The Kid: A Suspense Thriller (Reed & Billie Book 3)

by Stevens,Dustin

  It was there that he had first met Big, a happenstance encounter that over time became so much more.

  The memory of the event still brought a smile to his face, a day that was more than four years prior.

  Watching the streets was something The Kid had done from an early age, the solitary piece of advice he’d ever received from his father that was worth hanging on to. He’d always told him he never knew when he would need a quick cash infusion, none being better or more reliable than those on four wheels that rolled by every day.

  Bored one evening, in dire need of rent money, even more in need of something to do, The Kid had decided to test the notion. He’d spotted a low-slung Cadillac with custom rims and tinted windows two weeks before, noticing it parked outside the same house every evening without fail.

  At first it was just wanton curiosity, but as the days passed a pattern emerged. Every afternoon at 5:00 the man that lived at the house would leave for work. Less than an hour later, the Cadillac would arrive and stay until midnight.

  Shortly thereafter, the man of the house would return.

  Twenty-one years old, a struggling part-time college student, part-time whatever else he could get into, The Kid saw an opportunity.

  What he didn’t see was Big casing the same car.

  Looking back on it, The Kid was fortunate things went the way they did. Anybody else would have put a bullet in him without thinking twice, finding his lack of skill, his audacity for encroaching on their turf, a direct affront.

  At the very least, he would have caught a beating.

  For whatever reason, though, Big had taken a liking to him. Had sat and watched the entire clumsy affair from across the street, was laughing as he pulled up alongside The Kid running down the middle of the street and told him to get in, the intertwined sounds of a handgun barking and the Cadillac’s alarm wailing in their wake.

  From that moment on, he had been brought into the crew. He’d had to start as an underling, just as everyone did, but under Big’s arm he was protected. He was taught the requisite lessons he needed to know, was given the chance to put his own talents on display.

  Idly turning a page in his book from right to left, The Kid flicked his gaze up to the duo standing on the corner outside the coffee shop. He watched as they stood and drank from cups just like the one beside him, both laughing, oblivious to the cool afternoon air.

  Only one of them was his target, the last of his list. After that he would finally be free to move on, knowing he had put Big to rest for good, could move on himself with a clear conscience.

  To where that might be he wasn’t yet sure, having not allowed himself to fully revel in the notion until everything was completed. Once it was, he would grab what little he had and slip off into the night, not stopping until he found some place or someone he loved and not a moment before.

  Leaning back from the counter, The Kid raised his drink to his lips and took a long pull. He ignored the bitter taste of the coffee and used his heightened position to watch as his target climbed into the passenger side of the car, still laughing, a smile affixed to his features.

  A moment later the car disappeared from sight, The Kid returning himself into position, his forearms resting against the front edge of the counter.

  Today, this day, had been a long time coming. Everything he’d prepared, all the work he’d done, the vow he’d made, was almost concluded.

  He had just one more stop to make.

  Chapter Fifty

  The blue and white cruiser was sitting on the curb as Reed pulled up. It was parked straddling the driveway, blocking any cars from coming or going, either bumper sticking out by more than a foot on both ends.

  Reed’s first thought upon approaching and surveying the house was that it wouldn’t matter anyway, getting the same vibe he had when rolling to a stop outside of Dan Gilmore’s place.

  The house was two stories tall, the outside covered in grey vinyl siding, shutters painted black. An awning bisected the two stories, protruding from the front of the house, vertical beams supporting it, shading a concrete porch. Large green spots of mold dotted the shingles on the roof, gutters overflowing with leaves.

  Alongside the house was an oversized garage, twin doors both standing closed. Each was made of wood and peeling badly, a row of windows painted over across the top of them.

  Much like the house, leaves were piled up in the gutters and along the front of the doors.

  No cars sat in the driveway. No lights were on in any of the windows.

  Greene and Gilchrist both climbed out upon seeing them, each already dressed for the night ahead, wearing their long sleeved uniforms, solid black from head to foot. Greene stood along the driver’s side door as Gilchrist circled around to join him, both putting the car between themselves and the house.

  Leaving just a couple of feet between their rear bumper and his front fender, Reed killed the engine and left the keys in the ignition, a burst of brisk air hitting him as he exited the car. He paused a moment once hitting the street, waiting for Billie to spill out behind him, Glenn climbing out on the opposite side.

  “Thanks for coming,” Reed said, closing the door behind Billie. Twice he tapped at the base of his weapon as he walked toward the officers, casting a long gaze at the house before turning back to the men before him.

  “What have we got?” Greene asked, not acknowledging the thanks.

  “Officers,” Reed said, extending a hand to his side, “Investigator Cassidy Glenn, BCI.”

  He moved his hand in the opposite direction and said, “Officers Derek Greene and Adam Gilchrist, CPD.”

  The two sides nodded at each other, neither offering a verbal greeting.

  “Investigator Glenn was given the lead on the Warden Weston case. Since the two overlapped, we’ve been working together on this.”

  Gilchrist nodded at the explanation, Greene remaining silent.

  “This here,” Reed said, motioning toward the house with his chin, “is the residence on file for Raul Vazquez, a known car thief and someone that used to run with Marco Sanz.”

