Road Chosen: Sequel Book 2

Chapter 3

Mike

"You shouldn't be alone right now," I tenderly speak to her with my hand resting on the closed door. I know she is leaning against it on the other side. I feel like s**t; those tears and her cries rip me apart from the inside out. "Please don't shut me out."

"Go away!" she yells.

Time. She just needs time. Time to cope and heal.

I close my eyes, wipe away a damn tear, and take a deep breath, then stand up to do one of the hardest things I'm going to have to do all day: leave her.

I haven't shed a single tear since I was ten years old. I forgot how much those salty things actually burn my eyes and cloud my vision.

Striding over to my truck, there's a weird ringing sound that I don't recognize.

What the...?

I search my pockets and find a small flip-phone. My thumb flips it open as I bring it to my ear.

"Michael!" A deep voice cheers. I pull the phone away to look at the number – unknown.

Figures.

"You there?" The voice demands. Randall.

"Yeah," I say unenthusiastically.

"Great! I need you to go to Ralph's Sports Shop. Pick up a package for me from the brunette behind the counter. Her name is Sadie. Bring the box to the intersection of Fifth and Ninth – leave it next to the mailbox that you'll see there."

I wait for him to continue. A few beats of silence go by, then I ask, "Is that all?"

"For now." He hangs up.

Cursing colorful choice words, I climb into my truck and beat my steering wheel with my fists. I yell profanities into the cab of my truck.

How did all of this happen?

This is my life now... It's the price I pay to keep Randall's dirty hands off my girl.

After I gather myself, I take out my phone and call a woman that I know can help Elena. I don't want her to be left alone. Dark things happen at times like these when left alone. She may not want me around, but I'll be damned if I don't at least try to protect her from a distance.

****

With the package in hand, I swiftly deliver it to the mailbox on Fifth and Ninth and leave it there as instructed. Walking back to the truck, I can't help but wonder what could possibly be in the mailbox. With Randall, it could be just about anything. A bomb, an appendage to break some sort of news for someone, a head...

Eh, it's probably a little too light to be a head. Not that I know what head actually weighs, I just figure it would be heavier than that box is.

The familiar annoying sound of the flip-phone rings again. I groan and drop my head back to look at the clear blue sky.

How can so many terrible things happen on such a beautiful day?

Wrestling the phone out of my pocket, I answer through my teeth. "What?"

"Sadie texted to let me know that you did what you were told. I was afraid you wouldn't listen to instructions."

I roll my eyes.

"So, Elijah was a cop, therefore, the whole county is out looking for him right now. I need you to clear the air. Take his body from the old warehouse on Chester Street and dump the body in his cop car. Park the car off Mortan Avenue – it's a dirt road near a county over. Make it look like a drive-by shooting," Randall orders me. "Pepper him up. The 9mm that you have matches the bullet in his head. All should be fine."

Pepper him up? With a heavy sigh I ask, "Is that all?"

"For now." He hangs up.

Shit. This is the last thing I want to do. Make it look like he died by a random drive-by? This was Elena's father and now I have to pepper the car using my gun and add more holes to the body.

With heavy feet, I trudge back to my truck and drive back to Elena's house where her dad's damn unmarked car is.

Yep. This day just keeps getting better and better. I get to go back to where she is and not be able to go near her.

Arriving at her house, I see that the help I called in has yet to arrive...unless she left already. I don't get to find out. Elena wants me to leave her alone and I will do exactly that... today.

I walk over to Detective Elijah's car and reach for the handle. Nothing happens. The car is locked, and I don't have the keys.

Dammit. I'm not about to knock on the door to ask for them. What will I say? I need your dad's car keys to stage a drive-by shooting of your dad's death. Yeah, that'll go over well.

I have to break in. Walking back to my truck, I take out some supplies. I could use a Slim Jim, but I'm a bit old school; I grab the unwound coat hanger with a hook at the end and slide it up and down then side to side between the rubber of the window and the glass to feel for the arm mechanism that has it locked. Finally, I hook the tool inside and give it a firm pull then the lock pops up. I open the door, get in the seat, and realize that now I have to hotwire the thing.

I get back out of the police car and go to my place for a rag so I can wipe off my fingerprints for when I'm done, as well as, a few tools and gloves.

Getting back into the car, I ignore a picture of Elena smiling with her dad resting on the dashboard, take my flathead screwdriver and hammer, then pound the screwdriver into the ignition and turn it like a key. In this moment, I am glad that the county is too poor to give their men of the law vehicles built after the nineties. With luck on my side, I don't need to literally hotwire it, since it started for me using this method. Using the screwdriver, I pry open the steering-wheel lock's bolt by jamming the screwdriver between the top of the steering column and the steering wheel so the wheel will actually turn while I drive it.

With a knot in my stomach, I start to back out of the driveway towards the building that holds the remains of Detective Elijah Cochran.

At the warehouse, his body is left on the curb. Apparently, Randall isn't worried about anyone coming out here to find such a scene. I put my gloves on, hold my breath from the stench of his body, carefully pick him up, and haul him over my shoulder to bring him to his car. Sliding into the driver's seat, I roll all the windows down so I can breathe a little better. Driving off to the site where I'm supposed to create this drive-by shooting, I find myself saying, "Your daughter hates me."

I turn my head towards Elijah as if he's not dead, expecting an answer. I'm talking to corpses now. Great. I stare at the faded picture of them in front of me above the gauges.

"How can I get her to trust me again? To love me again? I wasn't lying when I said that I love her." I look back at Elijah. "You knew that though, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I don't plan on that," I answer to an unspoken question. I shake my head. "I don't plan on leaving her alone. I will bother her at least once every day until she lets me back into her life." I remember the promise I made to him. "I'll protect her, Detective. I promise."

Once on Mortan Avenue, I pull over and remind myself to breathe. I've done things like this before, but never to someone that I respected and actually sort of liked. Definitely not to the father of the woman I love.

I grab my tools, open my door, and drop them on the road. With my rag, I wipe down the steering wheel and anything else I've touched within the vehicle. I step out and take in the smell of pine, dirt, and earth. The only sounds are from the various insects and birds singing their songs; this place is completely deserted.

With my pistol, I place the barrel at the rear windshield from the back and aim through the headrest, and fire so the hole will match the one in his head. The sound of the pistol rings in my ear along with the shattering blast of the windshield; the cushion filling disperses and flies around the dash. At the passenger side, I carefully remove Cobra and carry him over to the driver's seat. I put the seatbelt on him with a click and place his hands over the steering wheel then let them slide off as they would if shot in the driving position. Then, I gently place his forehead against the top of the steering wheel as it would from the blow of the bullet.

I walk over to the passenger side door, close it and wipe it down. Then, I walk back to the driver's side and wipe the inside of the door handle as well as the outside of it, then push it closed.

With my tools in hand, I step back and look at the scene. The only thing that won't make sense is the fact that the ignition is damaged. If the cops are any bit smart, they'll know this is staged. Hopefully, it can't come back to bite me in the ass.

The weight of the polymer handle in my palm is extra heavy today; I raise the pistol. Is it really necessary to pepper the car? To add more holes to Elijah?

I take a breath and say a prayer for the soul of the detective, hope that God hears me, then place my finger on the trigger.

***I will try to put up 3 chapters every week. Life does get in the way sometimes. The goal is to do three chapters a week or more. I am currently working on chapter 4, so ya'll should see new chapters up by next week sometime!

What do ya'll think of it so far? Please vote or comment so I know how this story is going :) Thank you for reading!***