The Missing…new writing, unedited…

“Sometimes you’re the bug, other days you’re the windshield. Guess it’s my turn to be the bug…”

Hank Calder watched the news. The body of Mary was being reported as an isolated incident. He frowned. This was not how he wanted things to happen. “All my plans have gone through without a hitch. Still, my work is not recognized.”

Like all great artisans, his genius would probably go undervalued until he passed away. He had no plans to die anytime soon. Thus, he would need to make his work the focal point of every conversation, his methods needed to be discussed by every media corporation, his intricate patterns would be the envy of the whole world.

And if people still ignored it, he would unleash his demons upon the unsuspecting populace and carve his name in their corpses.

Konan dropped Lilly off at her apartment. He’d stopped three times in the ten-minute drive to let her vomit. He walked her to her door. She hugged his neck tightly.

“Thanks for listening, Konan. And for bringing me home.”

“Of course. Feel better, sooner rather than later.”

“I will. What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to pay a visit to our local drug peddlers. Two of three murders involve Oxycodone. Medical professionals don’t usually jeopardize their medical licenses by haphazardly handing out free candy.”

“That’s true. Take backup, Konan. Some of these guys are habitual users of their own product, and they won’t hesitate to gun you down.”

“Will do.”

Konan left Lilly standing in the door and drove back to O’Shea’s. Paddy watched as he pulled in.

It was time to pay a visit to Mad Michael, and for his sake, Konan hoped he had answers. Lilly’s pregnancy made his blood boil. He wanted a target for his anger.

A drug dealer that sold Oxycodone to a mass murder would make a great target.

Paddy stood outside the pub talking to Brutus when Konan walked up.

“You’re back. It’s like you never left nephew.”

“I need to see Mad Michael, but maybe you can help me.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“I’m looking for someone who sells Oxy through illegal means. Someone who doesn’t care who he would sell to. You know anyone like that, Paddy?”

Brutus watched Konan. He frowned. The wrinkles on his large forehead made Konan think of a Pug-nosed dog.

“Can’t say I do. I stay busy with the operation of the pub; I don’t have time to consort with drug dealers.”

“What about you, Brutus?”

“I don’t talk to cops.”

“Okay, then consider us friends. Talk to your friend.”

“You’re not my friend, pig.”

“You know, Brutus, I could take you downtown for questioning. Your silence makes me think you know something.”

Paddy stepped between them. Brutus glared at Konan, and Konan smiled.

“Come on, boys. There’s no need for all this. Let’s go inside and have a drink.”

“I’m not sure Brutus agrees with you Paddy.”

“How about I throw you a beating, pig?”

“Come to daddy, Brutus.”

Published by frontporchmusings694846020

I am a good ole country boy residing in North Mississippi. I love to read, fish, hunt, hike and go to garage sales. Flea markets are a passion of mine. I read anything, but some of my favorites are: Dean Koontz, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, T.S. Eliot, Shakespeare, and I possess a fondness for the writings of William Faulkner and Mark Twain. If I am forced to choose, I prefer baseball to football. I enjoy Alabama football (Roll Tide)! My baseball teams include: The Colorado Rockies and Boston Red Sox. I am divorced, the father of two daughters and live by myself with Chunk and Roscoe (my dogs).

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