, he could catch up quite easily in the patrol vehicle. Considering he was probably trying to stay inconspicuous; it was doubtful Wesley was going to risk getting pulled over. By the quick math he ran in his head, he could probably meet up with the killer before the engine starts to cool off. Sisto started to think about all the different ways the situation could end.
There could be a chance that Norton was still alive. Norton could be knocked out and unconscious, or he could be way off and Andrick may have pulled into an alley miles back and is simply torturing the SWAT leader. Sisto, who normally would have tasted Italian dressing, correlating with panic in that situation, was surprised. He smelled steamed vegetables. He had inadvertently been preparing to face off with someone as diabolical as Andrick Wesley for the last six months. He was not in a panic. He felt pure adrenaline coursing through his veins.
As he drove, he was recalling the last few months he trained with Norton, Kendrell, and the rest in SWAT. There had been so many times he was drug through a situation that he felt he was not ready to address. He climbed through vents, he cleared hallways and rooms. He learned how to use automatic weapons. He got familiar with the current technological tools in the world. He was no longer worried at the thought of facing off against Andrick. Next to that hog that he made shit himself earlier in the day, Andrick should have been a piece of cake. He had been holding a faint residue of shame over killing Carson Vinnova last year. At that moment as Sisto sped down Archibald Avenue, he was no longer had any reservations about it. He would do whatever needed to be done.
“Listen, Kid,” Bell cut in. “You got four patrol units no more than five minutes behind you. You wait for them, you hear me?”
“Bell, if he has Norton and he is still alive, I will do anything I can to try and keep it that way.”
Almost simultaneously, Culpepper and Bell started to speak. Sisto was unable to determine who spoke first, but the overpowering voice was no doubt Bell’s. He had sternly advised Sisto to shut the fuck up. Sisto expected as much, as Bell didn’t want to be responsible for a loss on his team, so close to retirement. The call held an awkward silence and Reese Culpepper decided to take her nose out of Bell’s ass for another moment try and berate Sisto.
“Sisto, you aren’t even a real—”
“I told you,” Bell barked, cutting Culpepper off. “Shut the fuck up. You. Culpepper. Just shut your mouth for a second.”
The next moment was once again silent, but no doubt due to stifled cheers and giggles as everyone realized Bell had finally addressed the long-awaited task of putting Culpepper in her place.
Bell thought a moment, speaking again, “Sisto, if you have to give me a stroke, fucking make it worth it.”
“Done,” Sisto ended the ca
ll and followed the coordinates to the rental.
CHAPTER 34
Andrick heard a siren in the distance but was too comfortable with his thoroughness to have any concern the noise had been directed at him. Now two blocks away, Andrick could hear a groggy Norton starting to revive himself back to the land of the living. Andrick knew he was cutting it close, but all reservations flew out the window as he drove from the biker event. He felt a weight lifted as he threw off that leather vest, before putting on the white chef uniform top. He was becoming too careless, and his bloodlust was too great. There was no way he would continue to elude the authorities in the long run. Andrick remembered it being much easier to navigate around when he could blame his urges on an imaginary tapping on the back of his neck.
Oh, Tappy, why couldn’t you have been real? Why did it have to be me all this time that was craving all of the life light?
The reminder that Tappy was never a real thing, surprising hurt Andrick’s heart slightly. In the last two and a half decades Andrick had numerous internal monologues and debates with his friend. It seemed Andrick had actually been a loner all the years after all. Not one among the wolf pack, but a lone wolf. He was a good acquaintance to have just in case you needed to pin a murder on someone or get an extra ounce of drugs sold, but aside from that, was not to be let into any inner circle. Andrick was a loner. He was an outcast. He was indeed what the biker community referred to his kind as…a Nomad. Andrick knew in the past, the realization may have taken a day or two to get over. In his current state of affairs, it may take a kill to patch over the emotional pain this time.
To Andrick’s joy, there was no issue with the realization. He was ready to embrace everything that was coming to him. He whistled a peppy tune as he drove, turning onto the street that he would be watching Norton’s life light leave his body. Mr. Norton served a larger purpose than a general gratification. Mr. Norton would be the first kill the new Andrick took. It would be the first time Andrick accepted himself for who he was, who he truly was in life. He was the shadow in the corner. He was the messenger of death. He was good at his job, and by God, he was ready to take out as many people as he could before he was cut down by a chainsaw of automatic weapons in a standoff.
