Progeny by E. H. Reinhard Read Free Book Online

with the water,” LaSalle said.
    “Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be something you would notice. We found a few neighboring properties with some unsafe levels of nitrates. We’re just trying to see where we are getting these levels so we can follow it back to the source. It should just take a second. The directions for using the strip is written right here on the package.” She held out the packaged strip toward him.
    LaSalle took it from her grasp and looked over the directions. He adjusted his glasses and squinted at the fine print. “Um, did you want to just come in and do it?
    “If you’d like me to, I can,” Angel said.
    LaSalle waved her inside.
    Angel took a step into the home and closed the door at her back with the heel of her shoe. She held the testing strips in her left hand and reached into her pocket with her right, to feel the handle of her scalpel.
    LaSalle spoke over his shoulder. “The kitchen is right through here.”
    She followed him down a tiled hallway, past the dining room and a staircase leading to the second level. LaSalle made a right into the kitchen.
    “Is it just you residing here, sir?” Angel asked. She pulled the scalpel from her pocket and flicked off the plastic blade cover.
    “It is, yes. The faucet and sink are there.” LaSalle nodded toward the sink, and took a seat at the breakfast bar. He spun the stool he sat upon toward her.
    Angel yanked her arm back and slashed at LaSalle’s throat as soon as he turned around. The strike was perfect. His neck opened, and blood spilled to the tile floor. Herb LaSalle reached for his neck, his eyes bulging. As his hands came to his throat, blood pumped from between his fingers. Herb slipped from his stool onto the floor. The blood began to pool under him.
    “Let it bleed,” Angel said. “It will be faster if you don’t try to fight it.”
    LaSalle tried making words, but he couldn’t speak. Blood bubbled from his mouth and ran down his chin.
    “Don’t try to talk. Nothing you say can help you now.”
    Herb stared back at her with panic in his eyes.
    Angel looked at the watch on her wrist. “You’re taking a long time to die. Let’s see, what should we talk about until you do…” Angel curled her finger against her lips. “Do you remember Henry Pullman?” she asked.
    Her question didn’t receive a response.
    “He was one of the men who you had jury duty with all those years ago—you know, when you sentenced my father to death. Do you remember my father?”
    LaSalle kicked his feet and flopped over onto his stomach. He tried to claw his way to the phone on the wall.
    Angel leaned against the breakfast bar and watched. She rolled her eyes. “You’ll be dead before you get there,” she said. “Do you want to know what we’re going to do to you after you die?”
    LaSalle’s right arm reached out to pull himself forward one final time. Then he collapsed to the tile, dead.
    “Guess not,” Angel said.
    She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Carmen in the car.
    “Ready?” Carmen asked.
    “Ready, Mama,” Angel said.
    She hung up. A minute later, Angel heard the front door open.
    Carmen walked into the kitchen with a duffel bag draped over her shoulder.
    Angel observed Carmen looking at the man lying dead on the kitchen floor. “Did I do good?” Angel asked.
    “Very good, dear. Let’s go get the garage set, and then we’ll drag him out there.”
    Angel scooted herself from the stool and went to go help Carmen prepare.

Chapter 8
    I got home around eight after a stop at the store for a few groceries. Callie claimed to love my homemade spaghetti and meatballs, which was good because it was about the only dish I had confidence in making without screwing up. If I timed everything right, it would be done right around the time she got home from her class. Butch sat on the barstool across the breakfast bar, watching the preparation of the meatballs. He ran his little sandpaper cat tongue around the corners of his