The Wrath Walker (The Wrath Series Book 1) by Matthew Newson (fun to read .txt) 📗

After the reality that the love of my life had left me, my mentor was a criminal, and it looked like I was going to jail for a long time sank in, I realized my life was forever ruined. For the first time since they passed, I was glad my parents were dead, so they would not see how far I had fallen from grace. Ever since my arrest, the only time I ever visited my parents’ gravesite was on the anniversary of my father’s death, and even that was a battle to bring myself to go. The guilt and shame I carried was hard enough to block out, but the thought of how disappointed my father would have been with me was too much to bear at times.

The only reason I wasn’t in jail still was because Ron testified in court that I had no idea what I was doing. He said he knowingly and willingly took advantage of my fondness for him to get me to do those things for him because he knew I’d never question him as to why. Several things happened that day for me. First, the prosecutor dropped the charges against me as part of Ron’s plea-bargain agreement he had worked out before he testified in open court. Second my career as a detective was finished. Ron described me like a lost puppy that followed him around, and in a way, he was right, and I hated him for it and so much more. I still don’t know why he worked to clear me, but I’m sure he had an ulterior motive.

Since the prosecutor couldn’t prove how long Ron had worked for the Amaras, and no one was getting up to testify, the prosecutor didn’t know how much dirty money he got paid, or any other crimes he may or may not have committed. Ron got sentenced to five years, but he had gotten out in two for good behavior and being a first-time offender. The judge had to have been corrupted by the Amaras as well, and I was sure Ron had done worse things for the family. Ron really liked knives for some odd reason, and he loved talking about how he could take someone with a knife just as quick as I could with my gun. I wondered if he had ever used any of those high-end knives I bought him for his birthday and Christmas to kill anyone. If he had, those people’s blood was as much on my hands as they were Ron’s.

I hated the nights when my mind forced me to relive the past horrible years of my life. I wasn’t married, I lived in an office space in a not-so-good part of town, all my money went to pay lawyer fees, and I was forced to track down deadbeats for a living. I didn’t think even those law books by my desk were going to distract me from that walk down memory lane, which I had already begun.

I picked up the picture of my dad and I at my academy graduation and stared at it for a moment. “I’m sorry, dad,” I whispered to myself.

As I set down the photo my phone rang, and I didn’t recognize the number. I could tell by the area code it was someone in the city. Probably another person who needed to find out if their spouse was running around on them, which seemed to happen more than it should. Since I needed the money, I decided to answer it.

“Hello, this is Brandon Farmer.”

I was greeted by a familiar, but erratic voice on the other end.

“Hey kid, it’s me, Ron. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I think the Riccis are trying to kill me. You got to help me, kid!”

I was immediately enraged by the sound of his voice. “Well, I hope they succeed in their endeavor. Don’t call me again, Ron,” I snapped back.

“Kid, please don’t hang up. I know you have every right to hate me, but you’re the only good person I know. You have to help me, I’m desperate! You can’t let them kill me, and if they’re coming for me then they’ll be coming for you as well. You’re just as responsible as I am for destroying their hold on the city. A lot of the Riccis got killed because of the stuff we did.”

“No, because of the stuff you pulled, you lying sack of crap. I was trying to clean up the city, while you were lining your pockets with every dirty dollar bill you could get your hands on.”

“Do you think any of that matters to the Riccis? Even if I was a good cop, they would still kill us for simply doing our jobs and stopping them from doing illegal activity in the city.”

Ron was right about my deep-seated hatred for him, but I had never heard him like that before. Even during his arrest and the trial he was always so calm and collected.

“Sounds like a problem for the police, Ron, why don’t you call them? I’m sure they would love to help you.”

“You know I can’t do that, kid.”

I kicked myself internally for what I was about to do. “Okay, Ron, why do you think the Riccis are trying to kill you?”

“Well, the other day I was...oh no I think someone’s here. You gotta get over here right now, and help me, Brandon. You’re all I got.”

The call ended and I knew he was serious since he’d just called me by my real name. Even though I despised Ron, I couldn’t let his death be on my conscience for the rest of my life. God knew I’d already been weighed down with all I could handle. I pulled the loaded nine-millimeter from under my pillow and grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.

Chapter ThreeBrandon Farmer

Ron Horn’s Home

I RACED