Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel by Randall H Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

later he had still not come out.
    Now, almost twenty years into his career and just a few months from retirement, Frank was on his way to Boston to negotiate an illegal purchase of automatic weapons from a Russian arms dealer. He reached down and touched the rosary wrapped around the stick shift and recalled his mother’s words.
    Trust in God, Francis. Always trust in God.
    The arms deal was to be Frank’s last hurrah, after which he would ride out his final months at the bureau and quietly retire. But God had other plans.

Twelve
    Mark was crashed on the sofa in the family room when he heard two chirps from his encrypted smart phone, indicating a secure text message. He opened his eyes, cursed himself for leaving the phone on the kitchen counter, and considered blowing it off, but then forced himself to get up and check the message.
    All his bags were still stacked in the kitchen. He unzipped his backpack, removed his laptop, and set it down on the table in the corner before retrieving his phone from the counter. He scanned his thumb and entered the twelve-digit security code that opened up the phone for general use. The secure text message appeared immediately.
     
    SENDER: Doc
    MESSAGE: Hope you made it home safely. Condolences again. Take your time. No rush to get back to work.
     
    Mark exhaled and started tapping away at the screen with his thumbs.
     
    REPLY: Sure you’re not trying to get rid of me? All good here. Talk soon.
     
    He opened the doors and spent several minutes staring into the empty refrigerator. He breathed deeply and looked around the kitchen and into the sparsely furnished family room. Agnes had never made much money and had a set routine for every payday. First, she would pay the bills and put a little something in her rainy day fund. Whatever was left she would share with people who needed it. The result was a perfectly adequate, but somewhat austere existence.
    The house was completely quiet, without a single sound beyond his own breathing. This was the only home he had ever lived in, and now that it was his, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted it. Homes are like relationships; they require stable partners, people to nurture and care for them. Mark’s life thus far had not been conducive to homes or relationships. He had had a few girlfriends over the years but never allowed himself to get too serious, because he always knew that he would eventually have to leave—and that he would be unable to explain where he was going, what he was doing, or when or if he would ever return.
    Maybe it’s time to settle down and start a new chapter.
    Mark’s partner Billy had been married for fifteen years, ten of which he had spent working with Dunbar and the Family. He seemed happy and always eager to get home and hug his wife and daughter, whereas Mark merely treaded water until the next assignment. Mark was happy in a way too, but he usually kept himself busy so he wouldn’t have to reflect much on his own personal life. Now, in the silence of Agnes’s house—his house—he was starting to realize just how alone he was.
    Maybe it is time .

Thirteen
    Luci stared at the split monitors atop her desk in the back of the police station. She had already uploaded the new graffiti photos and wanted to compare them to the previous photos she had taken from different locations. Eleven separate graffiti incidents had occurred by now. As she looked over the pictures from the other incidents, one thing was obvious: the graffiti was getting bigger, as if someone was raising his or her voice to be heard.
    The first piece of graffiti, painted on the side of the high school gymnasium, was only about three feet by three feet. Since then, the size had grown steadily. The drawing painted on the wall of the Witch Hunt the night before was a bright gold, five-pointed crown approximately six feet high and eight feet wide. The crown was outlined in black with the letters ALKQN painted in bright red underneath.
    Luci typed