Breakout Paul Herron (books to read in your 20s female .TXT) 📖

“Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I know about your past. I know you paid someone to wipe your record.”

I hear his breathing speed up.

“Simon?”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing big. Just the floor plans and access code to one of your properties.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You sure? I mean, this climate we’re in. Tough to get a job, you know? Especially when you’ve got a record.”

“Why you want that stuff ?”

“None of your business. And relax. Nobody’s going to get hurt. All you have to ask yourself is how much you need your job. I’ll call back in one minute. Give you time to think about it.”

I hang up, pacing the garage for the full minute before calling him back.

“I’ll do it,” he says grudgingly.

“Smart guy.”

I give him a burner email address. He sends the code and the plans while I have him on the phone. I check. It’s what I need.

“I’ve written an email to your employers,” I say. “With details of your arrests. It’s scheduled to go out tomorrow morning unless I stop it. You tell anyone about this, if anything happens to me, you’re going down. Got it?”

“Yeah, man. I got it.”

I hang up, feeling sick in my stomach. This isn’t me. It doesn’t sit well. My whole career I’ve been around cops who cut corners. Nothing big. At least not to start with. But I’ve seen how it affects them. Once they cross that line, it’s easier to do it again. Easier to let things slide. Then it becomes a simple progression to pocketing evidence. Looking the other way when they owe people favors.

That was never me.

Until now.

Later that night, I gather up all the items I’ve prepared and drive back to the alley. I park a hundred feet down the street and take a stroll along the sidewalk, checking the buildings as I go. There are some security cameras, but if no crime has been reported, they won’t be checked.

I glance into the alley as I pass. The body is still there. I can just see Devon’s foot.

Nobody’s reported it.

Am I really going to do this? I can still back out. I haven’t done anything I can’t make go away. The drugs can be flushed. The email deleted.

And Kincaid is free to kill again. To corrupt how many more lives? Destroy how many more families?

No. I’m not backing out now.

I use Devon’s keys and get into the driver’s seat of his Cadillac. I wait for ten minutes, just to be sure. In that time I see three cars, but none of them show any interest in me.

After the ten minutes are up, I start the car and reverse into the mouth of the alley. I pop the trunk and get out.

Rigor mortis is setting in, Devon’s neck and upper arms already seizing up. I take out the new toothbrush I bought and poke it around inside the evidence bag that holds Kincaid’s blood. I gently scrape the bristles beneath Devon’s fingernails, making sure the flakes go deep.

I put the toothbrush and evidence bag away. I pause, still crouching. Why not just leave him here? Call in an anonymous tip-off ? Kincaid’s blood and DNA are on the body now.

No. It won’t be enough. His lawyers would just come up with some story about Devon attacking him in the street.

I grab Devon’s feet and drag him across the asphalt, heaving him headfirst into the trunk.

Then I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine.

I park down the street from Kincaid’s mansion. There are lights everywhere, halogen floods chasing away the shadows. That makes it trickier. Not impossible. Just… tricky. I can’t even see the house from where I am. The grounds are too big. Kincaid bought the five properties surrounding his and knocked them down for the land.

There’s something going on. Expensive cars arriving in ones and twos, stopping outside the gates to show the guards something before being let inside. I recognize a few of the faces. Heavy hitters in the Miami underworld.

Shit. Is he having a party or something? What do I do? Cancel?

No, don’t be stupid. I’m driving around with a corpse in the car. The hell am I supposed to do with it? Put it back?

Actually, this might be good for me. A distraction. I might not even need the alarm codes now. Why would he activate the security system when people are coming and going?

I drive around the back of the house. The rear of the property faces onto a park. I drive slowly over the grass and stop next to Kincaid’s wall. I pull on the balaclava I brought with me, get out of the car, pop the trunk, and drag Devon out onto the grass. I grab his legs, look up—

—and realize there’s a problem.

The wall is ten feet high. How the hell am I supposed to get him over?

I drop him onto the grass again, then maneuver the car as close to the wall as I can get it. I grab his feet and climb up the bumper onto the trunk. I try to pull him up with me, but I’m not far enough back. I can’t get any leverage to lift him off the ground.

This is just fucking perfect.

I keep hold of the ankles and slide up the back window to sit on the car roof. I shuffle back and pull the body up, but Devon’s stupid baggy pants get caught on the bumper.

“Honest to God, Devon. If you were alive, I’d fucking arrest you for wearing those things.”

I have to let the body slide back down to free the material. I pull him up again, so now he looks like he’s doing a handstand against the car. I shuffle back all the way to the front windshield, then get to my knees and pull him up. First by the legs, then the waist, until I finally have him sprawled on the roof next to me.

I pat him on the head. “Could do with losing