Centralia by Mike Dellosso Read Free Book Online Page A

cranked the radio. Little Richard sang “Good Golly, Miss Molly.” Lawrence enjoyed his job. He didn’t enjoy the killing; he wasn’t sure anyone really enjoyed killing. Well, certainly there were some who did, those crazies who saw themselves as some kind of hero for cutting people up or some whacked-out thing like that. But that wasn’t Lawrence; he was a professional. He didn’t kill for pleasure; the killing was simply part of his job. A man had to make a living doing something. It was never personal, and he tried to keep it that way. He tried to keep emotions out of it because emotions only complicated things, and in his line of work simplicity was best. Get in, get out. No regrets, no apologies, no second-guessing.
    As he drove, he stuck mostly to county roads and remote areas. Less traffic, less people, less congestion. And besides, Lawrence enjoyed the scenery and wide-open spaces. The farmland reminded him of his childhood home, where fond memories resided. For most of his childhood he had been raised by foster parents who loved him and gave him every privilege and right a real son would enjoy. Except one. They refused to legally adopt him. They had a biological son who was ten years older than Lawrence and upon their death wanted their entire estate and substantial wealth to be bequeathed to him. Though they showed young Lawrence every kindness and outward display of love, their true son was always their favorite. And upon their most untimely and unfortunate deaths when Lawrence was just fourteen, his older brother had rejected him and cast him back into the foster system. Lawrence had spent the next three and a half years moving from one horrid home to the next, suffering neglect, anger, jealousy, and a myriad of abuses he’d never even thought possible. The day he turned eighteen, he packed his sole bag with everything he owned and walked out of a nightmarish situation to do the one thing he’d dreamed of doing since he was fourteen and abandoned. He joined the Army.
    And like it or not, the Army had made him what he was today. Turned him into a killing machine, then cut him loose. Naturally he’d brought his training into the private sector. What other skills did he have to work with?
    Lawrence glanced at the clock on the dash. This time of day he’d cover ground quickly. Nothing personal, Peter Ryan. Just business.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. The familiar steps that came every day at the same time. Three men. Always three men. But never the same group of three. Always, though, they were large, broad-shouldered, thick-chested, and stern. Rarely did they speak more than two or three words, usually just commands.
    The woman clutched her daughter and put her face in the girl’s hair. She drew in a long breath. “Be strong. Be strong.”
    The girl hugged her mother. “Mommy, I can feel your heart beating.”
    Of course she could. Each time the men came, the woman thought her heart would bound right out of her chest. “I know, baby. It means I love you so much.”
    The girl lifted her face and kissed her mother on the cheek.The touch was so gentle, so tender, so sweet and innocent and everything a little girl’s touch should be. When she spoke, her voice was hushed but not hurried. Never hurried. “Don’t worry, Mommy. God’s with me. I know that. Do you know that?”
    “Yes. Yes, baby, he is. I know it. Always remember that. Hold it close to your heart.”
    The men were just outside the door now, talking in quiet but harsh tones.
    “I’ll be here when you get back. Like always. Okay?”
    “Okay, Mommy. Don’t worry about me. God will protect me.”
    The woman wiped tears from her eyes, smearing them across her cheeks. She sniffed and forced a smile to hide the fear that gripped her heart like an iron claw. “I’ll pray for you. The whole time.”
    The lock disengaged and the door swung open. Light from the hallway slanted across the concrete floor. Two of the men entered, both