by Samson Weld
“He killed my wife,” Desmond hissed, feeling the tears welling up. “He… He… said it was Hydrocodone, but it was fentanyl. She died in my arms before the ambulance arrived.” He looked the other guy in the eyes, seeing shock and empathy. “He knew what he was doing. He murdered my wife.”
Chapter 4
This was not the response Ash expected.
The would-be killer was a victim striking back at a drug pusher that killed his wife? Just like Ash had not so long ago?
For just a second, anger flared and he wanted to march in there and kill the drug dealer. He clamped down on those dark urges. It wasn’t his fight. He’d promised Deanna that he’d left that violent life behind.
“You know, this isn’t really the answer,” he said. Yes, he felt a little hypocritical. “Taking the law into your own hands just complicates everything. Believe me, I know.”
He’d avoided arrest and prison by the skin of his teeth, but he had illuminated his family’s killers. Got every last one of them. The satisfaction proved fleeting, though. Now he lived with more than a little worry about every cop he spotted. After all, there wasn’t a statute of limitations on his crimes.
“Tell the police what you told me. Let them deal with him.”
The stranger looked defeated. “I did. They didn’t do anything. No evidence to tie him to the crime.”
“What about the bottle of pills?”
“What about it? According to the police, they were handmade capsules,” he said. “Walt probably made them himself. Hydrocodone cut with fentanyl. Mostly fentanyl. The cops said some of them were a hundred percent fentanyl.”
He had to make a snap decision. “I’m Ash. I sympathize, because I went through something similar with my family and drug pushers.”
The other man looked him in the eyes for a long moment. “I’m Desmond Foster.”
Ash didn’t really know much about drugs. He knew Hydrocodone was a powerful pain reliever, but addictive. He didn’t know anything about fentanyl aside from news shows which constantly talked about it being used to cut things like heroin, and that it was the cause of America’s worst drug epidemic.
“Trust me, Desmond, killing this man will change you, and not for the better,” Ash said.
“What happens to me doesn’t matter,” Desmond replied, tears beginning to flow. “My life ended when Romy died. I can’t let him get away with killing her.”
Ash’s heart hammered. All of his recent feelings of helplessness and rage came welling up. Who was he to judge Desmond? He did far worse to avenge his slain family.
“Are you certain it’s his fault?”
Ash’s family had been gunned down before his eyes. He’d witnessed it, so knew for a fact who the killers were from day one. No doubt about it. But maybe Desmond was mistaken about Walt’s duplicity? If you’re going to mete justice by killing a man, then you had to be one hundred percent certain of his guilt.
“Yes, I’m sure! Walt’s a pharmacy tech with a bad drug habit,” he replied. “He told Romy that he could create a prescription in the system for her, under an alias, and steal the Hydrocodone like that. Only the police said he ground up the pills, and cut them with fentanyl, probably so he could sell them to more people. As a pharmacy tech he has to know what he’s doing is going to kill a lot of people.”
That left Ash breathless. How cold-blooded was Walt? Desmond was right. Walt was probably responsible for more deaths than just Desmond’s wife. Yet…
I can’t get involved. I promised.
“Put the Taser away,” Ash said.
Desmond shook his head. “Please, he has to pay for what he did to my wife.”
“This is not the way,” Ash said. “Put the Taser up and then we’ll go talk about this. I think we can find a better way to deal with this Walt guy.”
Desmond hesitated, eyes darting left and right as his hand tightened around the Taser. Ash tensed, ready to jump into action if Desmond fought back. But the would-be killer suddenly relaxed, looking dejected and defeated. Such sadness filled Ash. He knew that feeling all too well.
“I’m sorry, Romy. I tried,” he whispered, tears flowing again. Then he handed the Taser to Ash, handle first. “Are you going to call the police now?”
Ash holstered his Glock, after shoving the Taser into his pocket. Disarming him was such a relief.
“No. Get your bag, and let’s get out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere, motherfuckers,” a new voice said, dripping with rage.
