Killer Instincts v5 by Jack Badelaire Read Free Book Online Page B

you...well the money is yours to do with as you see fit. On top of the payouts from the insurance claims, the assets in your family come in around another million, if you consider the savings accounts, CDs, bonds, and the stocks you'd be willing to part with."
    "So all told, after taxes, around three million dollars?"
    "Something like that yes. Young guy like you, smart, some of that economics degree under your belt, you take this semester off, since it's kinda blown right now anyway. Go back to school, ride out your last three semesters, you can put that cash someplace it'll do you good, invest it well, take a job you like rather than a job you need for the paycheck. You'll be able to live fairly well the rest of your days, as long as you don't do anything dumb with it."
    I stared for a moment into the milky grey depths of my cafe au lait, imagining myself ten, twenty years from now. What kind of relationships to you build with people when your family gets taken away from you like this? I tried to picture the awkward revelation of what happened to my family, explaining it to some unknown future girlfriend. I could see the shock, the embarrassment when she realizes how she must look to me, the strained sympathy. The eventual disentanglement as she goes running, looking for someone without so much emotional baggage trailing behind.
    I knew people could lead normal lives after family tragedies, despite the trauma and the grief. Lots of counseling, forgiveness, channeling their emotions into making the world a better place, shit like that. But most of the time, what were we talking about? A bad fire? A drunk driver or other car accident? Plane crash, even? But how do you get past “my father was gunned down and my mother and sister were beaten to death, then my house was burned down. Why? Oh, an organized crime family slaughtered them in order to terrorize witnesses testifying against a murdering rapist”.
    See, that was the best part. There was no getting past this. It was 2001. Every major newspaper in the world put their stories on the Web. Even now, the whole awful business was probably a quick search-engine query away from any prospective girlfriends for the rest of my life, as well as classmates, faculty, employers, future friends and acquaintances, true crime writers...I had been immortalized to the world for the most terrible of reasons.
    I can't place my finger on the exact moment the thought came to me. It seemed to worm itself into my mind, slipping in through some subconscious crawlspace, and before I knew it, the idea was right there before me. Not a possibility, not a half-considered urge, but a decision, a course of action fully formed before I knew I was even considering it.
    I looked up and caught Jamie's gaze, saw his eyes change when they met mine.
    "That look means nothing but trouble,” he said.
    I pondered for a moment. "My freshman year, to fulfill a humanities requirement, I took a survey course on ancient European history. One day the prof tells us how the Vikings were famous for blood-feuds, especially between families. A common but very extreme method of ending the blood feud involved surrounding the offending family's longhouse, usually at night when everyone is inside, and setting fire to the the woven grass that made up the roof. If anyone came out to escape the smoke and the flames, they were killed with a bow or a thrown spear, or just cut down with a sword or axe. So, the family had two choices; come out fighting and die, or stay inside and die. Either way, the feud was over."
    Jamie just stared at me.
    "See, this is how I look at it. The Paggianos, they tried to do that to us. Burn the house down, kill everyone. Only you and I, we weren't in the family hall. Feud isn't over. Now it's our turn to do it to them. Go home, drive out to Swampscott, walk up to this place, throw a few Molotov cocktails through the windows, and anyone who comes running out, we just blow them away. Find ourselves a