Page 9 of Bullet Unleashed

CHAPTER THREE

JERRY HAAS

The councilman stares out the window with his head resting on a closed fist as we ride. “Don’t worry, sir,” I tell him. “We’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, I know,” he responds, maintaining his gaze out the window and not bothering to look at me. “Do I look worried?”

“Little bit,” I answer.

“Ha! That’s funny,” he says with a laugh full of steel. “Let me assure you, I’m not. Clean it up, Jerry.”

This is my life.

“It’s already in the works, sir.”

“The boy?”

“Handled. It’ll be in the news report this evening or tomorrow.”

“And his cellphone? Have we retrieved it yet?”

“As I said, sir. It’s all figured out.”

The councilman throws me a look over his shoulder as we ride in the back of the limo. “It better be. Nothing can fuck up this reelection.”

“Sir,” I say gently. “If that’s the case then may I suggest you curtail your...how shall I put it? Your extracurricular activities until after the election?”

“No, you may not suggest it. Let me suggest, strongly suggest, you don’t send another low-level aid to my house without letting me know first. And you damn sure don’t give them a code to get in. You fucked up my fun, Jerry, so your job is to clean it. You keep this shit far from me, and I’ll keep yours buried.”

“Understood.”

“Now, what about the girl?”

“SPD’s finest have already recovered her body away from the mansion. It should be on the news tonight.”

“Guess I’ll be watching the news tonight then.”

“Yes sir, you should.”

“Though I have to admit, that was the best cunt I’ve had in a long time.”

“How’s Patty, sir?”

“Cold as always.”

This is my life. Keeping the shit this bastard does in the shadows so he can do more of it.

The driver lets us out and I go ahead and open the door for Councilman Marsh Jacobs to walk through straight into the lion’s den. Channel Nine is hosting tonight’s debate, and their news team is moderating it. Marsh is as cool as they come. The man is like steel forged from ice, so I have no doubt he’s prepared for anything his opponent may throw at him.

As he walks into the studio, shaking hands with the constituents gathered to watch the political process in all its glory, I reach into the breast pocket of my designer suit and pull out my cellphone.

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COLLIN LANE

The phone rings jarring me from my afternoon nap.

“Sir? We got a hit.”

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