Ash and Desmond turned to the door to find Walt standing there, revolver in hand, and pointing it at them.
His finger was already pressing down on the trigger.
Chapter 5
“Hey now,” Ash cried, lifting both hands up in a warding gesture. “Take it easy.”
Walt Foreman stood there in just his tighty-whities, lily white body covered in bleak tattoos. The revolver he held looked like a .44 Mag, huge and nickel-plated. That would leave really big holes in a man.
“No, you take it easy,” Walt growled, waving the .44 Mag back and forth. Mostly, he held it on Desmond. The fact that he looked completely freaked out worried Ash even more. “I heard you talking about killing me. Ain’t gonna happen. It’s you boys who are gonna die.”
“You killed my wife!” Desmond cried, looking on the verge of attacking.
Ash’s brain ran at a mile a minute, desperate to find a way out of the predicament without anyone getting hurt. Neither Desmond nor Walt seemed disposed to that idea at the moment.
Desmond crouched over, poised to launch himself at the other guy. Walt stood there wild-eyed, shaking like a leaf, and finger way too tight on the trigger for comfort’s sake. Ash shifted, wanting to hide his hand creeping toward his shoulder holster.
The frightened pharmacy tech swung the .44 Mag toward him, which encouraged Desmond to take a step closer to him
“Stay back! I’ll shoot you,” Walt cried. “I swear I will.”
If Walt really wanted to shoot them, then he would’ve already opened fire. Ash saw opportunity there to defuse the situation. If only Desmond would back off.
“Listen. No one has to get hurt here,” Ash said. “It’s all a big misunderstanding. We’ll leave and you can go back to bed.”
“Screw that bullshit,” Walt said. “How’d you unlock my door?”
“I paid my way through college as a locksmith,” Desmond said. “There’s not a lock I can’t open.” He glared at Walt. “So you can’t hide from me. You will pay for your crime.”
“I’m sorry about Romy, man, but she took her chances,” Walt said. “It’s a buyers-beware world.”
Ash cocked his head. Really? That was Walt’s feelings on causing an innocent woman’s death? No big deal? Buyers beware, and it’s your fault if something bad happens to you? Yeah, that cavalier attitude pissed him off.
“You’re in a bad situation, Walt,” Ash said as calmly as possible. “If you kill us out here, then you will be put on trial for murder. You’ll go to prison for life. Hell, this is Texas. You’ll probably get a death sentence. They fast track the men on death row in this state.”
“It’s self-defense.”
“No, we’re outside. It’s murder.”
Confusion spread across his face. Truth was, in Texas Walt might get away with killing them. He’d be arrested and prosecuted, but a Texas jury might agree it was self-defense. It all depended on how good of a lawyer he could afford.
“The way I see it…” Ash started to say, making Walt swing the revolver around to him.
Desmond saw his chance. It all happened too fast. Ash cried out as Walt swung his weapon back around. He pulled the trigger and Desmond’s left leg jerked back as he wailed in agony.
“Ah!”
The sound of the .44 Mag echoed through the still night. It sounded like a cannon in that partially enclosed breezeway.
Ash moved even before Walt pulled the trigger. Only four feet separated them, so he plowed into the smal
ler man before he could get a second shot off.
The force of the impact propelled Walt back inside his apartment. Ash went down with him, while bringing his right knee up between Walt’s legs. The dirty pharmacy tech grunted and the revolver went off again. Ash pounded an elbow into his face.
Walt went limb.
Pulling the .44 Mag out of his hand, Ash quickly popped out the cylinder and tossed it across the room. Then he threw the rest of the revolver into the kitchen. Desmond came inside, dragging his left leg. The distraught widower glared murderously at the unconscious man.
“No,” Ash said when Desmond pulled a skinning knife out of his shopping bag. “Put that back in the bag. No one’s going to murder a helpless man, I don’t care what he did.”
He refused to listen to any arguments. Ash wasn’t going to be party to that murder, and he was determined that Desmond wouldn’t be either. It was time to get out of there.
