Page 164 of The Fourth Option
“I really don’t know. That’s between her and Matheson. They had an affair. Ruined both their marriages. I stay out of that part.”
“I think I’ve got what I need from you.”
Walker held up a plastic bag and stood over Kimbel. He removed a handful of plastic-wrapped drugs. “I got these from that trap house in the Ninth.”
“Where you killed Rayne and Hendrick?”
“The white ones in the plastic wrap are Snowball.”
Kimbel looked away.
“That trap house had boxes of drugs. I grabbed these fentanyl patches when I was in there. I didn’t know at the time that I’d actually use them.”
“I can give you more.”
“Yeah?”
“They know who you are.”
“Who does?”
“The cops, the FBI, Matheson.”
“Who am I?”
“Some kind of commando or CIA or whatever. Some kind of mercenary. That’s what the cops think.”
“If I’m a mercenary, then who hired me?”
“They think it was the cartels. That’s from the DA. They think this is some rival cartel beef with you taking out the competition.”
Walker opened the fentanyl derma pack.
“What did you call Connor again?”
“What?”
“You called him ‘that fuckin’ kid.’ That’s just what he was, a kid. Just like thousands of other kids who die because of what you call a ‘product.’ I want you to experience that same sort of high.”
Walker ripped Kimbel’s shirt open and slapped the fentanyl derma pack over his heart.
“Wait, goddamn you!” he yelled. He thrashed against the side of the Eagle in a vain attempt to knock the patch off.
Walker stuck another one on his stomach.
Kimbel screamed, but the scream quickly turned to a whimper, his voice slurring in a way that made it hard to decipher. “They don’t get it… the cops. But, I do. You aren’t a mercenary. But you are a killer.”
Kimbel stopped thrashing. His legs had given out, and he hung against the side of the vehicle, hands stretched over his head to where they were connected to the roof rack.
Walker put another fentanyl patch under Kimbel’s left armpit, then his right. He began to convulse and foam from the mouth.
“How’s the customer experience?” Walker asked.
Kimbel gagged on the fluid bubbling up from his lungs and attempted to mumble something.
“What?”
“Have you no honor?” the dying man asked.
