by Jeff Vrolyks
Chapter Twenty Five
Trent left his apartment at just before seven P.M. He texted Mae as he walked to his Audi, just to make sure all was as it should be. He said he was going to catch a movie with his friend Jason, then call it a night, go to bed early. She responded have fun, get lots of rest, then come see me in the morning. He said he would, he promised. He had expected her to cajole him into seeing her tonight, or insist that she spend the night at his pad. Normally that wouldn’t be the case, but he suspected she was on to him. She knew he wasn’t going to let Eddie get away with this shit. The fucker was meddling in their affairs and tinkering with their relationship, even got Trent taken into custody, and that was a death sentence. Mae wouldn’t consider it that, but maybe a license to bruise him up a little. But no, it was a death sentence. However, if he killed Eddie, too many people would be pointing fingers at Trent as the person with the greatest motive. Unless he killed Timothy, as well. And Mae, let’s not discount her. If she suspected her boyfriend murdered someone, she might not tell someone, but she may (like her name suggests). He couldn’t kill Mae. Well he could but he didn’t want to. He loved her, and couldn’t think of a scenario where he’d take her life. So how would he deal with Eddie? There was only one way: stage his death to look like the SacTown Slayer killed him. That worked like gangbusters with Mae’s parents. But Mae might start connecting some dots should that happen. Too big a coincidence. It would appear that the SacTown Slayer had a vested interest in Mae’s affairs. It would be best to wait a little while for this to blow over, then Eddie could just go missing never to be found again. He’d be at the bottom of the Sacramento river with concrete shoes shoved up his asshole. Worst case scenario he’d kill Eddie tonight—only if he had no other choice—and hide his body somewhere where it would never be found. Who would care? The guy was a vagrant, moved here from butt-fuck Egypt. Nobody would care. Maybe Timothy would. If he did kill Eddie, he’d need to forge a note saying that he moved back to butt-fuck Egypt. He was a stuttering retard, he’d buy it.
He’d have to remain cool, not do anything rash. Beat the living shit out of Eddie, extract answers from him one painful finger-break at a time, warn him to stay the fuck out of his and Mae’s lives. Maybe he wouldn’t need to kill him. If Eddie had any brains at all, he’d do as Trent says and stay the fuck out of their lives.
He entered the address the internet had provided him into his car’s navigation and began the journey to Sacramento. He’d be there by seven-thirty P.M.