“I’m sure the police are on their way,” Ash said. “We have to get out of here now.”
“He’ll just tell the police it was me,” Desmond said.
“Maybe, but that’ll require him to admit to dealing in drugs,” Ash said, though his argument sounded weak even to him. “He’ll be charged with murder if he turns you in.”
Desmond didn’t want to hear any of it, but his wounded leg gave out and he went down. Ash quickly disarmed him, and then examined his wound.
“You’re lucky it’s just a flesh wound,” he said.
“Lucky? I don’t feel lucky,” he replied.
Sirens started up in the middle distance. They sounded much too close for comfort. It didn’t look like Desmond could walk, much less trek through the creek bottom back to their complex. Besides, the cops would easily track them with all the blood he was losing. Ash hurried into Walt’s bedroom and found his car keys and clicker on the dresser. It was for a Kia.
Next, he grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped Desmond’s wound, at least to slow the bleeding. It was an ugly wound, looking like a four inch rip in his thigh. That .44 Mag had literally blown a small chunk out of his leg.
“Come on,” Ash said, helping Desmond to stand. He helped him out the door, turning toward the parking lot. “We’ll take Walt’s car.”
“How do you know which car is his?”
Ash stopped them at the edge of the parking lot. He held up the fob with Walt’s keys hanging off it. He pressed the button and a nearby sedan’s lights flashed with a beep.
“Five bucks says it’s that one,” he whispered.
After helping Desmond into the passenger seat, Ash jumped behind the wheel and took off. They made it half a block before speeding police cars passed on the way to the crime scene. Ash was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Ash said. “But I can see the treeline up ahead.”
“What’s that mean? Are you some kind of hunter or something?”
The last five years of Ash’s life flashed before his eyes. Hunting. Stalking. Studying evil men from not so far away…
“Something like that,” he said under his breath.
The two complexes were quite close as the crow flies, but it proved to be a three-mile drive by road. The hard part was getting Desmond up the stairs. At first, Ash wanted to take him to his own apartment, just in case Walt talked and gave Desmond’s name as his attacker. There was no way he’d make it up to the third floor, so into Desmond’s apartment they went.
“I’ll be right back with a first aid kit.”
Ash hurried back down to his pickup, grabbing the first aid kit under the driver’s seat. It was the kit he’d put together while hunting his family’s murderers, perfect for tending to gunshot wounds.
He quickly cleaned Desmond’s wound, closed it with liquid stitches, and properly bandaged it. All without any pain killers for poor Desmond.
“I’m impressed,” Ash said. “You took the pain like a pro.”
The pawn shop owner just looked sad and broken. “It’s nothing compared to the other pain I’ve been feeling every day since Romy.”
Chapter 6
This is like an episode of Cops, Ash thought. Walt’s dumber than dirty. He has to be on something to be such a jerk to the cops.
Ash had found a concealed spot directly across the creek from Walt’s apartment. He’d brought night-vision goggles and a high tech listening device with headphones. He found a certain comfort and satisfaction using them again. Like old times.
Four patrol officers were taking turns questioning Walt, usually two at a time. Crime scene investigators were already onsite, scouring the breezeway and apartment. Bright yellow evidence markers were scattered about.
Walt was pacing out behind the building, cursing and threatening to sue the cops for harassment. He wanted them out of his place. Just as Ash expected, Walt was too heavy into the drug dealing culture to rat anyone out, even someone who attacked him. The cops looked frustrated.
“I’m an American citizen. I have the un-inalienable right to bear arms,” Walt shouted. “So I don’t need no stupid ass license.”
One of the cops was holding up Walt’s still disassembled .44 Mag in a clear plastic bag. Second Amendment or not, the police never liked to find a gun on a crime scene.
Ash chuckled. “Un-inalienable? Geez. You had a right to an education, too. Shame you wasted it.”
Walt was easy to see with the passive light goggles. He’d managed to get into a pair of jeans, but remained shirtless just like a drunken, wife-beating “bad boy” on Cops. Ash could even make out his tattoos and bed-head.
