Clickers III by Brian Keene, J. F. Gonzalez Read Free Book Online Page B

green coveralls worn by the staff groundskeepers. The Mexican groundskeeper he’d gotten them from had been only too happy to accept Clark’s thousand bucks in cash in exchange for the uniform, his job for the next few days, and his silence. Clark had observed the groundskeeper for a full week before making his proposition, so he knew the man worked solo all day. It had provided the perfect opportunity for casing Tony Genova’s unit and plotting his next move.
    Only now, he didn’t know what his next move was going to be.
    Clark leaned against the closed utility shed door, his mind racing. He was in close enough proximity that he would hear when the shadowy figures who’d entered Tony’s unit left. He’d come too far now to abort his mission. He had to wait this out, see what kind of move they’d make, before he could decide what to do.
    His original plan had been simple. Gain entry to Tony’s unit by
    pretending to be a Mexican immigrant groundskeeper who needed access to the rear deck of the unit. Clark was one-half Mexican anyway, spoke Spanish (as well as Japanese, French, German, and Cantonese) and could easily emulate the speech and mannerism of an immigrant worker. Once he was inside he’d knock Tony unconscious, get him tied up, then wait for him to wake up. Once he was conscious, Clark would explain Tony’s options. Cooperate or Old Man Marano would get word that Tony was still alive, as well as the former hitman’s exact location. Clark figured the choice was obvious; the don might be serving time, but he had a reach outside the prison walls that would result in a very dead Tony Genova within twenty-four hours.
    Simple, right?
    Clark was pretty confident Tony would cooperate. After all, this was a guy who’d negotiated his way into a pretty cool relocation/new identity thanks to Livingston’s Administration. Both his original options would have resulted in painful deaths. That indicated Tony Genova was very interested in staying alive, no matter what the cost. If he dropped dime on the Marano family in exchange for this cushy new life, he’d drop dime again to get Clark what he needed.
    To be exonerated.
    Left alone.
    To live out the rest of his life in peace.
    Livingston had that power. He could end this relentless investigation into former President Jeffrey Tyler’s death. He had the influence to shape and manufacture evidence, which would in turn be used to provide the official documentation on the man’s untimely death. Conspiracy theorists would still ponder the events of that day, would still come to their own crackpot theories, and some would even cling doggedly to the notion that Clark had, indeed, killed President Tyler. But those theories would never go on any official record. Until the current investigation was shut down, a false solution presented, and the trail leading to Clark Arroyo was erased permanently, he could never be at rest.
    He could also stop killing people, too.
    Despite the fact that he was good at it, Clark didn’t really like doing it.
    Unfortunately, the events of the last two years had forced his hand. The killings would never be traced back to him. He’d made sure of that, having been trained by the best and the brightest in the US Government. But Tyler’s foot soldiers were still around, and they were causing trouble for him. They were like cockroaches. Pests that invaded your living space and wreaked havoc until you killed them. And just like cockroaches, they kept popping up and sniffing around, trying to find anything that would bolster their theories that a US Secret Service agent had killed President Jeffrey Tyler in cold blood.
    Thank God much of this had gone under the radar of mainstream America. They’d been too preoccupied with other things; rebuilding the East Coast, dealing with the emotional turmoil of a fallen President, then the brief shift of power to President Bower followed by Livingston’s sweep a little over a year later. Rebuilding and