Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel
Page 29
Chapter Twenty Seven
Joseph Kingi junior was sitting in the corner of the room; he could see a few of the Patches were lying around the room with him, in different states of consciousness. The hit had gone straight to his head, his body was relaxed and buzzing at the same time, and the warm feeling that used to last used last had long since dissipated, leaving the tail end to wreak its havoc on its way out of his system. He never used to enjoy coming down but he had grown to like it. The feelings it evoked reminded him of his life, periods of intense highs and a long painful slide into darkness. It was always on the way down that, that he did his best work though, he had the anger, and he still had the drive. If he went too far down, he would be no good to anyone he knew that. It was the same if he was to far up, he did not give a shit about anything, and he could let things slide off his back so easily. Life was always good at the top, he loved those times, but they would not last long enough. The highs had become shorter and shorter. The only way to get back there again was to do something about it, and he could only do it on the way down… it was a vicious circle if he waited for it to happen naturally, he would stay low for too long. The drugs sped up the process immensely and he could control when it happened, keeping him out of the darkness.
He knew what he wanted to do now… but he needed to work himself up to it now, he needed to hurt someone. Martins face had been circling during the spiral downwards, Martin was a killer, and he was not… yet. He knew now he needed to change this or he would always feel fear. Fear that everyone would see him for what he was…, inferior to a killer.
He thought about this for a second, it had to be easy; Martin had done it… he thought about the girly copper in the next room, she would taste so much better if had worked a bit of his angst out before he started on her. It would last longer and she would enjoy it more…
He could not do the other copper though, that would be selfish. He needed to share that one with the other dogs. They needed their share of flesh; he had to keep the pack happy. He would have to do the other one… he knew the other one did not really deserve what he was going to do, but needs must. It made no difference in the end who it was that fate gave him, anyone would do. The copper could watch though, and then he would get a feel for what was going to happen to him… the thought excited him and he could feel it building.
Standing up unsteadily, he felt for his knife, it was there on his belt. It was not particularly big; more of a large pocketknife, but it would do the job… walking to the door he found himself getting slightly erect. He took a deep breath, pulled out the cold hard blade of his knife and entered the room.