Highway to Vengeance: A Thomas Highway Thriller by Brian Springer Read Free Book Online

to say when he answered,
or a fake name to identify yourself with?”
    “No.”
    “A phrase to prove that you weren’t being
coerced into calling him? Anything at all unusual?”
    “No,” Russo said. “Nothing like that. He
just said to call if anything important came up that he should know
about.”
    “But you never did.”
    “Nothing ever came up,” Russo said.
    “And what was the number again?”
    Without hesitating for a moment, Russo said,
“2-45-666-4242.”
    By now, I was fully convinced Russo was
telling the truth. He didn’t have the balls to do anything
different. He was a pawn, a weakling, an amateur, and obviously way
out of his league. I leaned back in my chair and considered my next
move.
    Still considering, I grabbed the gun with my
right hand, stood up, and gave him a pat on the shoulder with my
left.
    “You’ve done good Russo,” I said as I moved
around the back of his chair.
    He turned his head to follow me. “Does that
mean we’re finished?”
    “That depends,” I said, now standing
directly behind him. I still hadn’t decided on a course of
action.
    “On what?”
    “On you.”
    Russo started to shift his body to get a
better look at me but I stuck the barrel of the H&K against the
back of his neck, right at the base of his skull. My finger was
still resting on the trigger guard. For now.
    Russo stiffened. The stench of urine filled
the cellar. He started to turn his head.
    “Keep facing forward,” I said.
    “Okay,” he said, his voice on the verge of
cracking. “Okay. Just . . . just take . . . take it easy. Why . . .
why are you doing this? I answered all your questions. I did
everything you asked.”
    “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” I
said.
    “Because I don’t deserve to die!”
    “Neither did my wife,” I said. “But that
didn’t save her, now did it?”
    There was a pause as this rattled around in
Russo’s mind. Then he got it. “She . . . she was Jason’s
lawyer?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Oh God,” Russo said. “I’m sorry. I truly
am. But I had no idea what was going to happen. I really
didn’t.”
    “I know that now. But it doesn’t really
matter anyway. What does matter is this: If you would have known
what was going to happen, would you have done anything about it? Or
would you have been too scared to open your mouth.”
    Russo didn’t answer.
    “That’s what I thought.”
    A few seconds of silence, then Russo said,
“Look, I understand you’re upset—”
    I pressed the business end of the barrel
deeper into his skin. “You don’t understand shit. So just keep your
mouth shut unless I ask you a direct question.”
    “Okay,” Russo said. “Okay. Whatever you
say.” He began to mewl like a newborn kitten. The stench of shit
overrode the lingering smell of urine as he vacated his bowels.
    I adjusted the grip on my gun, carefully
slipping my finger inside the trigger guard and letting it rest on
the trigger itself but applying no pressure.
    I emptied my mind of thought and started to
squeeze the trigger, putting enough pressure on it to move it
backwards just a hair, applying about half the necessary weight to
complete the action.
    It was time to decide, one way or the
other.
    Kill him, or don’t.
    I relaxed my hand and removed my finger from
the trigger and let the gun fall to my side. I was still staring at
the back of Russo’s head. The pressure from the tip of the barrel
left a little white O on the flesh of his neck.
    Russo exhaled audibly, nearly falling
forward out of his chair. His breath came in shuddering waves.
    “You’re one lucky son of a bitch,” I said.
“But since I can’t have you making any noise for a while—”
    I struck him in the side of his head with
the butt of my handgun. He fell to the floor in a heap. I checked
his pulse; weak but steady. He would wake up with one hell of a
headache but without permanent damage.
    I took a minute to look around and make sure
I hadn’t left anything behind, then