Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

questioned, looking up at the guard for a second. He didn’t wait for an answer. “No one’s hacking into this, dipshit.” He paused, giving the guard a stern look. “What was the total barrel shipment?”

“270 kegs.”

He scribbled down the figure in the ledger, then set it aside, still open, while he opened the ledger marked ‘OTHER 1.’ “How many bags of Spider’s Bite?”

Must be the name of the pills, thought John.

“Forty per keg and 144 kegs were filled with pills, so that’s 5,760 packets. Ten pills per packet as always. So, 57,600 pills.”

“Good boy! School wasn’t totally lost on you!” smirked The Accountant as he scribbled the numbers down. “And now, when are you going to get the forty large that one of your scumbag dealers owes? It was due yesterday!” He ran his fat, gold-ringed index finger down the joint of the ledger spine and cover. “You know how the boss hates late payers.”

The guard lowered his head. “It’ll will be with tonight’s takings.”

The Accountant stared at him. “It had better be. No excuses, or you’ll have the boss to deal with!”

He made a note of the amount in pencil in the ledger, not committing it to ink. “Now go back to the dock and check that the right number of empty kegs are returned.” He didn’t look up but started reviewing other entries in the book of accounts.

The same group of men that John had seen before were now loading the truck with pallets of empty kegs. John’s host ordered the side curtains to be lifted on both sides and stepped off the platform to properly inspect the contents.

He counted eight pallets stacked with eighteen kegs, so that made 144 kegs for return. He went to the dispatcher’s desk, sat down, and made an entry on a form. The guard waved to the driver, who started pulling down and fixing the straps to the side curtains.

John’s host took out a crumpled soft pack of cigarettes and put them on the table.

“Make sure you get the number of returns confirmed back at the depot,” the host shouted at the driver.

“Will do!” the driver confirmed.

John guessed that ‘the depot’ meant the Supreme Logistics Fulfillment Center that the pills had come from. This was his chance to see it and get one more piece to the puzzle.

The guard placed a cigarette to his lips but didn’t get to light it because at that moment John’s spirit departed the man’s body.

Lazlo wasn’t going to give up on the Kendrick case. For some reason, El Gordito was covering up Mark Kendrick’s brother’s real cause of death. He wanted to know what his sister, Siobhan, knew, and if he could use it against the drug kingpin.

After the cremation, he had waited for her return at her home address—an apartment building in Queens—until a neighbor informed him that Kendrick had gone to live with her mother. The old lady, who seemed to be into everyone’s business in the building, had even met Siobhan’s mother and managed to extract her first name and the neighborhood in Philadelphia where she lived. He had done some database research and had narrowed down the possible addresses to two.

Now, heading along the I-95, Lazlo was thirty minutes away from Kendrick’s mother’s house. It had been just over two hours’ drive in all.

He pulled up on Elmbrook Street in the district of Chestnut Hill in Philadelphia at around 5:20 p.m. To his annoyance, the address turned out to be a bust: a black couple occupied the house, young professionals starting out on the housing ladder. He drove on to the other address.

Springfield Road was in a more down-market area. He pulled up two houses away from number fifty-three, which was a small brick house with a white picket fence. He was in luck. A woman in her fifties was getting into an old Jeep Cherokee. She had just pulled out from the curb and was about to drive off when another woman chased after her, ordering the car to stop. She spoke for a moment to the driver before the car drove away, leaving her in the middle of the street. Lazlo wasn’t sure it was Siobhan Kendrick at first. This individual had short hair, and she was a blonde whereas Kendrick had been brunette, but her figure looked the same.

He got out of the car and called to her as he ran in her direction. She glanced at him, recognition then fear crossing her face before she turned away and started walking quickly to the house.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted back at him.

Lazlo caught up with her by her front door. She had her back to him as she walked through the door.

“I just want to ask why you didn’t . . .” Lazlo’s voice faded when she turned around and attempted to close the door—a move that he prevented by blocking it with his foot. Her skin was looking paler than before and it was dry with scabs. And as she pushed her hand harder against the door, he noticed needle marks on the underside of her forearm.

He wondered whether she had been an addict before her brother’s death.

“You see, I’m a junkie like my brother… was.” She laughed a hollow, sarcastic laugh. “Move your foot,” she snarled.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Lazlo said, knowing that even if he got her to tell the truth about what had really happened to her brother, El Gordito’s lawyer would crush her credibility in court because of the addiction. And with the body now cremated, it looked like El Gordito had this one covered from all angles.

As soon as Lazlo withdrew his foot, she slammed the door in his face.

He wasn’t about to give up just yet. The only evidence he had of El Gordito’s crimes might have been reduced to an urn full of ashes, but he still had the pills—the little white pills with the red spider logo. They were now his only lead, but an important one, and the