It’s pitch black when we arrive at the storage unit where I’m keeping Richie. The street lights are broken, forcing us to blindly shuffle Barry’s body from Jackson’s truck to the shed. I'm holding the rolled carpet on one end while Jackson carries the other, and you’d think this would be easy for two grown-ass muscular men, but never underestimate dead weight.
Puffs of fog escape our mouths as we scoot along from the truck to the storage unit. It’s eerily quiet in the darkness, aside from the grind of our shoes against the gravel, and a thought hits me.
“Hey, Jacks…”
“Mmhm,” he grunts.
“Here were are, getting rid of a dead man’s body in a creepy as fuck area. We’re a cliché.”
“How so?”
“If this were a horror movie, we would die.”
Jackson’s hands slip, causing the rug to hit the ground with a thud. “My dude, don’t you go jinxing us.”
“I think we’re fucked no matter what, but Chloe is our friend, right? So we’re doing this because we love her.”
“Yes and no.” He grabs his end of the rug again, and we continue shuffling.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re doing it because we can’t have this shit trace back to those sisters. I’ve done some reading up on them, and their family is scary.”
“How? Google didn’t tell me shit,” I say.
“You didn’t look hard enough. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a detective, so I’m good at digging things up. Anyway, their family came here from Europe in the early 1900s with a lot of money in their pockets and were do-gooders giving back to the community. But their charity came with a price. According to rumors over the years, if the Abramovitz did you a favor, they basically owned you for life. Sound familiar?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But where’s the scary part?”
“Well, the Sisters’ father was arrested for murder on multiple occasions for making people disappear. They once found fifty bodies buried beneath an abandoned warehouse.”
“No, shit…” I pause, forcing Jackson to do the same. "Maybe it was the same warehouse Kay took me to kill those pedophiles?"
“I wouldn't doubt it. But the Abramovitz have top-notch lawyers, so their dad always got off clean. Some say he paid the judges to declare him innocent and have some poor asshole charged with the crime instead. I also learned their grandfather was nicknamed The Executioner. If someone did him or the family wrong, he’d shoot them right then and there. Even in broad daylight. That entire family has a backlog of crimes they’ve committed.”
“So what you’re saying is, this family does whatever they want because they can get away with it,” I grunt.
“Which makes me wonder about the Sisters,” Jackson continues. “Are they cold-blooded like their father and grandfather?”
“They don’t have to be. They’ve got their security to jump when they snap their moisturized fingers.”
“Like that neanderthal… what’s his name?”
“Kay,” I say.
“Yeah him. That guy scares the piss out of me. He’s like a ninja popping up everywhere. I swear, if he shows up here, I’ll shit myself.”
“That’ll make both of us,” I grunt again as I hold the rug with one arm and reach back to grab the handle on the storage unit door.
However, I stop.
YOU ARE READING
The Divorcee Murder Club
Mystery / Thriller𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 It's all fun and games until someone suggests killing each other's spouses for revenge. Miguel Gomez is your average disgruntled divorcée attending a support group in San Francisco to cope...
