The Silver Lake Murder by Gregg Matthews (read novel full txt) 📗

“Yes, Kevin, thanks!”

He grabs a pair of binoculars, a pair of safety goggles with covering for his mouth, nose, and puts them around his neck. He hangs the black backpack over his left shoulder. The backpack has supplies and some small weapons. The rifle is over his right shoulder.

“We cool, Blake?” Kevin says.

“Yes, meet me back here in a couple of hours so I can pay you.”

“Works for me, Blake.”

Watching as Kevin’s car drives down the long dirt road, with his rear light fading out of sight.

Looking over, he sees Billy standing there.

“Let’s go, Billy.”

“Ready, Blake,” Billy says with safety goggles with covering for his mouth and nose.

The sound of dogs barking in the distance reminds him again; he is in the right place. Walking deeper into the woods, he can feel the sticks and branches scraping his face and goggles. The bugs are buzzing around his ears. The perspiration emitting from his body is at its peak. He pulls the goggles up and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand. Pulls the goggles back down, he keeps walking towards the trailer park and barking dogs.

Walking until the trailer park is in view, Blake pushes the goggles up to his forehead and looks through the binoculars. He can see the floodlights illuminating the trailer park. Chain link fencing surrounds the grounds. There is a white sign with faded red letters in the front reading, Starlight Trailer Park. The sound of dogs barking is getting louder. There are several trailers on the grounds; as he walks closer, he can see the large dog house in the middle of the grounds. He has a decent idea of the scope of the job now. Reminding himself, priority one of this job is to disable all the dogs. He needs to make sure; he and Billy can get in and get the money. No Pitbull surprises.

Walking up to the fence, he is surprised he has not seen any people. They must be at the summer party on Little Rock Island. Looking through the binoculars over the grounds he tries to count the number of Pitbull’s. His best guess is seven, but he is not positive. He takes a knee. He pulls the backpack off his left shoulder and puts it on the ground in front of him. He does the same with the rifle. He opens the backpack. Moving some items around, he takes out the package of twelve tranquilizer darts with a label reading benzodiazepine.

Inserting one dart into the rifle and resting the barrel of the rifle in the chain-link fence, he performs a safety check and does a dry run of reloading and firing the rifle. Moving the barrel of the rifle in and out of the chain-link fence. Checking the sight with the latest night vision technology gives him the confidence he can disable all the dogs. He counts seven dogs again. He tries to go over in his head how he is going to disable seven dogs as fast as he can. He doesn’t want to alarm the dogs and get them barking. He needs to draw them in closer to him, giving him a better shot. He removes the safety goggles with a covering for his mouth and nose.

Reaching into the backpack, he removes a couple of plastic bags. The bags have raw beef tips in them. He was hoping he didn’t have to use them but realizes now he needs to draw the dogs in closer. He throws some of the raw meat over the fence about twenty feet in front of him. He doesn’t want the dogs to come in too close, since he’s using a rifle, he needs some distance. The meat hits the ground, and two muscular Pitbull’s quickly get to the meat. He presses his left index and middle finger tips on his right wrist to check his pulse. He counts to himself and comes up with seventy-five beats per minute. He needs to slow his heart rate down and focus in on the target. He needs to focus on his breathing. He leans into the scope and rifle. He steadies his breathing; he breathes in and exhales.

The first dog is all black with a little white stripe on his forehead. He squeezes the trigger, hearing the hollow popping sound of the dart leaving the rifle. He watches closely as the dart goes into the left hip of the dog. The dog doesn’t move; he is preoccupied with eating the meat. The dog slowly starts to fade and drops to the ground. He pulls the barrel of the rifle out of the fence and quickly reloads.

Putting the barrel of the rifle back into the fence, he takes aim at the second dog. The second dog is gray with some white stripes across his rib cage. Blake focuses in on the second dog through the sight. He controls his breathing; he breathes in and exhales. Squeezing the trigger, he sends the second dart towards the left shoulder of the second dog. The dart misses. The second dog doesn’t notice the dart flying over his body; he keeps eating the meat.

“Crap!” Blake says into the dark night.

“It’s okay, Blake, try again,” Billy says.

Reloading, he slows his heart rate down with breathing exercises. Breathing in and exhaling slowly over and over. He takes his time and feels his heart rate slow down. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his right hand, moving the barrel of the rifle into the chain-link fence.

Checking the sight again gives him the confidence he can hit the target. Squeezing the trigger, the third dart of twelve is fired. The dart hits the second dog high on the left shoulder. It is not a solid hit, but he hopes it is enough to get the job done. He watches with anticipation, hoping the second dog will slowly drop to the ground. The second dog seems unaffected by the dart