Abraham followed Brandon Ellis throughout the day. He’d learned that Brandon lived in squalor in a run-down house on the west side of town.
Disgusting was the first word that came to mind when he’d seen Brandon’s living conditions. Abraham had found out that Brandon worked part-time as a dishwasher at a greasy spoon restaurant.
No wonder he lives in a shithole and steals women’s purses. He probably only earns a hundred bucks a week.
The car Abraham was following was a rattletrap that looked like it would break down at any minute. Every time Brandon stepped on the gas, dark smoke poured out of the exhaust. Abraham raised his windows to avoid asphyxiation.
He needed to figure out Brandon’s work hours then do the deed once the guy was back home. As small as the house was, it didn’t appear that anyone lived with him, plus no other vehicle had parked in the driveway. The thought of entering a dump like that left a bad taste in Abraham’s mouth, but he would get the job done and do it fast. He was saving his most enjoyable killing techniques for Detective Cannon.
As Abraham daydreamed about how to permanently eliminate the detective, he lost his focus on the car in front of him. That black smoke didn’t help matters, and he didn’t see the brake lights in time. The rental car smashed into the back of Brandon’s heap, making the air bag explode.
“Son of a bitch!”
Abraham pushed the bag away and craned his neck over his shoulder. The car behind him prevented him from backing up, plus his car was somehow attached to Brandon’s smashed-in trunk.
“Damn it. I’ve got to get out of here before the cops show up.”
Abraham grabbed what was visible and could identify him then leapt from the car. He wasn’t quite sure where he was, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. He needed to get away before anyone got a good look at him. As he darted across the street, he heard people yelling for him to stop, but that was the last thing he intended to do. He ran down the nearest alley, weaved between streets, and ended up six blocks away before he slowed down. He needed a place to lie low while he waited for a ride.
Abraham called his client—it was the only number programmed into his burner phone.
“I need a ride. My rental was just involved in an accident, and I have to get far from this area before the cops show up.”
“What did you do?”
“I bolted from the car with everything I could grab in five seconds. What do you think I did?”
“Okay, what’s your location?”
Abraham cautiously walked to a corner and looked at the street signs then backed into the narrow space between two buildings.
“I’m at the intersection of West Gwinnett Street and Martin Luther King Boulevard. How long will it take for you to get here? I’m trying to stay inconspicuous.”
“At six foot six, it’s hard for you to stay inconspicuous, but do your best. I’ll leave now and should be there in fifteen minutes. What about the car?”
“It’s under a fake name and address. Nobody can connect my real identity to it.”
“Good. Keep your eyes peeled for me.”