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  She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the birds chirping off in the distance.

  Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea, she thought.

  Maybe if she hit the gym today she would feel better. At the very least she could work off a bit of the pent-up frustration that she’d been carting around inside her. She took a final drag on the cigarette, crushing it out in the ash tray, before getting up and heading inside.

  As she made her way through the kitchen, she set the coffee cup down on the counter and continued to the bathroom. She turned the shower on and got undressed. Alex paused for a moment, examining her reflection in the mirror. She cupped her breasts in her hands and turned to the right, checking herself out in profile.

  “I can still give them a run for their money,” she said approvingly, although deep down she knew she needed to quit making excuses when it came to the squat rack.

  Alex turned around, opening the shower door and stepped inside. The hot water felt wonderful as it cascaded down her head and across her back. She placed her hands against the wall and just relaxed. After a few moments she reached over to grab the shampoo and began washing her hair. The summer was coming and she’d been toying with the idea of cutting it short. It’d be a lot easier to wash if she went with the biker chick look and she reasoned that if she did end up in prison there wouldn’t be much to grab hold of in a fight.

  You always got to think ahead, she thought, as she slid her head under the water and rinsed her hair out.

  When she was done she grabbed the soap and washed off. She allowed herself a few extra minutes, feeling the tenseness leave her body, before grudgingly turning off the water. She knew that if she waited any longer that the dream of hitting the gym would remain just that, a fleeting dream.

  She got out of the shower and grabbed a towel to dry off. She thought about blow drying her hair, but if she was going to the gym there was no point. She pulled her hair up into a pony tail and headed off to the bedroom. She emerged a few minutes later wearing a pair of black colored Lycra leggings and a bright pink sports bra. On her way out to the living she slipped her cell phone into her pocket, then grabbed her sneakers, a pair of socks and an athletic shirt that sported the PPD logo. She took a seat on the couch, glancing around at the mess she had made, as she put them on.

  You need to get your shit together, girlie, she thought. Even on your worse days back in New York you would have never left the house looking this way.

  Alex made a promise to herself that as soon as she got back from the gym she would clean things up. You couldn’t unclutter your mind if you were living in a cluttered home.

  She reached over to pick up the top to the whiskey bottle just as Devil Alex made a reappearance.

  One more time, for old time’s sake? she heard the voice whisper in her ear.

  Alex pushed away the thought, as she finished screwing the top back on and stood up.

  But one more really wouldn’t hurt, would it? she though.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, you’re an adult, just have one more drink if you want and be done with it.”

  Alex sat back down and opened the bottle.

  She hesitated, feeling the struggle raging inside her. In the end, just like always, Devil Alex won.

  She raised the bottle to her lips and took a drink.

  There, now you have it out of your system.

  She set the bottle back down and screwed the top back in place.

  That was the key, wasn’t it? You could do anything you wanted, as long as it was in moderation.

  Even as the words came out she knew she was lying. It was always the same hollow platitudes. There was no moderation with her, just another excuse for the abhorrent behavior. She hated herself for giving in, yet it was the only thing she had, the only thing that never betrayed her and it frustrated her so damn much.

  She got up quickly and then sat back down, as she felt a sudden rush.

  “That’s what you get, asshole.”

  The long, hot shower and whiskey didn’t make for good partners. She leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, as she waited for the moment to pass; only it didn’t. She tried to get up, but she had no control over her body.

  “Fuck me,” she said, the words coming out slurred, as she gripped the edge of the couch.

  Alex opened her eyes, but she had a hard time bringing her vision into focus. Instinctively she knew that something was terribly wrong.

  Am I dying? she wondered, as her sight began to narrow and she slumped backward.

  Just before her vision went completely black she saw a figure emerge from the darkness and at that moment she knew that dying would have been the preferred choice.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “What the hell was that?” Susan asked

  “What?”

  “That noise?”

  “I didn’t hear any noise,” Tatiana replied.

  “I swear I heard a noise, like a buzz.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t just hear road noise?”

  Susan glared at the woman behind the wheel. “I didn’t imagine it; stop the car.”

  Tatiana sighed and pulled the car off to the side of the road. When the car had come to a complete stop, Susan got out and opened the rear passenger door.

  “What are you looking?”

  “Whatever made the noise,” she said.

  “Why don’t we just go back to the cabin and we can look for it there?” Tatiana asked.

  Susan ignored her, and began running her hands methodically over the unconscious body in the back seat.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “This, Tee,” she said angrily, as she slipped the cell phone out of the shirts interior pocket and held it up.

  “It’s a cell phone, big fucking deal.”

  “It is a big fucking deal!” she exclaimed. “They can track these things.”

  “I already covered that base, babe,” Tatiana replied. “You’re worried about nothing.”

  “What the fuck, Tee?” Susan said, as she opened the back of the phone and proceeded to remove the battery and SIM card. “Lately you’re acting as if you’re not even using your brain.”

