Savage (A Blood Feud Novel)

Chapter Thirty-Three

James was pacing back and forth again. It had been weeks since Sheila Savage's tragic death. Rachel couldn't stand James' breakdowns, so she decided to spend parts of the day to hang out with her mother.

James sat down. His fingers fidgeted. In truth, it was not the accident which was affecting him this deeply, the killings and dismemberment of the bodies had gotten to him. I'm not a killer, he repeated severally. He was just an accomplice. Rosalyn was the killer, not him.

He got up and continued pacing. He needed a drink. Yeah, a glass would do the trick. Calm the nerves down a bit. The paper had published an article that said the woman who had been run over was the partner of a semi-retired cop. Her picture had been on the front page.

He was done, for now, he was sure of it. All thanks to his foolishness and Rachel.

He realized his mobile phone was missing. He stood and looked around. Maybe the mobile phone was left someplace, and he forgot. James peered into the kitchen. No sign of the phone. He started looking underneath the sofas. No sign of it there either.

James felt apprehensive. Did Rachel take his phone? No way, James thought.

He heard a sound, followed by a male's grunt. It came from behind the door. James went to his room, grabbed Rachel's Czech pistol, and came up to the front door.

He slowly leaned his head forward until his eye was looking out through the peephole.

It was Shea Rollins, a childhood friend of James, and someone who he had shared a cell with back when the two were serving time.

James took a deep breath, subsided, and hid the pistol underneath his shirt. He opened the door.

"Good to see you mate!" Shea chirped as the two exchanged a brotherly embrace.

"You've gotten out, finally, eh?" James said happily.

He felt relieved as he allowed Shea to enter. The two sat down and Shea began the conversation talking about how glad he was to be out of jail after a mischief charge.

"I want to thank you for the car," James said.

"Hey, no problem," Shea said excitingly. "How's it working for you?"

"It's good," James said. "It's nice to know I can ride in town without having to smell Rachel's hair."

"Oh, that," Shea chuckled. "Yeah, you told me about that before, mate."

"So, what's going on with you lately?" James asked.

"Things are quiet on my end," said Shea. "How are things with you buddy?"

James sighed; there was so much to tell. "Rachel is a fucking pain in the ass, Shea."

"I've heard you and Rachel are hitting a rough patch," Shea said. "I spoke to her a few minutes before I left. She seems mad. Is everything alright?"

James sighed again. "Ah, it's nothing, man. She's mad because I lost my phone. We had some arguments, but that's something all couples go through. How have you been?"

Shea flashed a white smile. To James the smile looked too perfectly white. He wondered if the phone had been put someplace by Rachel.

"It's been weeks since I have been in that crap hole and I am freaking glad to be home. I'd like to celebrate with you. I've got two girls coming to meet me later at the hotel. You're more than welcome to join."

"What about Rachel?" James muttered.

"What about her? The fuck knows," Shea said with a dismissive shrug. "She's invited too, although I'd imagine you would prefer it if she weren't tagging along. It's going to be a wild night, James."

James wanted to join in on the fun with his long-time friend but the effects from a previous couple of nights bothered him.

"I'm not sure if it will do it," said James. "Rachel and I have gotten ourselves into a situation, a bad one, I must say."

"Like what?"

"Well, like running over somebody with a car."

"Oh shit, really, James?" Shea said shocked.

James turned his head. He wanted to forget about that night. It was haunting him ever since. He wished he hadn't driven with Rosalyn that evening.

"James, tell me what happened," Shea said.

There was a concern in his voice, and he placed a hand on James' back. James eased up a little, but he still felt tense. He wanted to punch himself.

"We went to this house, and we killed someone there," James said.

"Jesus," muttered Shea.

"Yeah," James said. "It was supposed to be a routine burglary, but Rachel, I mean, she's fucking crazy mate. She messed things up."

"You're blaming her for it?" Shea asked.

"Well, for starters, I was supposed to be in the house alone. She was supposed to be my lookout from outside," James said. "But then we got there and were doing surveillance, and she convinced me that she should go first. I should have known she was up to her antics. I waited a while and then had to go in when I saw a woman return, she wasn't supposed to be around."

"So, you go in, and then what happens?" Shea asked

"I find one of them; you can say he's the husband or dad, one of the two dead, she shot him, Shea! Rachel shot her in between the eyes. And worst of all was that she wanted to cut them into freaking pieces."

"Holy fucking shit," Shea said. "You sure you're not making this up?"

"Why would I make it up?" James asked.

Shea shook his head. James wanted a cigarette. Then he remembered there were none. Now he had two things to worry about. Shea quickly searched his pocket. He retrieved a cigarillo and handed it to James. James nodded in appreciation thankfully and grabbed a lighter.

"That's the last one, but you can have it," Shea said. "Tell you what, we can go for a drink or two, or I can bring the girls over. What's your preference?"

James, in between a few puffs, said, "Bring them over. Rachel's staying at her mother's tonight."

Shea leaped from the sofa.

"That's fucking right!"

James smiled at him. At least for tonight, he wouldn't have to worry about Rachel.