Chasing China White by Allan Leverone (best time to read books TXT) 📗

There would be no cash dumped onto his desk.

There would be no jewelry. No bearer bonds or ATM cards or credit cards or bank account numbers.

There would only be a terrified dude with a murder weapon in his pocket and a story Crowder was most definitely not going to want to hear. Derek was so concerned about setting Crowder off that he had given serious thought to hitting the highway, pointing the Hyundai south on I-95 and driving as far as the gas in the tank would take him.

Get away from the cops.

Get away from Crowder.

Just fucking get away, period.

But as seriously as he’d considered leaving everything behind, he hadn’t done so for one reason: the goddamned tank was only a quarter full, and even in a car that got great gas mileage, there was no way he could drive far enough to escape Crowder’s reach.

Or of the cops, for that matter. The police wouldn’t let a little thing like distance stop them from hunting down the man who’d murdered a bigshot banker (or realtor, or stock trader, or whatever McHugh had been) and his wife.

Then there was what might be the most important factor: he still needed a fix. He needed it badly, and the situation was worsening with each passing hour. And since Derek had no money and no way of finding a dealer quickly in Hartford or Newark or wherever the Hyundai finally ran out of gas, he decided to suck it up. Face Crowder, deal with the repercussions, whatever they might be, and move on.

At least Crowder would know what to do, what the next steps should be for a guy with the blood of two people on his hands.

You’re doing the right thing. You’re making the right decision. You have no choice.

Derek repeated as many variations on the same encouraging mantra as he could conjure while sitting in the car and trying to force himself to go inside and face the music. In theory the positive reinforcement should be making him feel better.

But he didn’t feel better.

He doubted he would ever feel better.

He sat in the car and chanted his feel-good bullshit to himself and eventually realized no amount of optimistic, hippy-dippy crap was going to make a goddamned bit of difference. In the end, he was still a homeless junkie multiple murderer, and things didn’t turn out right for guys like him. Ever.

There would be no happy ending.

No clap on the back and thanks from Crowder for a good try.

Things were dark and getting darker for Derek, and he could sit in the front seat of the cheap little foreign car until the cows came home and that wasn’t going to change.

He almost started crying again. Felt the tears try to squeeze their way out from under his eyelids. Swallowed heavily and forced them back.

Then he inhaled deeply and pushed out a breath. Opened his door and trudged inside to face the music.

8

The backpack was dangling by a strap from Derek’s right hand as he entered the office, and Crowder glanced from Derek’s face to the pack and then back again. The expression on his face was one of a man who’d eaten one too many spicy Buffalo chicken wings.

“Bag looks a little light,” he said sourly.

Derek shook his head, staring resolutely at the floor. “There was a…problem.”

“I can see that. Explain.”

“McHugh’s wife was there.”

“So? I’ve seen her. She must be a hundred-ten pounds soaking wet. Don’t try to tell me she gave you that egg on the side of your face.”

“You said the wife and kid were going to be out. You said McHugh would be alone. You said—“

“Jesus Christ almighty!” Crowder exploded. “So I was wrong and they were home! So what? Stop beating around the bush and tell me what the hell happened.”

“McHugh opened the door and I forced my way in like you said. I told him what I wanted and that I wasn’t leaving until I had enough shit to pay what he owed you.”

Crowder spread his arms, palms pointing at the ceiling. “Okay. When are you gonna get to the part where you explain why that fucking bag is empty?”

Derek took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts and Crowder said, “Now, dipshit.”

“I thought McHugh was alone, okay? I thought he was alone, and I was nervous and scared and all of a sudden the wife appears out of nowhere like the fucking serial killer in a horror movie, she appears out of nowhere and I was really nervous and I turned and…and…”

“And?”

“And the gun went off, okay? The gun went off and I shot her and she went down in a heap and McHugh charged me and I turned around just in time and I shot him as he was tackling me, and I shot him, and he damned near fell right on top of his wife and I shot them both and they’re dead, holy shit they’re dead and I killed them.” He was shaking again, even worse now, and the tears tried to force their way out again and he didn’t want to cry in front of Crowder and he mostly stopped himself but one tear leaked out of his right eye and he swiped it away with the back of his hand.

And Crowder said, “Okay, you fucked up and you killed them. Sucks, I get it. But I still haven’t heard anything that might explain why that fucking backpack is filled with nothing but air.”

Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. He wanted to keep cool in front of the man he was counting on to save his ass but he just couldn’t help it. He just killed two more-or-less innocent people and the boss wanted to know why he didn’t follow that up by ransacking their house?

“I…” He couldn’t think of a single goddamned thing to say.

“You idiot,” Crowder said. “If they’re dead, they’re dead. McHugh lives…excuse me, McHugh lived…in