The Contract: Kill Jessica White

by Remington Kane

  Greyson made a nervous laugh and headed for his office at the rear.

  Jessica looked up at her husband.

  “What do you think, is he guilty?”

  “I think we need more information. Where to next?”

  “We’ll go see Dr. Temple in the morning. He’s the medical examiner; I have a few questions to ask him.”

  “You’re looking for a pattern, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, my father taught me that killers all leave a pattern behind, or as they say in poker, a tell, something that will give them away. I need to find just what it is that will give this killer away.”

  “If Brad Greyson hits on you again he may suffer his own fatal accident.”

  Jessica laughed as she moved towards the checkout counter.

  CHAPTER 6 – Pro bono

  Tanner followed Horrigan and was surprised when the man drove all day to get to Boulder, Colorado.

  Horrigan’s clients, whoever they were, wanted Dr. Jessica White dead. There was one class of people that might wish the doctor harm, serial killers.

  Tanner wasn’t meeting Alexa in L.A. for another few days and so he decided to use the time to appease his curiosity.

  Horrigan’s clients numbered two, and although it was unusual for more than one individual to be involved in serial murder, it wasn’t without precedent.

  In the 1970’s, a serial killer dubbed The Hillside Strangler turned out to be two cousins, and there have been more than half a dozen cases of brothers who killed young women together. And those were only the ones who were eventually caught.

  Tanner thought of killing as a profession. He despised the butchers of women who were too sick and sadistic to curb their own twisted impulses. Such men should be put down, and Dr. Jessica White had ended many a madman’s reign of terror.

  If Tanner could help the woman stay alive, he would do so.

  Horrigan had told Tanner that he wasn’t doing drugs anymore, and Tanner had believed him, but it was no surprise when Horrigan pulled his Range Rover into the side parking lot of a bar. He may not be doing cocaine anymore, but Tanner hadn’t thought for a second that Horrigan had become a health nut.

  After Horrigan went inside the Speakeasy Tavern, Tanner pulled his jeep across the street from the place and watched Horrigan through the wide windows, which offered a good view of the interior.

  Horrigan walked up to two men who were standing behind the bar and handed the older one a set of keys. Tanner realized that he was looking at the true owner of the Range Rover, and very likely, he and the other man were Horrigan’s clients.

  With closing time approaching fast, the bar was clearing out. The place had a small area for dancing along with two pool tables and an old-fashioned jukebox. They served food as well as alcohol, and several couples appeared to be out on a late date, or perhaps they were just bar pickups. It does get rather lonely at two a.m.

  Tanner stepped out of the jeep, and after stretching, he snapped the soft vinyl top back on the vehicle. He wasn’t in the desert any longer, and the weatherman on the local radio station was talking about a cold snap, as well as an approaching snowstorm.

  There was also talk on the news about a serial killer on the loose in the Boulder region, and whoever was responsible for the killings was thought to have claimed eleven victims in as many months.

  Tanner was back in the jeep when the last patrons left the bar, and when the man Horrigan had given the keys to lock the door, Tanner peered over at him while slouched down in his seat.

  The man was average sized, and appeared to be in good shape, but his hair was graying.

  Once the door was locked, the lights were dimmed, and Horrigan left his beer and followed the two men down a short corridor, where he turned right and entered what was likely the office.

  Tanner left the Jeep and headed to the rear of the bar, but it only took a few seconds to determine that the office had no windows, and so he returned to the jeep.

  The street he was parked on ran only one way. Tanner drove the jeep up half a block, angled his rear view mirror towards the entrance of the tavern, and waited.

  If he ever needed to follow the two men inside, he could pick their trail up at the bar. He decided to stick with Horrigan, to learn where the man lived.

  If Horrigan’s clients wanted Jessica White dead, they wouldn’t take no for an answer, they would find another hitter and Horrigan would act as the go-between again.

  Tanner assumed that the men inside the bar with Jim Horrigan were Horrigan’s clients, and that they were ordering the hit.

