Chapter Twenty
Thunderstorm
Snappy c****d his head to one side, listening.
“You hear that?” Willis said. “Somebody screaming.” There was pain in the sound, and despair. He’d heard that before in the war zones, tortured prisoners pushed to the brink and beyond.
“Don’t sound good,” Snappy said.
Shultz lived in a house like any other and in Florida, that meant closed curtains in front. Being neighborly was keeping your grass mowed, and not letting your dog s**t in the neighbor’s yard. Actual conversation was fairly rare, and even more so on a stormy evening. Rain drummed steadily, and there was no traffic.
Willis motioned to Snappy, and then to the right. He went left, around the two-car garage. There was no sunset. Just the glowering clouds and the persistent rain. Thunder rumbled in a