“Are you sure you don’t know the men who attacked you?” one of the cops asked.
“I already told you dumbasses. If I knew who it was, I’d already be over there popping a cap in his ass. Go away and leave me alone. I’m the victim here,” Walt shouted. “Why are you treating me like a criminal?”
“We’re just trying to figure out what happened, Mr. Foreman. Once again, what did the two men look like?”
Before Walt could answer, and spew more insults, one of the crime scene investigators came out of the apartment with multiple evidence bags. He held them up.
“Illegal drugs. Coke. Heroin. And I think fentanyl.”
All hell broke loose as Walt bolted.
“Hey, stop!”
Within seconds, the cops chased him down, wrestled him to the ground, and cuffed him. For his part, Walt never ceased his verbal abuse and threats.
What an idiot, Ash thought. Everything you say and do will be used against you in a court of law. Yeah, you’re going down, bucko.
They took Walt away. Ash packed it up, too. That was all he needed to see. Desmond would get his justice. Because of him, the police had found all of Walt’s illegal drugs. He would most likely go to prison.
Returning to his apartment, Ash stowed his gear and booted up his laptop. He double-checked the DART rail lines, seeing where they went. A Blue Line station was walking distance away at Skillman and LBJ. It went all the way out to Rowlett, too. Perfect.
Ash jumped into Walt’s car with a can of lighter fluid. The drive from his Forrest Lane apartment to eastbound LBJ proved stressful. Lots of police cars, and he was driving a stolen car. He hadn’t heard anything to indicate Walt knew that his car had been stolen, but that didn’t mean the police hadn’t figured it out.
Once on I-635, called LBJ in Dallas, he headed for Rowlett. The only route he knew was through Mesquite or Garland. So Ash followed LBJ around to Mesquite, before turning onto eastbound I-30. Rowlett was a small suburban city on the west side of Lake Ray Hubbard. It was also on the way to the old farm he’d rented for years. His lease wasn’t up for another eight months, but he rarely made it out to the place anymore.
That part of his life was over. He’d moved on.
Funny how in the middle of the night, while driving a stolen car, every other car seemed to be a police car. Ash tried to see the humor in it, but it wasn’t easy.
I wasn�
�t this paranoid while going after Osorio.
Of course, now he had something to live for. Or rather, someone to live for: Deanna.
It wasn’t easy keeping his speed down around the posted speed limit. Everyone else drove at least five miles an hour faster, and most ten to fifteen faster. Ash wasn’t sure if it was better to blend in with traffic, even illegally fast, or keep it under the speed limit and maybe stand out. He erred on the side of caution.
His route took Ash right up to the lake, where he turned off onto the President George Bush Turnpike. The “toll booth” took a picture of his license plate and would send the toll fee bill to Walt. If he beat the charges against him, he’d have to pay or they’d go after him for that bill. And they were tough on anyone driving on toll roads for free.
Leaving the toll road for downtown Rowlett, he quickly found the park-and-ride DART station. A few minutes later, he turned into an empty lot nearby. Ash soaked the inside of the car with lighter fluid.
“Sorry, Walt, but your car has to burn,” he whispered, as he emptied the rest of the can all over the outside of the car. “Shame, it’s a nice car. It drove really nice.”
The car had to burn because it had fingerprints and other spore from him and Desmond. Mostly Desmond’s blood. Of course, Desmond had bled all over the crime scene, too, but still, Ash didn’t want to leave any more of his DNA around.
Setting the car on fire, Ash moved fast and stealthily back to the Dallas Area Rapid Transit station a couple blocks away. He glanced back before going inside, smiling at the glow of the burning car. Even better, the last train of the night was waiting and about to leave. He paid cash at an automated kiosk and jumped on just in time.
Walt’s car exploded moments after the train pulled out. Ash glanced over and spotted it. He smiled. It felt good to accomplish something after a few months living a life of the leisure and wealth.
I didn’t realize how much I missed the excitement, he thought. Or was it having a purpose?