  Self-preservation, Horrigan had said.

  “I got the impression that it was the sort of thing where if you didn’t kill them, sooner or later they would come after you.”

  Were the two men inside the bar serial killers looking to take out Jessica White before she could be called in to hunt them down?

  Tanner didn’t know, but if so, he would gladly kill them for free.

  Sometimes, even hit men worked pro bono.

  CHAPTER 7 – Keeping watch

  Inside the office of the bar, Randall and Carter Mason told Horrigan what they needed him to do next.

  Horrigan sat on a sofa as Randall and Carter stood and stared down at him. Jim Horrigan was clean, as far as drug use was concerned, but he had done some illegal business with the Mason brothers in the past, and they paid well.

  He was determined to earn enough so that his ex-wife could move out of the trailer park she was living in, or at least move to one that didn’t have gangbangers for neighbors.

  “So who is this other hitter?” Horrigan asked. “Tanner is the only one I ever worked for.”

  “He goes by the name Styles,” Randall said. “He’s just a young punk getting started in the business, but he’s good with a sniper rifle, thanks to the Marines.”

  “How much will my commission be?” Horrigan asked.

  “Styles is getting twenty grand.”

  “What, but that means that I’ll only be getting... um a thousand bucks. Shit, that’s not enough. Are you sure this guy is any good? Even in the old days Tanner would have gotten fifty G’s for a high profile target.”

  Randall and Carter looked at each other, and then Randall laid a heavy hand on Horrigan’s shoulder.

  “Did you look inside that file we gave you?”

  “No,” Horrigan said. “It’s just that Tanner said the target had some connection with the FBI, and so I figured that they’ve got to be somebody big.”

  Randall relaxed and removed his hand.

  “Like we said, Jim, Styles is young and he’s trying to build a rep. Twenty thousand is a lot of money to a guy like that, but I’ll tell you what, since we’re saving so much money by hiring Styles, we’ll give you ten grand for setting things up, but only after the hit goes down.”

  A broad smile lit Horrigan’s face and displayed his yellow teeth.

  “Ten grand would be great. When do you want me to meet Styles?”

  “He’ll be in the rear parking lot of that new ski resort tomorrow at noon, so why don’t you go home and get some sleep.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  Randall grinned.

  “Have you ever seen any movies with hit men in them?”

  “Yeah,” Horrigan said.

  “Well, so has Styles, and he dresses the part. Just look for a young guy who’s trying way too hard to look cool.”

  Horrigan frowned at Randall’s description of Styles.

  “He sounds like a clown.”

  “He is a clown,” Carter said. “But I’ll be damned if he can’t shoot. He gave us a demonstration last week at a gun club and never missed what he was aiming at.”

  “Good, that’s means there should be no problems,” Horrigan said.

  However, he had no idea that Tanner was out to stop them.

  ***

  When Horrigan left the bar, Tanner followed him home.

  Horrigan had switched vehicles after returning the keys to
the Range Rover, and Tanner figured that the rusted twenty-year-old Chevy must be Horrigan’s own car. It caused Tanner to recall Horrigan when he’d first met the man; back then, Horrigan drove a new Mercedes.

  Although there was the prediction of a huge snowstorm on the way, the city was quiet at such an early morning hour, because most of the ski enthusiasts had yet to arrive, and the season was young.

  Horrigan was easy to follow, and with sparse traffic to conceal himself, Tanner gave Horrigan a long lead, sometimes as much as several blocks. Horrigan’s beater had only one taillight, and Tanner had no problem distinguishing him from the other vehicles.

  When he did catch up to him, he saw that Horrigan had parked in front of an older home in the town of Salina that had seen much better days, while many of the houses nearby looked abandoned.

  Tanner remembered that the area had suffered massive flooding a short time earlier, and guessed that it was the cause of the damage many of the homes displayed.

