Page 95 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Gary had been talking to her for two months now. Actually, he was talking to a woman he thought was called Amy. One of her current aliases. Gary had lost his entire family – wife and teenage daughter – when their house burned down in Jersey. A local boy from a troubled family, seventeen and full of spit and venom, well known to the police, had been out the night before, shooting fireworks around the neighborhood. Gary had caught him and told him to stop being an asshole or he would call the cops.
The next night Gary was on night duty. He was a security guard watching a warehouse in a nearby industrial park. He told Amy he saw a fire in the distance one night. He could see the flames burning over the rooftops of the houses a mile and a half away, lighting up the sky. When he got the call from the NYPD halfway through his shift, he collapsed.
According to the local kid’s parents, he had been at home that night. All night.
The fire department said the fire had been caused deliberately. The front door had been nailed shut, his back porch soaked in gasoline. The fire had been ignited with a type of firework that spat out sparks like crazy.
Ruth scrolled through Gary’s messages. Then found what she was looking for.
I can’t move on. It’s not right. There’s no justice. I want to kill that fucking kid. Before I blow his brains out I want to kill his father, and his mother, and his kid brother and I want him to watch. Then I’ll do him.
And, below that message, Amy’s reply.
I know exactly how you feel.
Of all the men and women who had killed for Ruth, Gary was perhaps the most dangerous. The most seriously unhinged.
Avenging heroes don’t kill children. She needed someone special, like Gary. To kill a fairy princess, a bumblebee, and mom and pop too, she needed a monster.
Gary was that monster.
She turned on the car, lighting up the dash. The purr of the engine soothed her. She tapped her thigh. Tried to control her breathing. She connected her phone to the car’s Bluetooth and called him.
‘Amy?’ he said. His voice was thick and slow.
‘The one and only,’ said Ruth. ‘I wanted to call and see how you’re doing.’
He sighed, said, ‘I’m not good, to be honest. It’s always tougher around the holidays.’
She could tell from his voice he’d been drinking.
‘You don’t have your gun with you, do you?’ she asked.
‘Right here beside me on the kitchen table.’
‘Is it loaded?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do me a favor, Gary. Don’t load it. Not today. Not yet. I know it’s hard. It’s so terribly fucking hard, but you’re giving up on your family if you put that gun in your mouth. Don’t quit on me. I need you. I’ve been thinking about Kirk and my little Sammy. It would’ve been our fifth Thanksgiving as a family. If that drunk driver hadn’t ended it all . . .’
‘I’ve been thinking about my family too. It’s not fair, Amy. It shouldn’t be this way.’
‘I know exactly how you feel.’
‘You always have,’ he said.
‘Gary, what I’m going to say may sound a little crazy . . .’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m all in favor of crazy these days.’
She pretended to laugh, then said, ‘Well, I’ve been doing some thinking. Tell me, have you ever seen the movieStrangers on a Train?’
54
Amanda
The voicemail from Farrow made her want to throw up.