  “Well maybe if you stepped up to the plate and started pulling a little more of your weight, I wouldn’t have to think about everything!”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just get back in the damn car,” Tatiana said tersely.

  Susan spun around and chucked the disassembled phone off into the nearby field, before she got back into the passenger seat. Tatiana gritted her teeth, as she tried to calm down. She put the car in drive and slowly pulled away from the curb.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because now any possible trail ends here,” Susan said.

  A few minutes later they made their way through one of the sleepy little towns that dotted the landscape up here. A bright blue neon sign advertised the town’s only bar.

  God, I could really use a drink right now, Tatiana thought, as they continued their drive in awkward silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tom Blackshear, Scott Nichols and Paul Mitchell sat across the conference table, in the Carroll County Court House, listening as Floyd Peters recounted his involvement in the robbery of the Quick Mart. George Reid sat next to him, listening intently, as a court reporter sat in the corner taking notes.

  To say that the kid appeared unremarkable would have been a gross understatement. He was neither short nor tall, hitting the tape at a mere five foot, five inches. If he weighed in at one-hundred and thirty pounds it was most likely because someone was stepping on the scale. He had brown eyes, collar length brown hair and sported a scraggly looking mustache. In essence he would have blended in with any crowd, anywhere.

  Paul Mitchell had reluctantly agreed to the deal in exchange for a seat at the interview table. In addition, he got a promise that Nichols and Blackshear would issue a pre-election glowing
endorsement of Mitchell’s invaluable investigative assistance in clearing Chief Taylor.

  “So whose idea was it to rob the store?” Nichols asked.

  “It was Chase’s idea, sir,” Peters replied.

  “Why did he want to rob that particular store?”

  “He said that he knew someone in town who had told him that there was only one cop who worked during the daytime. He figured that if we went in quickly, first thing in the morning, that we’d be long gone before they could respond.”

  “Why did you agree?” Mitchell asked.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Peters replied. “I screwed up. I got behind on some payments to him and he told me that he’d let them slip if I drove him to Penobscot.”

  “Payment for what?” Nichols asked.

  Peters looked over at his attorney, who’d nudged him under the table.

  “Floyd had borrowed some money from the decedent,” Reid said. “I’m sure you are all aware the financial situation we are facing these days, unfortunately he struggled to find gainful employment in order to make proper restitution.”

  Nichols eyed him skeptically.

  “At this point what difference does it make, Scott?” Reid asked. “My client owed him money and he didn’t have a choice.”

  “He could have said no,” Mitchell chimed in.

  “You don’t know Chase,” the young man said, his voice cracking a bit as he spoke. “I might not be an angel, Mr. Mitchell, but that kid was flat-out nuts. And I’m not talking crazy, but I mean crazy. Once he had you, he had you. I saw him take a blowtorch to the face of a kid’s sister, because the kid told him he wasn’t doing drugs anymore. I was there, I heard her screams. That little girl didn’t do anything to him, but it didn’t matter. You tell me what kind of person does that?”

  Blackshear frowned at the image, as a hush fell over the room.

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?” Mitchell asked.

  “To do what?” Peters replied with a laugh. “If anyone asked her what had happened she’d just say that she had an unfortunate accident. When someone takes a torch to another human being’s face you honestly think that anyone is going to testify against him? If you hadn’t noticed, the system isn’t just broken, it’s completely fucked up. I’m not the smartest person in the world, but even a fool knows you don’t fix problems by turning people back out onto the streets to do the same thing.”

  “It’s worked out well for you,” Mitchell said.

  “Really?” Peters asked. “What do you know about me, Mr. State’s Attorney? To you I’m just another druggie, but you don’t know or care why I use drugs. So let me ask you a question. Do you remember how your life was when you were ten-years-old?”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this discussion,” Mitchell said.

  “It’s relevant because my life at that age included having my head forced down into a pillow to muffle my screams, as my uncle stuck his dick in my ass. All while my drunken mother was passed out in the next room. He was a product of your criminal justice system and screwing other men was a hobby he picked up while he was a guest of the state. I’d consider that pretty relevant, don’t you think?”

  Silence gripped the room as the young man spoke.

  “So is it any wonder why I turned to drugs to dull the pain?” Peters asked. “But no one ever wants to hear that part, because no one has an answer for it. I’m sure you would all just say ‘lock him up,’ but would that solve anything? No, not really, because the truth is he was sexually abused as a kid by his mom. It doesn’t make it right, but it shows the true extent of the problem. Who do you penalize first? You see, when you dig below the surface you realize the problem just keeps expanding. The system can’t really fix anything; so they just slap a Band-Aid on the visible problem and congratulate themselves for being morally superior. Besides, no one really gives a rat’s ass about the folks who live out in the Pine Meadows Trailer Park or the tough life they might have.”

  A sense of uneasiness gripped the men seated at the table; all of whom recognized the truth in what the young man had just said. They, both the prosecution as well as the defense, were all part of the problem, even though they wouldn’t admit it.

