Read Online After Dark (The Vampire Next Door Book 2) by Rose Titus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rose Titus
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else, then deposited there to greet all the people coming in the door.
There was no name attached with the homeless bum, no identification. No nothing.
And the teeth marks all over the throat, broken flesh all over his bloodied neck. Damn. Who, or what, the hell was doing this?
“Good mornin’ Marty!” McMurphy came in late and smiled brightly. He knew Martin hated to be called Marty. Hated it.
But Martin was glad he was in one of his good, quote unquote good, moods. He sipped his coffee to try and rid himself of the nagging headache he woke up with and tried to ignore McMurphy.
“I said, pleasant morning, ain’t it, Marty!”
“Yup,” he mumbled.
“All nice and sun-shiny! Why a nice pretty day like this makes me smile!”
Crazy bastard. Martin remembered it well, like it was yesterday.
They were partners then. But he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t work with McMurphy, not after what he did to that black kid.
The kid was flat on his back, behind the delivery entrance to a pizza place, screaming, “Don’t kill me, man!”
Hey, stop it! You’re killing him!
And he kept kicking the boy in the ribs, in the head, in the face.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop —
The kid died in the ambulance. And there was no investigation into it, even though Martin recommended it, quietly suggesting that maybe excessive force was used.
McMurphy said it was all self-defense, claimed the kid had a knife. No knife was ever found. And Martin needed to take care of his own kid. What could he do? Nothing. He could never have stopped it, anyway. The kid was half dead already by the time he arrived and saw what was happening. And McMurphy was built like a truck.
The boy was fifteen.
And so the next day he came in smiling, big and bright thousand watt smile, just like the grin he wore today.
He felt cold inside.
Who the hell was killing the homeless people? And why? Thinking about it made him sick.
Alexandra was walking out the door, dressed for the office. Cotton skirt, silk blouse, suede loafers. She looked more like a bookkeeper than what she really was.
And he reminded himself, again, that she was a bookkeeper. These people worked for a living, too.
“Martin?”
“No. Never mind. I’m sorry. You’re on your way out.”
“What’s wrong?” she could see he was distraught. Could she read him that well? It bothered him that she could.
“What you said, the other night, about people who pretend, I mean.” He looked around to be sure no one else was in the hallway. “Are you sure none of them hang around this town, this whole area?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Why?”
“Because it happened again.”
She made him a cup of tea and he sat down, tried to appear comfortable, “It’s all right if I’m a little late, really,” she began.
“It was really gross. Words cannot describe. Looked up some old files. There was a spree of killings like this several years back, two homeless people, three street kids, one hooker, all mutilated. And three years before that, one murder, looked the same. No one made a big deal because it was a wino. But his ear was chewed off. This stuff keeps happening, and no one seems to notice or do anything about it.”
She cringed.
“Sport killing. A hunter. I don’t wanna say it to your face, Alexandra. You people are hunters. Please, one of you knows something.”
“Damn you.” She stood up from the table. “You are just so damned sure we are all behind this. Well, just go ahead and throw all of us in jail, and it will still happen. People will still get butchered. How do I know it’s not you? You’re probably trying to blame us to cover yourself.”
“That’s stupid and you know it!”
“Sounds almost as stupid as what you say, doesn’t it?” She went to her refrigerator, “I am pouring myself a drink. And I do not care if it grosses you out.”
“Okay, yeah. So it makes me sick. So?”
She put it in the microwave. “Then you are a coward. Like
There was no name attached with the homeless bum, no identification. No nothing.
And the teeth marks all over the throat, broken flesh all over his bloodied neck. Damn. Who, or what, the hell was doing this?
“Good mornin’ Marty!” McMurphy came in late and smiled brightly. He knew Martin hated to be called Marty. Hated it.
But Martin was glad he was in one of his good, quote unquote good, moods. He sipped his coffee to try and rid himself of the nagging headache he woke up with and tried to ignore McMurphy.
“I said, pleasant morning, ain’t it, Marty!”
“Yup,” he mumbled.
“All nice and sun-shiny! Why a nice pretty day like this makes me smile!”
Crazy bastard. Martin remembered it well, like it was yesterday.
They were partners then. But he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t work with McMurphy, not after what he did to that black kid.
The kid was flat on his back, behind the delivery entrance to a pizza place, screaming, “Don’t kill me, man!”
Hey, stop it! You’re killing him!
And he kept kicking the boy in the ribs, in the head, in the face.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop —
The kid died in the ambulance. And there was no investigation into it, even though Martin recommended it, quietly suggesting that maybe excessive force was used.
McMurphy said it was all self-defense, claimed the kid had a knife. No knife was ever found. And Martin needed to take care of his own kid. What could he do? Nothing. He could never have stopped it, anyway. The kid was half dead already by the time he arrived and saw what was happening. And McMurphy was built like a truck.
The boy was fifteen.
And so the next day he came in smiling, big and bright thousand watt smile, just like the grin he wore today.
He felt cold inside.
Who the hell was killing the homeless people? And why? Thinking about it made him sick.
Alexandra was walking out the door, dressed for the office. Cotton skirt, silk blouse, suede loafers. She looked more like a bookkeeper than what she really was.
And he reminded himself, again, that she was a bookkeeper. These people worked for a living, too.
“Martin?”
“No. Never mind. I’m sorry. You’re on your way out.”
“What’s wrong?” she could see he was distraught. Could she read him that well? It bothered him that she could.
“What you said, the other night, about people who pretend, I mean.” He looked around to be sure no one else was in the hallway. “Are you sure none of them hang around this town, this whole area?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Why?”
“Because it happened again.”
She made him a cup of tea and he sat down, tried to appear comfortable, “It’s all right if I’m a little late, really,” she began.
“It was really gross. Words cannot describe. Looked up some old files. There was a spree of killings like this several years back, two homeless people, three street kids, one hooker, all mutilated. And three years before that, one murder, looked the same. No one made a big deal because it was a wino. But his ear was chewed off. This stuff keeps happening, and no one seems to notice or do anything about it.”
She cringed.
“Sport killing. A hunter. I don’t wanna say it to your face, Alexandra. You people are hunters. Please, one of you knows something.”
“Damn you.” She stood up from the table. “You are just so damned sure we are all behind this. Well, just go ahead and throw all of us in jail, and it will still happen. People will still get butchered. How do I know it’s not you? You’re probably trying to blame us to cover yourself.”
“That’s stupid and you know it!”
“Sounds almost as stupid as what you say, doesn’t it?” She went to her refrigerator, “I am pouring myself a drink. And I do not care if it grosses you out.”
“Okay, yeah. So it makes me sick. So?”
She put it in the microwave. “Then you are a coward. Like
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