  Tanner drove past Horrigan’s home, U-turned, and parked across the street in the driveway of an abandoned house that was sandwiched between two others.

  When the last light went off in a window on the left side of the bottom floor, Tanner knew which room was Horrigan’s bedroom.

  A look at the clock and he decided that it was too late to go find a motel.

  After setting the alarm on his phone to go off only three hours later, Tanner relaxed and closed his eyes.

  ***

  When the alarm sounded off, Tanner’s first thought was that he couldn’t have been asleep for three hours, it felt more like three minutes.

  As he looked around, he saw the faint glow in the east and realized that dawn was approaching.

  Horrigan’s old rattletrap of a car hadn’t budged, and Tanner figured the man would stay put long enough to give him time to find a place to clean up, eat, and gather supplies.

  He had no doubt that Horrigan would be on the move again, after all, the man still had to find another hitter.

  Tanner put the jeep in gear and went to find a place that sold food.

  He needed coffee, and the stronger the better.

  CHAPTER 8 – No rest for the wicked

  Jessica talked to Dr. Temple, who she learned had extensive experience as a forensic pathologist, having worked as a medical examiner for years in Cincinnati.

  The older man had a world-weary appearance, but when he smiled, it was genuine.

  A handsome man with a full head of white hair, Dr. Temple made time to talk with Jessica and her husband before he opened the doors of his practice.

  They sat together in his waiting room while his nurse moved about restocking supplies and going over patient files. His nurse was also his wife, and so they were able to talk freely.

  “I moved here to live the quiet life of a small-town doc and now I find myself practicing my old profession of pathologist,” Temple said.

  He was aware of Chief Rodger’s suspicion that Brad Greyson was a murderer, but he had found nothing in his examinations of the bodies that would point to Greyson.

  “The boy who drowned, Sean Green, there were bruises around his ankles that were mixed in with where the barbed wire cut into his flesh. Those bruises could have been caused by someone keeping a tight grip on his ankle; however, he was an active boy. He had a number of bruises and old scars from spills he took off that skateboard he carried everywhere he went.”

  “You knew the boy, doctor?” Jessica asked.

  “Like I said, this is a small town, and as one of its only two doctors, I get to meet most of the people who live here.”

  “What’s your opinion, were these four deaths accidents or murders?”

  The doctor shook his head.

  “I haven’t a clue, although I do find it strange that Brad Greyson has profited by or had a problem with each person who’s died.”

  “Have you noticed any pattern in the deaths, some common denominator?”

  The doctor thought it over while pursing his lips, and then shook his head again.

  “No, I don’t see a pattern. One man froze, another died in a crash, the boy drowned, and old Mrs. Greyson went from heatstroke. Why do you ask?”

  “Killers leave a pattern, sometimes it’s a conscious act, a signature of sorts, but often it’s unconscious. If Brad Greyson has killed these people, there’s a pattern there somewhere, I just need to discern it. Perhaps it will tie him to one of the murders.”

  Dr. Temple sighed.

  “I have to admit, if he’s behind these accidents, then he’s a clever bastard.”

  “That he is,” Jessica admitted, but she was determined to bring Brad Greyson down.

  ***

  At that very moment, Brad Greyson was sitting in his office at the rear of his store and going over his options.

  He was certain that there was no way to connect him to the four murders he’d committed, but he needed to throw suspicion off himself.

  He couldn’t have people believing that he was a killer, no matter how true it was, and if his younger sister even suspected that he had killed her boyfriend, she would never talk to him again.

  Brad let out a deep sigh.

  It was that damn woman, the new chief of police; the bitch was too smart for her own good. Now there was someone who needed to have an “accident.”

  Brad smiled, as in his mind he went over ways to kill the chief. She was living in the home of an old friend of his who had moved away after marrying a girl from out of town. Brad knew the home and the area surrounding it well, and he played with the idea of rigging the water heater to blow up some night while she was asleep.

