Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 2
For two months I had been grasping at straws, running down every lead. Today I had a meeting scheduled at MCI Concord prison with Fred Johnson. That black son of a bitch was doing time for murdering a family of three—a husband, wife, and their three-year-old son. A total asshole high on drugs had broken into their home and shot all three with a shotgun. It wasn’t hard to nail him—there was a camera out front, and Fred’s face was caught on it. When we busted him five hours after the murders, he was furiously jerking his huge cock. Hank flipped Fred over onto the floor, snapping his dick. And the black bastard started screaming that he’d fuck us all and get revenge… Well, it was time to have a talk with him.
"Well, well, Jerry Harrison, we meet again," Fred Johnson began when I walked into the interrogation room. "Where’s your partner, Hank Sullivan? I heard he went a little wild—and got his head torn off."
"But at least he lived with his dick intact, not broken," I snapped.
"And how would you know—were you fucking him?" Fred shot back.
This exchange of verbal blows could have gone on forever. Fred Johnson was sitting in a chair, his hands chained to the table and his feet in shackles.
I sat down opposite the black bastard and got down to business.
"Do you know who killed him?" I asked.
"I know, I know," Fred Johnson guffawed, tilting his fleshy, double-chinned head back.
"Was it your doing?" I pressed.
"Well, how could I? I’m serving a life sentence," Johnson said with a smirk.
"That’s only because the state of Massachusetts has no death penalty, you filthy bastard," I shot back sharply.
"But I didn’t kill anyone! You know that’s true. And Hank knew it too, and now he’s dead…" Fred Johnson whispered, dripping with insinuation.
"Again with this innocence bullshit. Everyone’s sick of it. Let’s get to the point. Do you have information or not?" I asked, starting to get irritated.
"Yes, I do. But you won’t like it. Beware the full moon. Your hour is coming," Fred Johnson said.
I left the prison in a foul mood. That bastard hadn’t told me anything useful.
I didn’t go back to the station, heading straight home instead. I was exhausted—I could barely keep my eyes open; I didn’t even bother with a beer. I took a leak – my urine was red – and collapsed onto the couch without undressing.
The next day felt like some kind of delirium. I woke up in the bushes of a park two blocks from my house. And I was naked—no underwear, no socks. Good thing it was early morning and I managed to get home without incident.
The front door of my house had been smashed open. It looked like someone had broken it outward from inside. I went in and saw something strange. By the couch lay a shredded pair of jeans and a torn shirt; my boots had been pulled off and sliced up. My pistols were on the floor in their holsters with full magazines, their straps ripped.
All evidence pointed to me sleepwalking. Good thing I hadn’t been armed. Apparently my partner’s death had messed me up so badly I was starting to lose my mind.
The day passed as usual, spent searching for answers. I decided to send a trusted undercover agent into Fred Johnson’s prison to sniff out his possible involvement in my partner’s death. Some old connections with the prison warden helped – I’d once saved the warden’s ass from prison myself. That evening they were supposed to put my agent into his cell… Well, I would wait.