  Crime and punishment was a fundamental principal in a civilized society, but what happened when the criminals themselves were the victims as well? The kid was right; the criminal justice system was broken. Years of revolving court room doors, social justice experimentation, excessive or inadequate judicial sentencing, particularly when it came to unrepentant criminals, and massive overcrowding in jails for people who simply didn’t belong there, had led to a system that was on life-support and failing fast.

  The problem wasn’t a lack of answers, but the sheer volume of conflicting ones. Like spokes on a wheel, everyone had an opinion as to how to fix the problem. Unfortunately, most of those answers were theoretical ones and very few ever came to fruition in the real world.

  “I’m sure we can all agree, at this point, that my client was in fear of the descendant?” Reid asked.

  “I have no problem with moving ahead,” Nichols said, glancing at Blackshear and Mitchell, who both nodded in the affirmative.

  “So you drove Mr. Akins to the store, then what happened?” Nichols asked.

  “He was really hyped-up,” Peters replied. “I’m pretty sure he was high on something. We pulled into the parking lot and that’s when I first saw the gun.”

  “What kind of gun was it?” Blackshear asked.

  “It was small,” the kid said. “It wasn’t one of those normal guns; you know the big kind that everyone carries.”

  Blackshear pulled up a screen on the laptop next to him and typed in a search of guns. When the images came up he turned it around to show Peters.

  “Can you point out what you saw?”

  Peters looked through the photos until he had found one that resembled what he had seen.

  “This one, it looked like this,” he replied, pointing toward a 2” snub-nosed revolver.

  “You’re sure?” Nichols asked.

  “Positive,” the kid replied. “Just seeing it scared the shit out of me.”

  “You didn’t think about how he was going to rob the store beforehand?”

  “Hey, all I knew was that I was supposed to just be the driver,” Peters replied. “I didn’t think he was going to have me come in with him.”

  “Why did he?”

  “He got paranoid,” Peters said. “Started accusing me of setting him up, said that I was going to leave him there, so we left the car running and he made me come inside with him.”

  “Then what happened?” Nichols asked.

  “We went in through the back door. There was an old man standing in the back room and Chase hit him in the head. The guy hit the ground like a ton of bricks. I thought he’d killed him and I got scared. I turned around to head back out the door, but he grabbed me and dragged me to the front with him.”

  “Was he saying anything?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know what. Honestly, I was scared to death and it all sounded like gibberish. Some guy came up to him, but Chase just pushed him to the ground. Next thing I know the guy was crawling up the aisle to get away.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Chase continued up toward the cash register and I started to back away. I just got this really bad vibe.”

  “Did you hear anything, see anything?”

  “I heard someone scream police and then this huge explosion” Peters said. “By then I was close to the back of the store. I just turned around and got the hell out of there.”

  “Where did you go?” Nichols asked.

  “I went out the back door and took off in the car. I don’t think I even hit the brakes till I made it to Dummer.”

  “I need to ask you where you got the drugs, Floyd, specifically the heroin,” Mitchell said.

  “Just for the record, we are in agreement that any information proffered, concern
ing any potential narcotics found in my clients vehicle at the time of his arrest in Ossipee, is being offered anecdotally and will not be used against him at any subsequent criminal proceedings, is that correct?’ Reid asked.

  “Yes, counsel,” Paul Mitchell replied. “As long as the information provided by your client, as to how he came into possession of said narcotics, is clear and concise.”

  Reid leaned over and whispered an approval into Peter’s ear.

  “I was sent to Ossipee by Eddy Davis to deliver the drugs.”

  “Who were you delivering to in Ossipee?” Mitchell asked.

  “I don’t know his real name,” Peters replied, “but he goes by the name Ray-Jay and he lives in a grey house over on Fisher and Altamont.”

  “So where is this guy Eddie dealing out of?” Blackshear asked, as he made notes on the legal pad in front of him.

  Peters looked at the cop quizzically. “Not Eddie, Eddy, he’s a she.”

  “Eddy Davis is a girl?” Nichols asked.

  “Yeah, she’s Chase’s cousin,” Peters replied. “She’s the one that Chase learned his crazy from. She took over the operation when Chase got killed, but if you ask me I have a feeling she was already running things. She’s crazy, but she’s also smart.”

  “Just when you thought it couldn’t get any stranger,” Blackshear said, tossing his pen onto the table.

  “Where can we find her?” Nichols asked.

  “I don’t know where she’s living; she’s not exactly what I would call the trusting type. I just know I was supposed to meet her at the ball field in Dummer at midnight.”

  “Is there anyone working with her?” Blackshear asked.

  “Yeah, she has this big, dark skin guy that’s always with her. He’s like six-six, biggest dude I’ve ever seen in my life. I think he’s her enforcer. She calls him Kike, but I never heard him say anything.”

  “What kind of vehicle does she drive?”

  “A black Ford F-150 with tinted windows,” Peters replied.

  “Anything you want to add?” Mitchell asked.

  “I just want help,” Peters replied. “I just want to get help and get as far away from here as I can.”