Page 55 of Arsonist's Match
He flicked it off. Who gives a damn about weather? When it stays hot too long, it rains. When it rains too much, it gets hot again. Another drag, and memory pulled him under.Steel.
He’d gone to Little Rock because his uncle had a job at a construction company, said he’d put in a good word. He’d shown up, clean and presentable, with a resume and everything. Showed off with the nail gun, sander, cement. Anything they wanted. Uncle Nick assured him the bosses were impressed—he was a shoo-in.
Days went by. A week. Nothing. He checked back at the office. “Oh, sorry, dude. The position’s been filled. Good luck. You’ll find something.” Asshole smiled, patted him on the shoulder, like everything was fine. It wasn’t. Rent was due. Electric bill to pay. He had to eat.
Knight’s Construction hadaskedfor it. Disrespect like that had to burn. They couldn’t call and let him know? Left him hanging? Waiting? For nothing? And what had Uncle Nick done?
“Sorry, kid. I thought they’d hire you. Hey, when are you leaving? I might need my couch back.” Practically shoved him out the door.
“How do you like having no job?” he grumbled to his glass of bourbon.
Shreveport was the kicker, though. His sister had suggested he look for employment where she lived—even let him crash at her apartment for a week. The steelworks wasn’t the only place he’d struck out, but the others were nice about it.
“Sorry. Your qualifications look great, but we just aren’t hiring now. Downsizing, really. Good luck.”
“It washer.That bitch with the attitude.” He ground his teeth, feeding his rising heat with another shot from his glass.
Sign saidhiring. Liar. Guy at the front ushered him in, gave him a form. “Why don’t you go back and talk to Ms. Knowles? We need someone ASAP.”
He’d felt confident, promise busting out of his pores. He handed her the form, took his seat with a charming smile. Why wouldn’t she want to hire him?
Her sharp features twisted like the wicked witch—arsenic for breakfast—a bottomless pit where a soul belonged. Before long, her ugly mouth spilled the phrases, “Don’t meet our standards.” “Lacking experience.” “No references.” Culminating with, “It’s our policy to hire Shreveport residents before a Texas transient.”
Transient?It was the match. How dare she? He wasn’t homeless or destitute. He was trying to find a stinking job, for Christ’s sake!
Her insults stung, boiled, and festered. Gritting his teeth, he’d stormed out. Drove around. Parked overlooking the muddy Red River to think. Plan. Burn, yes, but what about the bitch?
Thinking back, he realized it was his rage. It could have gotten him caught. But she had it coming. He went back, waited in the parking lot. Dragged her behind a dumpster, knocked her out. He put her in her car and drove away. Had to park close by but make everybody think she’d gone home. Scared when she woke up. He was in charge then. Felt good. Powerful. Especially seeing her eyes when he lit his sparkler and tossed it into the accelerant-soaked rags. He’d squirted lighter fluid on her too, just to behold her terror.
But later, he felt bad. “Bad boy!” his mother’s voice had chastised him. When he was over his fury, he didn’t want her to be dead. Couldn’t be undone. Had to live with it.
Lone Star was different. He hadn’t killed those people on purpose. They should have moved faster. Everyone else got out. Wasn’t his fault. Yeah, he’d cut the wires to the alarms and shut off the sprinklers. He wanted the grandest blaze of his life. Watched from the shadows. Unseen. Untouchable. The lights, sirens, engines, the all-consuming inferno—hisinferno. Not his fault those people died.
But the FBI woman. That was different. If he killed her, it would be murder. A law enforcement officer. Bigger manhunt to find him.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea.” He snuffed out the butt of his cigarette in the tray. Darkness filtered through the narrow, high window of the basement. He couldn’t see the moon from here. Never could.
You have to,demanded the voice in his head.It’s the only way to protect yourself. She doesn’t understand. She’ll lock you away forever. No more freedom. No more fires.
Panic seized his chest. “No more fire?”
You know you can’t have matches or a lighter in prison.
“What if I feel bad afterward again? What if it doesn’t work? What if I get caught?”
It’s a risk. But you love a good risk. Adrenaline. Endorphins. Think about the spectacular fire when you finally send her off in a blaze of glory. What? Do you think she wants to die some old woman with cancer or heart disease? You’ll be doin’ her a favor.
“Maybe.”
You haven’t been caught yet. You won’t be.
“I’ve been lucky.” He drained the rest of the amber liquid from his glass.
Or maybe you’re just talented. Aren’t people supposed to use their talents?
He chewed his nails. Stared at the black TV screen.
You have a plan. Courage! Follow through. It’s the only way.
