tow truck.” Tyler walked back to the tow truck with the young officer still at his heels. The accident had reduced the motorcycle to essentially two wheels and a metal frame. He took out a pad of paper and wrote down the motorcycle's vehicle identification number, then went back to his car and got in.
The young officer called to him, “Hey, that's it?” Tyler nodded. “All right, well I guess I'll see you around then.”
“ You hope not,” Tyler said under his breath. The young officer went back to his work. Tyler picked up his cell phone and dialed a number, “It's me. I need you to run a vehicle identification number. It's 1M8GDM9AXKP042788 …yeah, I'll wait.” Tyler sat stoically and stared straight ahead while he waited. His eyes were calm, rarely looking at anything around him.
“ Still here...who owns it?” Tyler got his answer and hung up. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the accident. He called the Chief next.
“ It was Shaver and Tomko.”
“ And the person on the motorcycle?” the Chief asked.
“ Martinez.”
“ So you know what Martinez has then. Go check his home first. You aren't that far away anyway. I'll text you the address.”
“ Got it.” Tyler flipped the phone shut. He thought about Shaver's ineptness as he drove. He never would have let Martinez get his hands on that drive. But, Tyler thought, people always get emotional right after killing someone. Plenty of experience taught him that those who could control their emotions would own the world and everything in it. That was one lesson his prick of an adoptive uncle taught him. He wailed on Tyler without a semblance of emotion. It wasn't until Tyler stopped caring about the beatings, accepting them as robotically as his uncle doled them out, that his uncle stopped. They never talked again after that day.
Tyler's personality kept him isolated from other people as a young man. Studying them from isolation, he began to develop the feeling that they were all weak and powerless creatures. He made efforts to sit among them and observe any redeeming qualities. He never saw one. Instead, he saw weakness. He saw compensation. He would choke as he breathed in their fake cheer. A teeming, parasitic bunch of lemmings who walked, nose to neck and crotch to ass, on their way to his slaughterhouse. With time and tens of murders, he began to view himself as their savior—their cultivator. Like children, they didn't know just how bad it all was. But, unlike children, they had some sense that something was wrong. They dared not ask though—instead they stayed plugged into the system, content to rot away.
These thoughts ran through Tyler's mind as he drove to Martinez's house. He slowed down to try to read addresses illuminated by solitary lights. He stopped a few houses away and turned his car and lights off. There was a car in Martinez's driveway. Martinez could not have come back, he thought. On the other hand, if that video was still in the house, he may have. He opened the car door and softly closed it. From a distance he could see that the front door was open. Some light spilled out from it.
He moved closer and saw the shadow of a person on the wall just inside the front door. Tyler moved behind a tree as two people came out. They shut the front door and started toward their car. It was a man and a woman. The man was tall but probably a few inches shorter than Tyler. The woman was about six inches shorter than the man. Both were well dressed and looked relatively young—maybe late twenties or early thirties. They started their car and backed out of the driveway. Tyler pulled out his pen and paper and took down their license plate number.
* * * *
Martinez stirred out of his sleep and then sat upright. Dawn was just beginning to break outside on the third day since the incident took place. His leg throbbed intensely. Taking care not to disturb the wound, he pulled his pant leg up and saw that the skin was glossy smooth from
The young officer called to him, “Hey, that's it?” Tyler nodded. “All right, well I guess I'll see you around then.”
“ You hope not,” Tyler said under his breath. The young officer went back to his work. Tyler picked up his cell phone and dialed a number, “It's me. I need you to run a vehicle identification number. It's 1M8GDM9AXKP042788 …yeah, I'll wait.” Tyler sat stoically and stared straight ahead while he waited. His eyes were calm, rarely looking at anything around him.
“ Still here...who owns it?” Tyler got his answer and hung up. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the accident. He called the Chief next.
“ It was Shaver and Tomko.”
“ And the person on the motorcycle?” the Chief asked.
“ Martinez.”
“ So you know what Martinez has then. Go check his home first. You aren't that far away anyway. I'll text you the address.”
“ Got it.” Tyler flipped the phone shut. He thought about Shaver's ineptness as he drove. He never would have let Martinez get his hands on that drive. But, Tyler thought, people always get emotional right after killing someone. Plenty of experience taught him that those who could control their emotions would own the world and everything in it. That was one lesson his prick of an adoptive uncle taught him. He wailed on Tyler without a semblance of emotion. It wasn't until Tyler stopped caring about the beatings, accepting them as robotically as his uncle doled them out, that his uncle stopped. They never talked again after that day.
Tyler's personality kept him isolated from other people as a young man. Studying them from isolation, he began to develop the feeling that they were all weak and powerless creatures. He made efforts to sit among them and observe any redeeming qualities. He never saw one. Instead, he saw weakness. He saw compensation. He would choke as he breathed in their fake cheer. A teeming, parasitic bunch of lemmings who walked, nose to neck and crotch to ass, on their way to his slaughterhouse. With time and tens of murders, he began to view himself as their savior—their cultivator. Like children, they didn't know just how bad it all was. But, unlike children, they had some sense that something was wrong. They dared not ask though—instead they stayed plugged into the system, content to rot away.
These thoughts ran through Tyler's mind as he drove to Martinez's house. He slowed down to try to read addresses illuminated by solitary lights. He stopped a few houses away and turned his car and lights off. There was a car in Martinez's driveway. Martinez could not have come back, he thought. On the other hand, if that video was still in the house, he may have. He opened the car door and softly closed it. From a distance he could see that the front door was open. Some light spilled out from it.
He moved closer and saw the shadow of a person on the wall just inside the front door. Tyler moved behind a tree as two people came out. They shut the front door and started toward their car. It was a man and a woman. The man was tall but probably a few inches shorter than Tyler. The woman was about six inches shorter than the man. Both were well dressed and looked relatively young—maybe late twenties or early thirties. They started their car and backed out of the driveway. Tyler pulled out his pen and paper and took down their license plate number.
* * * *
Martinez stirred out of his sleep and then sat upright. Dawn was just beginning to break outside on the third day since the incident took place. His leg throbbed intensely. Taking care not to disturb the wound, he pulled his pant leg up and saw that the skin was glossy smooth from
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