Killings, Willis

Killings, Willis

Adaptation | Short | Fiction

I remember the night Matt came to me for help. He didn’t actually ask for help, it just seemed to resonate from within him. His posture, his tone, the look in his eyes, all signs of a man who was lost in his own despair and wasn’t sure of where the road was taking him. Of course, I didn’t blame him. If I had lost a child it surly would have driven me to the brinks of depression and vengeance, as well. I think, subconsciously, I knew he would come to me before he did. I wanted him to come to me. I wanted to help my friend; so we made a plan.

We sat in the car outside a bar Strout frequented. The hours dragged by as we waited for its patrons to filter out to retire for the evening. Strout was known for being the last to leave on any given night of the week. Being alone and drunk would make him vunerable, and we both agreed that this was the best time to catch him off-guard and outside of prying eyes. That was part of the plan.

Finally, Strout rounded the corner of the bar into the parking lot looking for his car. The look of surprise on his face when he found us waiting for him, guns drawn, was almost comical.

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