  “And Sanz is?” Greene asked.

  “The reason law enforcement personnel are being targeted all over town,” Glenn said.

  Gilchrist’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch, his eyes widening in equal proportion. “As in, plural?”

  “Including our guys, four in the last couple days,” Reed said.

  “And Vazquez did them all?” Greene asked.

  “Doubtful,” Reed said, “though not impossible. We think the killer is a guy who spoke at Sanz’s trial named Anthony Wittek. Before Sanz death, they both ran on a crew that was headed by Vazquez.”

  “So we don’t know where Wittek is right now?” Greene asked, connecting the dots in Reed’s statement.

  “No,” Reed replied. “We’ve got Deek digging, but in the meantime, we figured we’d stop in here and poke around. Might be able to get a bead on Wittek, might find something else we hadn’t considered yet.”

  At that both officers turned to look at the house, neither commenting on the plan. They remained that way a moment before Gilchrist said, “We’ve been here about 10 minutes. Haven’t seen any signs of life.”

  Matching their gaze, Reed nodded slightly. He wasn’t surprised, still not expecting to find anybody home, knowing they had to go through the process just the same.

  Driving over, he’d had no idea what to expect. In the back of his mind he’d pictured an abandoned warehouse somewhere, roll-top doors on either end, a crew of men with welding torches going to town on a half dozen cars at a time.

  In reality, the place looked closer to someplace a group of college kids would live. At one point it had probably been a home for a medium-to-large family, the front lawn well kept, the siding clean and neat.

  Those days had long since passed though, the new tenants clearly caring little for aesthetics.

  Aside from the garage, though, there was nothing to indicate that anything nefariou
s ever took place on the property.

  “Okay,” Reed said. “Investigator Glenn, Billie, and I will approach the front door. You guys remain here on the drive and keep a watch. If we have any reason to breech, you guys take the side door, we’ll go in through the porch.”

  “Roger that,” Greene said, Gilchrist nodding in agreement. Together they moved past Reed and circled around the back of his car, coming up through the yard and assuming a post at the end of the driveway.

  Reed waited for them to get into position before glancing to Glenn and asking, “You ready?”

  “I am,” she said, “but I don’t think it’ll matter.”

  “I don’t either,” Reed said, “but that’s what we thought at Gilmore’s too.”

  The mention of his name caused a visible quiver as Glenn set her jaw, nodding for Reed to proceed.

  Slapping at the thigh of his jeans, Reed started for the front door, Billie trotting out in front of them. They bypassed the concrete drive and went in a straight line across the front lawn, leaves crackling underfoot as they proceeded.

  “I’ve got nothing in any of the windows,” Glenn said, her gaze darting over the front of the house, watching for any signs of movement.

  Reed heard her voice beside him, the words failing to register. Instead he kept his focus on Billie, watching as her body grew rigid. She extended her nose out straight ahead of her, letting him know she had picked up a scent, slowing her pace to one paw at a time.

  Seeing her, Reed extended a hand, touching Glenn on the arm and motioning for her to stop. Reaching to his hip, he drew his weapon, rotating at the waist, making sure the officers had seen him, both doing the same.

  “What’s going on?” Glenn asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Reed said, “but watch your step. She’ll let us know as soon as she does.”

  Sliding her Glock free from the holster on her hip, Glenn raised herself up onto her toes, turning her body sideways, crossing one foot over the other as the trio nudged toward the front door. A low growl emanated from deep within Billie as they moved forward, her entire body pulled taut, everything from the end of her tail to the tip of her nose extended in a straight line.

  “It’s getting stronger,” Reed said, keeping his focus on her as she took the front steps one at a time.

  Falling back into a single-file line, he followed after Billie in order, Glenn making up the rear.

  It wasn’t until he was halfway across the front patio that he too finally picked up what Billie had noticed, the smell assaulting his nostrils, turning his stomach.

  “Guys!” he called, pressing his chin into his shoulder without turning to look at them. “Get ready to breach. We’ve got a body in here.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Greene and Gilchrist flitted past the periphery of Reed’s vision, both with weapons drawn, running straight up the driveway before disappearing around the side of the house. Both dressed entirely in black, they were little more than blurs as they scooted by, Greene in the lead, Gilchrist a step behind him.

  “I’ll bust the door, we’ll handle it just like last time?” Reed asked, glancing over to Glenn.

  Standing a few feet back from him, her body angled so she could see the front door and the driveway, she nodded. Already her mouth was drawn into little more than a dash across the bottom half of her face, her skin a bit pale.

  Whether that was from the smell or any impending trepidation about what they might find, Reed wasn’t sure.

  “Billie, you ready?”

  At the sound of her name, Billie looked up at him, her entire body still poised. She fixed her gaze on him for only a moment before moving back for the door, responding to his inquiry, one that was more rhetoric than anything.

  Reed had seen her in action enough times to know the only thing that could possibly pull her back once she was on the trail of something was his command, and even then there was the occasional bit of reluctance.

  “Greene?” Reed yelled, cocking his head a few inches to the side, raising his voice again to be heard.

  “On your mark,” Greene yelled, his voice taut, but not quite strained.

