I walk over to the drink while keeping my gun on him. “Yes, I was, in Iraq,” I say, picking up the glass.
“Did you ever serve in actual combat?”
“If you count killing corrupt soldiers, yes,” I say, gulping the drink down.
Damn, here I am talking with the devil over drinks.
“Rough bit a business, there. Iraq was one giant cock up, make no mistake.” He pours me another.
I take a sip of the Vodka, wincing as it rolls down my throat. “What about Jason’s wife and two kids did they meet your code?” My voice rising with anger.
“Yes. She was rich and a vile witch who destroys people’s lives with her money. Hence the lovely bible verse I left you and your fellow coppers. Her seafood restaurants are just something for the books to hide her real money-making career.”
“And what is that?”
“International arms dealing.”
“If that were true, why kill her children, why not just her?” I snap.
His jaw tightens. “Rich people kill children every day in third world countries.” He gulps down his drink. “It’s like a casual day at the office for them. It never ceases to amaze me how westerners cry and wail in the streets over dead western children, but let it be children in a third world country, and they just ignore it, go about their daily lives. But, to answer your question, I didn’t kill those little girls, and as long as you been on this case, I’m amazed you are stupid enough to think I would kill children.”
“So you expect me to believe you just killed the wife, and someone else came along and killed those kids.”
“The evidence is right in front of you. When have I ever used a gun on my victims? When have I ever killed the children of my victims? Food for the thought, yes?”
It sounds like his little helper went off the reservation.
“So who was the other killer? Some groupie you recruited that went too far?”
“Detective, do you know what it is like being in a war and committing wholesale murder, and then they send you home, and you’re expected to just re-adapt to society. Switch off the monster they made you into.”
“Bullshit! You can’t find success in life, so you get pissed off and bitter. So you make up outlandish stories in your head, tell yourself you’re some kind of hitman for God. Give yourself another war to fight.”
He gazes at me with a smirk. “Look at those parasites on Wall Street, they have driven the world’s economy into the muck. They are creating a world of brain dead idiots, too stupid to see their leaders are selling out their rights to the highest bidder. Well, no more will the people be slaves to the rich. It’s time I bring back the fear of God that the rich so willingly cast aside. By the time I’m done, the world will know I’m a savior.”
“You’re not a savior. You’re some war junkie who misses the thrill of the kill. Now stop deflecting and tell me who was the second person with you?”
He laughs mockingly. “Detective, you poor, poor, girl. You’ve been brainwashed by the system. If you would but open your eyes, you would see what I’m trying to do.”
I point my gun at his head when he inches toward me.
“Oh, I know exactly what you’re trying to do, you’re trying to justify murder through crackpot conspiracy theories and religion. Now, enough of your bullshit! Tell me who killed my partner’s kids?”
He continues toward me, smiling. “Oh, but, Devi. They’re not theories they’re facts. Take Robert Stetson, for example, he sold his entire oil company to a Saudi oil corporation, cost thousands their jobs. Another rich asshole I sent to hell where he belongs.”
“I think you’re confusing me for someone who gives a shit. Now get down on the ground hands behind your back or fucking die. It makes no difference to me.”
He holds up something I’ve not seen since my time in the Army. “You sure you want to pull that trigger? This whole boat is wired with Demo charges. All I have to do is push this little red button here, and boom! We both die.”
He’s bluffing. Narcissists are not suicidal; they love themselves too much for that outcome. Life is a game to them, and if they end it, the game is over.
“Bullshit! You claim to be so fucking religious, and yet you’re threatening suicide. Suicide is a sin, God boy.”
The smile on his face turns to a vacant expression.
“You got me there. But maybe all my religious babble.” He chuckles. “Was a ruse to throw you off? Maybe I don’t believe in God. Maybe I don’t believe in heaven or hell. The truth is, Lobos. In this world, you’re either the prey or the predator.”
I look at him, confused for a moment. With lightning speed, he tackles me, and I fire off a shot. The round misses him and punctures the window. He knocks the gun out of my hand, pummeling me and pinning me against the fridge. Drake drives his knee into my stomach and lifts me up and slams me to the floor. He drops down on my chest and slams his fists into my face several times each hit feels like a sledgehammer to my jaw. I’ve been here before except someone was trying to stab me and eat my heart last time. He grabs my throat, forcing me to gasp for air. “You know nothing, Detective. You’re clueless to what’s really going on here. If you don’t believe me about your partner’s wife, take this thumb drive.” He releases my neck and stuffs the drive in my coat pocket and zips it up.
Fighting to regain my breathing while bloodied and barely conscious,
