Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) Brett Battles (online e reader txt) 📖

I turn my attention to our two interlopers. Evan seems to be breathing better, though both he and Gina look a little shell-shocked.

Keeping my voice calm, I say, “What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Evan says. “I was…I was just so angry. I wanted to see for myself. I ran over to the window and saw him throwing all that gas around and I just…I’m sorry.”

I can’t blame him for what he did. After years of abuse, he just couldn’t hold back any longer.

“It’s all right,” I say. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Where’s your car?”

“Next to your truck.”

“Next to my truck? How did you—” I stop myself. “Never mind. We need to get out of here.”

“What about Evan’s dad?” Gina asks.

“We’ll let the police give him a ride.”

“Will they know that he…” Evan trails off, but I get what he’s asking.

“They’ll know. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

He nods, as if he still can’t fully believe it yet.

Jar recalls our drone, which sparks another look of surprise from our honorary junior team members. We walk out the back of the farm to where our cars are parked.

“One last thing before you go,” I say to Evan.

We go over what I want him to do, then I make him repeat it again before I put my phone on speaker and dial 911.

When the operator comes on, Evan says, “The Whittaker house is on fire.” He gives the address and adds, “The man who set it is lying outside.”

“Can you repeat that, sir? Did you say there’s a man outside?”

“You should send the police, too. And probably an ambulance.”

“What’s your name?”

Evan looks at me, and I nod.

“Evan Price,” he says. “The man who set the fire is my father.”

You may be wondering why I had Evan make this call. The reason is simple. There’s bound to be a lot of fallout after his father is publicly linked to the fires. The fact that Evan is the person who reported him could go a long way toward sheltering him and the rest of his family from being lumped in with Chuckie’s deeds.

Is it a guarantee they won’t have to leave Mercy to have a normal life? No. But it’s a chance.

We say our goodbyes, and Evan and Gina head back to Mercy.

Jar and I have one more stop to make before we go back to town.

Chapter Thirty

Bergen is awake when we arrive at the Travato.

“Are you ready?” our computerized voice asks him.

A hesitation, and then a nod.

He looks better than he did earlier today. Like he’s accepted his fate and is okay with it.

He sits in the backseat of our crew cab on the drive back to town, his hands tied behind his back. Even if they weren’t, I doubt he would make a break for it but we’re not taking any chances. And yeah, we are still wearing our ski masks. The sun has set, so it’s less likely anyone will notice.

As soon as we hit Mercy city limits, we quiz Bergen on the instructions we’ve given him. He’s got it down, so everything should go smoothly.

I park on a side street a block from the police department and nod at Jar. When I look back at Bergen, she clicks her computer and our voice says, “Turn and we will untie you.”

Bergen shifts around and I undo the restraints around his wrists.

Jar clicks again. “This is your confession.”

I hold out a memory stick that holds a copy of the video we made of him this afternoon.

He takes it, stares at it for a moment, and nods.

Another tap on Jar’s computer. “Do as we told you and it should go easier for you.”

He nods again and reaches for the door, but stops before opening it. “Thank you,” he says.

Sure, we’re potentially saving him from a worse fate if we didn’t convince him to cooperate, but I don’t think that’s why he thanked us. I think it’s because we’ve stopped him from having to do anything else for Chuckie. It was a cycle he couldn’t pull himself out of on his own.

He gets out and walks down the street to the corner. When he turns toward the police station and disappears, we pull off our masks. I drive us down to the corner, where we watch him enter the building.

“All right,” I say. “Send it.”

A moment later, I hear the swoosh of an email leaving Jar’s computer, indicating the robust information packet we put together about the Mercy Arsonists has been sent to the Colorado attorney general, the FBI, the Mercy PD, the press, Gage-Trent Farming, Hayden Valley Agriculture, and the two companies’ insurance agencies. The only thing not in the packet is Bergen’s confession. If for some reason he decides not to give it to the police, we’ll send it out, but hopefully he’ll follow through with what we discussed, as it will be better for him if he’s the only source of his confession.

I drive us to Central Avenue and head to our duplex.

I’m not going to lie. I’m a little annoyed.

Jar and I have developed a kind of trademark way of handling situations like the taking down of Chuckie Price. We like our victims to know just how hopeless their situations are. Usually, this is accomplished by forcing a restrained perpetrator to watch a gorgeous multimedia extravaganza that we produce. For example, the one we played for Marco and Blaine at El Palacio Banquet Experience.

There are few things more satisfying than putting together a killer presentation, and I don’t mean to brag but we’ve brought some of our intended audiences to tears.

Our need to unexpectedly flee the Whittaker farmhouse, however, meant Chuckie did not have the honor of viewing our work. At least not while we’re there to appreciate his reaction. I’m sure someone will show it to him eventually. The presentation is, after all, included in the mass email we sent.

Still, I would have loved to see his face