Bloody Bracelet

Part 10

It's been 2 months since Ab's funeral.

It's feels like I'm losing my fucking mind.

In these whole 2 months I've only had 8 calls, 5 from Chief, 2 from Dany and 1 from Ab's life insurance company. I only aswered the last one. I haven't set foot in the house. I camped up at a motel a few blocks over. I took the cheapest room I could find and have been living off ramen noodles and black coffee for what seems forever. My only true expense was cigarettes and a 9mm Baretta with a scratched off serial number, that I bought off some shady junky under a bridge. What the fuck have I come to?

My new cave was a single bedroom apartment. The kind of place where cockroaches and rats would dress up and have fancy parties. It didn't bother me though, because for what I was planning, I had to be a rat or cockroach. I had to be there without the person noticing me. In and out. The east wall was covered with newspaper snippets and post it notes. My own little war room. I stared at that wall for hours, piecing together evidence, motives, suspects.

Today I found the fucker. I know who it is.

NYPD Officer Patrick Johnson.

The only sly piece of shit that doesn't fit into the puzzle. He was first at every single crime scene, even at Ab's although is didn't notice him. He was even Sarah Stone's neighbor and Dana's ex lover. It has to be him.

So tonight's the night. I dressed to kill. I put on my grey hoodie, navy blue jeans, workboots. The boots you could buy in any hardware store, so the footprints would be a mystery to Chief once they found Johnson's body. Underneath my hoody I holstered my dirty Baretta into my belt.

The plan was simple, pick the lock, walk right up to Johnson in his bed and empty the clip into his skull. The back alleys are easy to get away in and a lot of manhole to dump the murder weapon in.

I grabbed a pair of latex gloves on the counter and exited the door.

The walk to Johnson's house took a hour. To pick the lock, not even a minute. The house was dead quiet. The only noise was a wind that pushed against the house. The house was surprisingly clean. I always imagined a guy like Johnson lived like a hillbilly. I creaked the bedroom door open.

There he was. Sleeping like all is right in the world. My heart pounded in my chest. So loud that I thought he was going to hear it and wake up. As I took my silent, rat steps towards the oak bedside table and stared down at his face, did it all hit me. Everything. All the anger that I have bottled up came flooding out like a fucking damwall. I saw red. I grabbed the sleeping fucker by his jaw and started yanking him around.

"You sleezy motherfucker!"

His eyes opened like a terrified prey. The way his legs jumped was almost comical. He wanted to guy for his gun holstered to the side of the endtable, but he was as confused as puke in a washing machine. His wife looked like she was having a heart attack. She screamed higher than I could anticipate, but it didn't bother me at all. My focus was on this dirtbag.

"Tom! What the fuck, man!"

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Killing Sarah, Dana and A- My Ab?!"

I drew my Baretta and placed the barrel dead on his forehead and cocked the hammer.

"Jesus, Tom, don't!"

"Die, you piece of shit."

"Tom, drop the fucking gun!", the thundering voice came from behind me.

It was Dany, standing in the doorway with his Glock aimed right at me. His other hand held up his badge.

"Dany, this doesn't concern you. Turn around and walk away."

"Don't you do it, Tom. I swear to God I will drop you."

"Open your fucking eyes! It's HIM! This little rat bastard is the killer. Aren't you, cocksucker."

I gave Johnson another hard hit to the head.

"It's not him, Tom. Johnson has been on leave after Sarah's body has been found and only came back the day before your grandma's death. You can even ask Chief."

That's when I noticed that Johnson had a tan. Oh my God. He fucking told me that one day he was going to Mexico.

Shit, Tom. What have you done?

"Alright, Dany."

I dropped the Baretta and got down on my knees with my hands behind my head. I knew the drill.

"What the fuck have you done?"

I have no idea, Dany. I have no fucking idea.