I Want To Live

Chapter Fourteen

    Jason Caruso slipped the cell phone into a rear pocket of his jeans. He ran long thin fingers through his loathsome red hair. Called carrot top in school, it was his nemesis. He had been instructed to execute another noncompliant human being. Enforcing Graham Stellarman’s orders was getting to be too risky. That would make two murders this month. He was running out of creative solutions. 

    A convicted felon with a rap sheet for assault, domestic abuse, a couple DUIs, breaking and entering, he had recently been released from prison. He had difficulty finding a job. No one was willing to hire someone with a criminal record, until Graham approached him outside the Halfway House one morning.

    “Hear you’re in need of a job,” he said. “I have a lucrative offer for you, if you’re willing to accept it?” They sat in Graham’s Porsche discussing details. 

    Jason was duly impressed. To be able to afford a car like that, he was ripe to do anything. 

    Graham wanted a muscle man to keep his default gamblers in line. Occasionally he would be asked to murder someone. “I’ve never done anything like that,” Jason said, squirming inside. “I wouldn’t even know how to go about it.” 

    “No problem,” said Graham. “I’ll coach you. A steady salary as a henchman to protect my interests. Five thousand dollars for every dispatch. A hefty bonus at the end of the year.” Graham pierced him with a menacing look. “Think hard, Jason. You’re on a dead end street right now, going no where.” 

    Jason blanched when Graham pulled a Glock out of his coat pocket, laying it on his thigh in plain view. He understood his life was on the line.

    “You really have no choice, Jason.” Graham ran his hand over the barrel, like one would pet a dog. “If you don’t take the job, I’ll have to kill you.” A sneer plastered on his face.

    Sweat trickled from his armpits, ran down his spine, salt burning his eyes. Jason gulped. Desperate. Longing to live under any circumstance. He proffered his hand to shake Graham’s, sealing his fate. 

    This time he was to target a dentist who lived in a floating house on Lake Union. Jason knew access to those homes was by a key code. A secure chain link fence barred entry until the correct combination was punched in. He would have to approach house #6 from the lake at the darkest hour, around midnight. He prayed for a dense cloud cover with no moon. 

    He blessed his burglary skills, allowing him to gain access and steal a canoe from a watercraft rental shop on shore. Paddling along the shoreline, he glided toward the dock of #6 quietly and tied the craft to the mooring. Wearing black clothes and soft soled shoes, he stole along the dock catlike. He tested the French doors, suspecting he would have to use burglary tools on the lock. To his surprise they were open. 

    Inside he allowed his eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior. No one downstairs. They must be in bed. A couple of envelopes on the kitchen counter caught his eye. They were addressed to Dr. and Mrs. Williams. Yep. Right house. He chose his steps with care on the stairs to avoid any creaks. The first bedroom was unoccupied. The second held a crib and baby stuff, also empty. In the last bedroom he detected slight snoring. 

    Jason crept into the room. Moved closer to the queen bed. His intended target slept on the right side. Aiming his Sig Sauer with silencer at the dentist’s temple, he fired. Pried the man’s mouth open. Inserted a poker chip. 

    The wife stirred. Terrified eyes widened when she saw his dark shape.Threw herself onto the floor. Jason whirled around the end of the bed, tangling his foot in the jumble of blankets heaped around Pat. He fell forward splaying his arms to avoid landing on top of her. Pat’s crazed face unnerved him. He landed on his side with an “Ummph.” The gun slid under the bed. 

    Taking advantage of her assailant’s awkward position, she bent her knees kicking him in the groin. Scurried over the blankets to her feet and ran from the room.

    Jason doubled up in pain. Recovered quickly. Where was his gun? He searched with his hands along the carpet, connecting with the stock under the bed. Gun in hand he bolted from the room. Had to stop her before she alerted someone. There. Downstairs. In the kitchen. Cell phone in her hand. He aimed at her torso. Pulled the trigger. She crumpled and hit the floor. 

    Jason descended. Two steps at a time. Stood over her sprawled bloody body, still attempting to move. No time to appreciate her raw beauty in the lace-edged nightgown. He fired into her chest. That seemed to take the fight out of her. He had to leave. What if the commotion had alerted a neighbor? Turned and dashed out the doors. 

    He paused on the dock. Strained to hear any sound. All was quiet. The flash of an idea. Grabbing a gas can out of the motorboat, he ran back into the house. Doused a trail of gas throughout the lower level. Back outside he flicked a lit book of matches through the doors. The flames caught and flared high, fed by the accelerant. Satisfied the fire would cover his tracks, he hopped into the canoe. Paddled like a fiery dragon was after him.