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

I kill the call, stuff the phone into my pocket, and launch myself at the wall, hauling myself over the top. I drop to the grass and climb behind the wheel of the Cadillac, starting the engine and driving back to the alley. The street is still deserted. I grab the jerry can of gasoline I placed on the backseat and pour it over the car, then toss another match.

The Cadillac bursts into flames and I hurry to my own car. I peel the gloves and balaclava off, stuffing them beneath the seat. I turn the police radio up.

“… repeat, more units needed at 147 Plantation Boulevard. Multiple suspects on site resisting arrest.”

After that, things pretty much take care of themselves. By the time I get back to Kincaid’s house, there are squad cars everywhere, red and blue flashing, wailing sirens bringing down property values.

I hang back on the periphery, letting others take the lead. It doesn’t take long before the body and the drugs are discovered.

I watch as Mason leads a cuffed Kincaid to her car. His wife watches from the front door, a kid to either side of her. Kincaid says something to Mason and she shakes her head.

He pulls away from her and runs back to his wife. He kisses her, then crouches down next to his kids, laying his forehead against theirs. First the girl, then the boy.

I look away. I don’t want to see that. Kincaid is not a father. He’s not a husband.

He’s a killer.

And this time he’s going to prison.

Five8:15 a.m.

That was four years ago now.

Kincaid was charged with murder. The blood under Devon’s fingernails nailed him. The drugs were secondary charges, not really worth pursuing. Bit of a waste of time on my part, but I wasn’t complaining.

I’d known he was serving time at Ravenhill, but our paths had never crossed. I was in A Wing and he was in Unit 4 of Gen Pop. Don’t ask me how he managed to swing that—he should have been in ACU right from the beginning. But money talks, even in here.

He doesn’t look too different. Still has the thick gray hair swept back from his forehead.

I force a smile onto my face as he enters the cell. “How you doing, Malcolm? You look good. Lost some weight. You on a diet?”

Yup. Bravado and cockiness. My instinctive responses to everything. It’s a defense mechanism. Most cops have it. Most veterans too. Even at Amy’s funeral I’d cracked a tasteless joke when I was giving her eulogy. Something about her at least not having to kill herself now when we got stuck in the rut of middle-age life and she started hating the sight of me.

Everyone thought I’d gone crazy, but Amy would have found it funny. That was enough for me.

Two of Kincaid’s men enter the cell and lean against the walls, on either side of him. “This is Veitch and Cassidy,” he says in a friendly tone of voice.

Two more come in and grab me by the arms. They shove me back onto the concrete slab that serves as a bed.

Kincaid nods to the left. “That’s Adler.” Then to the right. “That’s Sullivan.”

One guy waits outside the cell, taking up position to keep an eye open for interruptions. Kincaid gestures vaguely behind him. “That’s West.”

The cell is seriously cramped now and I realize I’m in deep shit. Evans is probably asleep, and no one else is going to do anything. Where the hell is Felix? I’m not sure he’d step in, but it might make Kincaid think twice.

“Is this about me punching you? Because—”

“Don’t be stupid. You know it’s not about that.”

Shit and fuck. “So you know?”

“That you framed me? Yeah, I know.”

“How?”

“Wasn’t difficult. I had my people look into it. Spoke to someone at the alarm company. He had an interesting story to tell. Didn’t take me long to figure out who wanted me put away so bad they’d break the law.”

Fucking Simon. What a prick.

Kincaid strolls toward me. “I always wondered if I’d get a crack at you,” he says.

“Must be your lucky day.”

“Must be,” he agrees thoughtfully. “You know, life has been gray lately, Jack. I don’t mind admitting that. The doc gave me pills—antidepressants. I don’t think that shit works, but seeing you has really given me a boost.” He takes a deep breath. “Fact is, I feel better right now than I have in years.”

“Happy to help out.”

He stares at me for a long moment. “You look at me, what do you see?”

“A killer,” I say without hesitation. “A drug dealer. Someone who would do anything to get what he wanted.”

He nods as if I’ve just confirmed his suspicions. “You know what I see when I look at you?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“A coward. A corrupt cop who couldn’t do his job properly, so had to break the law. A man who couldn’t protect his own wife and child.”

I try to lunge forward, but Adler and Sullivan keep a strong grip on me. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about them.”

Kincaid smiles. “Found a little chink in the armor there, have we? See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Perception is not reality. I don’t look at myself as a criminal. Same way you don’t look at yourself as a corrupt cop. Or a coward. You know why? Because in your own head, you did your best. You did what you thought was right.”

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line. It doesn’t come. “So… what? You’re saying we’re the same?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Everything I did, I did for the right reasons. For my family.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t know me, boy. You might think you do, but you don’t. I grew up poor. In the slums. My old man died, my ma, God rest her soul, made sure I stayed in school. All she wanted was for me to graduate and make an honest living. She died when I was fourteen. And I sat