MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 47

Rule Number Two―Murder Has Consequences

Hershey, Pennsylvania—20 Months Ago

I decided that night to get this over with quickly. Wasn’t going to wait and watch like I normally did. Tito wanted it rushed anyway. In the morning I checked to make sure the motel room was perfectly clean and wiped down. I hadn’t taken a shower, though I needed one badly, but a shower could leave hairs in the drain. I bundled the bedclothes and laid them on the floor. Once they were laundered, any of that evidence would be gone. I assured myself that this was my paranoia running wild. No one would even know I’d been here. 

I got my case, went to the car, and drove to the back of the grocery store on the other side of the woods. I parked among the employees’ cars, waited until no one was in sight, then took the gun from the trunk and walked into the woods. The gun fit in a small briefcase. Once I assembled it, I could make a killing shot from a hundred yards. Not sniper range, but damn good. 

As I walked through the woods, I took note of alternate routes. Before long, I was sitting on the tree stump, waiting for lunch break. Gina should not have blackmailed Tito. 

Stupid woman.

The school-bell ring alerted me, and at the same time brought back fond memories. The doors opened, and a mass of screaming kids poured out, laughter and joy echoing through the neighborhood. I smiled. How could I not? No one—absolutely no one—could hear that many kids laughing and not smile.

“Don’t run, children.”

The command wasn’t as powerful as one from Sister Thomas, but it was good, firm. I looked up to see Gina—Debbie Small—admonishing the kids as they raced down the steps. 

“Don’t you dare cross that street until I get there.” She picked up her pace and ran. I smiled again. She had more of the nun in her with that command. 

Shit. I cursed and closed my eyes. Shook my head. I had to stop thinking like this. A job was a job. After all, didn’t she blackmail the mob? How stupid is that? She needed killing. Can’t leave people like that around to teach our children. Even Sister Thomas would have told her that nobody blackmails the mob.

When I looked up, the kids were in the park, playing catch. Gina joined them, and the kids seemed to like it. I raised the gun, sighted her in, focused…then decided to wait. No sense doing it in front of kids. For almost forty-five minutes I waited, then the bell rang, and the kids headed back to class. Gina stayed in the park, directing stragglers and waiting for the late ones to reach her before ushering them back across the street. 

I sighted her in again, locked the crosshairs onto her head. She was almost to the curb, kind of bouncing in a half-jog type gait that teachers seemed to do in order to hustle kids along. When she got to the curb, she stopped, staring at the three kids she had just brought across. 

 “Where’s Timmy?”

One of the kids turned to her, “He’s coming.”

“All right, you go in,” she said. “I’ll wait here.”

It was perfect—her standing still, no kids around. I fixed the crosshairs one last time, then reached for the trigger. Her eyes were deep brown, and big, the kind that invited you in. And she had a long straight nose with a slight bump on it. It was a little big for a girl, but I’d seen worse. 

Just as I put pressure on the trigger, she took her right index finger and twirled her necklace. I stopped. I squeezed my eyes closed then opened them again. After adjusting to the light, I focused. Then came that feeling in my stomach, twisting my gut inside out. And there was Gina, twirling that damn necklace and sliding the charm back and forth across her chin. All the while she stood on tiptoes, neck craned, looking for her lost kid like he was the damn prodigal son.

Why did she have to be a twirler? Angie was a twirler. She used to twirl her hair all the time. Take her index finger and wrap it around a few strands of hair at the back of her neck and then just twirl. When Gina did that with her necklace, all I could think of was Angie.

Slowly, I let go of the trigger. Even slower, I disassembled the gun and packed it up. The walk back to the car seemed endless. I threw my life away once before for an oath nobody seemed to care about. Now I had my life back…but if I didn’t kill Gina, I was a dead man.