  Assuming the same stance Glenn had that morning, Reed shifted his weight to his right foot, rocking back on it twice to gain a bit of momentum. On the third he pushed forward off the ball of his foot, using his left as a fulcrum and propelling himself at the door. As he went, he swung his right leg up in a fast half-arc, aiming for the narrow strip of wood between the knob and the door casing.

  He didn’t make direct contact with the spot he was hoping for, his momentum carrying him forward faster than expected, his foot not quite rising to parallel. Instead of connecting between the handle and the casing, he hit just a few inches below it.

  Not that it mattered.

  The door was a much cheaper design than the one at Gilmore’s, the frame made from 1”x2”s, the thin pine tearing away in one long sheet. Instead of shards and sawdust there was only the screech of nails being pulled out, the clatter of a board 8’ in length smacking against the floor.

  A moment later the rubber bottom of Reed’s shoe slapped against the linoleum of a small front foyer, heavy shag carpet coming up to within a few feet of the door. There he stood, one foot inside and the other still on the porch, his gun extended.

  What had been merely an odor outside the door became an overwhelming stench, the smell engulfing him, causing his eyes to water, his breath to catch in the back of his throat. He drew in two deep gasps, fighting to clear his airway, before finally managing, “Clear!”

  Billie’s ribcage and tail brushed against his leg as she shot past him, disappearing into the house. A moment later he heard a second door being breached from somewhere in the back, the same sounds of a deadbolt tearing free, of wood splintering, finding his ears.

  “Brace yourself,” Reed whispered, as much for himself as for Glenn, and stepped inside.

  Compared to the bright grey sky of the afternoon, the interior of the house was dim, a fact aided considerably by the chosen décor. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, the carpet a deep russet brown. In the front room, a couch and chair both sat empty, a matching set covered in black cloth, a coffee table between them. Piled high on it was an assortment of pizza boxes and beer bottles, ash trays and magazines.

  In the corner sat an old box television, a fixture hanging down from the ceiling as the only light.

  Along the back of the room a staircase ran up to the second floor, the same dark carpet and paneling making it almost impossible to differentiate from the rest of the space.

  All in all, a scene from somewhere in the late ‘70s.

  “Damn,” Glenn muttered, the linoleum floor announcing her entry, her shoes clicking against the hard surface.

  In front of her Reed nodded slightly, saying nothing, knowing exactly what she was referring to. If not for the sheer volume of adrenaline passing through him, of his concern for his partner still in the house, the smell would have been all he could concentrate on. With each step it grew stronger, threatening to be absorbed into his being, never to be relinquished.

  On the opposite end of the living room Greene appeared, the shadow of Gilchrist behind him. “Kitchen’s clear.”

  “Same for living room,” Reed said. He glanced upstairs, listening to the sound of Billie bounding across the floor, before hearing her announce that the source of the smell had been found.

  Loud and without restraint, it echoed down the stairs, one thunderous bellow after another.

  “She’s found Vazquez,” Reed said, moving straight for the stairs and taking them two at a time, his heart rate increasing. Behind him he heard heavy footsteps following him, though whether they were from Greene or Glenn he couldn’t be certain.

  Hearing Billie’s deep braying, free of any growling or malice, told him she was safe, but he still couldn’t help but feel the same fear he’d had at Gilmore’s rise within him. At the top of the stairs he forced himself to pause, to raise his weapo
n and check in both directions, making sure there wasn’t something unforeseen waiting for him before moving toward the sound of her voice.

  And the overwhelmingly potent smell.

  The second floor of the house spread wide to both sides from the top of the stairs, a small bathroom directly in front it, bedrooms to either end. Ignoring the one on the left, Reed proceeded to the right, seeing Billie pacing in and out of the doorway, her attention aimed into the room.

  Moving slow, flexing his knees into a crouch, Reed pressed a shoulder against the wall and approached the door, tilting his head to the side to see into the bedroom.

  Upon doing so, the front of his gun dipped just a little, his throat constricting tight, stopping just short of an outright gag.

  “Damn,” he whispered, glancing back over his shoulder to see Greene in the hallway, Glenn peeking out around him, still a few steps down from the top.

  “Down,” Reed said, Billie falling quiet, the entire house silent as Reed stepped into the room. His eyes watered and his stomach curdled as he walked up beside her still standing rigid, lowering his left hand and touching the fur behind her ears. “Good girl.”

  On the bed were two people – or, more aptly - what remained of them. A male and a female, both lay without any visible clothing, only a sheet strewn over their torsos to cover their bodies.

  More than a dozen bullet holes were interspersed between them, tearing small holes into the sheet, large smears of dried blood spread out from them in misshapen circles. Judging by the smell and the appearance of the blood, the two had both been there for some time, several handfuls of flies visible.

  Beneath the sheet they appeared to be distorted, Reed guessing from the buildup of gases, their bodies already desiccating and beginning the decomposition process.

  “Who’s the girl?” Greene asked, stepping into the doorway.

  Reed glanced over his shoulder to see him leaning against one side of it, Glenn filling the other. She looked just as she had that morning, as if she might vomit, one hand resting against the jamb for support.