Page 45 of Shattered
“Under the bridge?”
“No. We’ve had to move. Too many cops.” She shook her head. “By the coastal highway. The Grove. Off of the ramp, right when you hit the woods.”
I knew where she meant. I made my way there, driving slow and steady, my typical self, mask hidden away, waving to onlookers, to the cops in their cars. What did I care if I got caught? It would happen one day.
Underneath the ramp, a car was parked, the lights off. A man leaned against it, smoking as he stared out at the endless water. I parked in front of the car. Put the crowbar behind my back.
“Hey man,” the guy said, his voice casual. “Just enjoying the scenery. Don’t need any car help.” As soon as I was close, he flinched. “What’s with the mask?”
He reached for his gun, but I struck the crowbar into his face, knocking him to the ground. One efficient movement. Kicked the gun into the water, watching it sink down. He was out cold for now.
I glanced in the backseat: a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, was bleeding in the back of the car, more dead than alive, covered in blood, her eyes swollen shut. Her cracked phone lit up in her lap. I went back to the monster passed out on the asphalt in two large steps. I slammed the crowbar into his face, splitting his skull open. I hit him so many times that blood splattered on me, painting me like one of Melissa’s canvases.
I should have choked him. That was what helped me find control.
I took out a fresh cord from my pocket and leaned down to wrap his neck, but he was already dead. The cord was stained red.
There wasn’t much left of his head anyway.
With my gloved hands, I opened the backseat and grabbed the woman’s phone. Dismissed the missed calls and texts. Found my informant’s number.
“She needs a hospital,” I said.
Before she responded, I put the phone on the woman’s chest. Got in my car. And left.
