Secret Dead Men

Seven A New Case

So that was the deal. No Association skinny until Brad and Alison Larsen's killers were located, and Brad got the opportunity for a little payback.

Reasoning with him-explaining that crushing the Association was by extension punishing his executioners-wasn't going to ease his suffering one bit. Brad wanted me to deliver the assassins’ severed heads on a drink tray, cups of their blood in drinking glasses nearby.

In other words, now I had a bigger workload than ever.

Of course, if the roles were reversed, I'm sure I would demand the same thing. God knows what kind of punishment he saw inflicted upon his wife's body by those kids. I only saw the aftershocks-blood stains on a piece of ratty carpet. Maybe that's what made it easier to agree to this whole thing.

I'd been running East on reflex. At the moment, it'd seemed like Las Vegas would be first place the Feds would be crawling around. But Brad insisted we head back. No doubt his killers had driven out to Illinois, done the deed, then headed back to collect the bounty. And I couldn't disagree with his logic. It was all so damned reasonable it made me want to vomit.

So I journeyed back west. Whoever the Association had sent to do the deed most likely lived in Vegas, and now that the bodies were stacked up, it was time to head home and collect the reward. Somewhere, I would find two killers living it up. And once I found them, it would be the beginning of the end. For the first time in years-perhaps since Robert first collected me-I felt the warm vibe of optimism.

I drove through the night, routinely looking at my new face-Brad Larsen's face-in the rear view mirror. I am going to find your killers, I told it. And I meant it.

Of course, I was being an idiot.

henderson, nevada

eight months later

“Learning how to operate a soul figures to take time."

— Timothy Leary