  That would take care of the chief and give him an alibi at the same time, but no, rigging something like that could leave evidence behind, and since the chief was looking at him as a suspect, he would be a prime candidate for anyone investigating her death, like Jessica White.

  No, he needed to kill someone that had no ties to him while at the same time having an airtight alibi. Brad gave that some thought, and when he came up with a plan, he laughed out loud.

  ***

  In Boulder, Colorado, Jim Horrigan left his house around eleven a.m. and Tanner followed him to a nearby coffee shop. Tanner had eaten at the restaurant several hours earlier.

  When Horrigan took a seat at the counter atop a stool, Tanner concluded that the man was there simply for breakfast, and not to have a meeting.

  He drove back to Horrigan’s home, and after picking the cheap lock on the man’s back door, he took a quick look around.

  Horrigan owned very little and appeared to have few clothes, including one threadbare suit.

  There was the picture of a little blond girl atop the table by the bed, and Tanner figured that it was Horrigan’s daughter, although Tanner thought the child looked far too cute to be the offspring of Horrigan.

  When he finished, Tanner left a window in the bedroom unlocked in case he ever needed to sneak back inside, and then he returned to the coffee shop, where five minutes later, he watched Horrigan climb into his ancient Chevy and drive away.

  ***

  Tanner used the scope from the rifle he had taken off the dead body of the would-be meth kingpin, Willy, to keep an eye on Horrigan.

  Horrigan was leaning on the hood of the Chevy and talking to a guy that Tanner hadn’t seen before, but suspected was a new prospect for the contract on Jessica White.

  The guy, who appeared to be no older than twenty-two, had dark hair that he wore long, and a swimmer’s build, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist.

  He was wearing an ankle-length leather coat and mirrored sunglasses. There was a bulge on his right hip, where he kept his gun, and even through the scope, Tanner could see that the man wore a perpetual smirk.

  In short, the kid was a punk.

  Still, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t skilled enough to make the hit on Dr. White. Tanner decided that when the meeting ended, he would let Horrigan go on his way and start tailing the h
itter.

  He hoped the guy kept more reasonable hours than Horrigan did. Since yesterday morning, Tanner had bested Willy and his friend, driven eleven hours straight while only stopping for gas as he tailed Horrigan to Boulder, and barely had any sleep.

  All this was done only a few days after taking down a Mexican cartel and surviving having a multi-million dollar bounty on his head.

  Yeah, he could use the sleep.

  CHAPTER 9 – Out in the open

  Punk or not, the kid can shoot. Tanner thought.

  He was watching the aspiring hit man named Styles practice his shooting at a range that was north of Boulder.

  Dozens of clay pigeons rocketed into the air one after the other and Styles shot them apart with cool efficiency.

  There was a woman with Styles. He had picked her up in front of an apartment house in Boulder before making the trip north.

  Styles was young, but the woman was younger, and Tanner guessed that she was in her late-teens. The girl squealed with delight at each clay pigeon Styles blew apart, but the young man played it cool and showed as little emotion as possible.

  Tanner followed the young couple inside the shooting range and pretended to be a novice seeking information.

  When he asked one of the employees if he could watch his customers shoot, the man escorted him onto the range after handing him hearing protection and a pair of goggles. Tanner asked his escort the sort of questions that someone unfamiliar with guns would ask.

  The man soon grew bored with him and went back inside, and Tanner kept an eye on Styles while appearing not to single him out.

  Styles was a smoker, but of course, he wouldn’t smoke anything as common as a plain cigarette. He had been puffing on a slim cigar that smelled of cherry tobacco when he exited his car, and Tanner made a mental note of it.

  Styles’ car was as cool looking as its owner. It was an old Mustang that appeared to be in great condition. It was black, as was everything Styles wore.

  Tanner recalled his friend Romeo going through a similar phase when they were young hit-men traveling around the Southwest, and he figured if given time, like Romeo, Styles would mature and discard such obvious affectations and pretenses.