2001, BEAVER FALLS, PENNSYLVANIA
Owen Fischer had grown up around guns. By the age of five he was already spending weekends target practicing with his dad at the local sportsman’s club, and he was a decent shot, too. By seven he could hit a beer can at twenty-five yards. When he was thirteen his dad bought him his first pistol, a 9mm. And by eighteen he was a marksman, frequently competing in and winning competitive shooting tournaments, and a proud card-carrying member of the National Rifle Association. Owen’s dad made sure he knew the foundation of responsible gun ownership: how to properly clean, handle, carry, and store his weapons. How to treat a gun was instilled deep; how to treat others, not so much.
‘If you can handle the responsibility of a weapon, you can handle anything,’ his dad had taught him.
Except when Owen got angry. When Owen got angry, he couldn’t handle himself, let alone a deadly weapon. His father’s rules flew out the window, and recklessness flew in. And right now, Owen was angry. ‘Righteously angry,’ he called it when Mackenzie begged him to calm down.
It started with a fight. And it ended with a murder.
Owen didn’t personally know Geoffrey Faust. As far as he was concerned, he would have never crossed paths with the degenerate if it wasn’t for Mackenzie Kirkland’s soft heart. Everyone on campus had noticed and gossiped about Robin Goldman’s growing belly. She was a flirt, which automatically made her a whore, according to most of the students at their small college. Yet when Robin refused to drop out and instead have the baby, that was more shocking than her pregnancy.
Like every other classmate, Owen had assumed a one-night stand had caught up to Robin. That’s when Mackenzie set him straight. After she’d told him what Geoffrey had done – a secret Mackenzie had vowed to keep for Robin, then slipped up and shared with him after one too many vodka Jell-O shots one night – Owen’s moral indignation was triggered and his vigilante impulse kicked in.
His father would have killed him for sneaking the gun out of the gun safe. He would have killed him a second time for concealing it and taking it to a college campus. But when it came to justice, Owen didn’t see in shades of gray. Raping and impregnating a girl and then leaving her high and dry was crossing a line punishable by death.
Geoffrey Faust would deserve what he got. Hopped up on testosterone and self-righteousness, Owen wanted to play judge, jury, and executioner.
Nico Bartelli wasn’t Owen’s usual fare when it came to friends. But when you’ve grown up with someone since first grade, you know if you can trust them or not. Owen trusted Nico with his life … and the biggest secret he would ever have.
Although Owen, for the most part, had trodden a straight and narrow path, Nico wasn’t as lucky. His grades had always been sub-par, and his parents didn’t care enough to notice when he started hanging around with a high school gang. Drug deals and car thefts and run-ins with the law had been his initiation to a life on the streets.
When Owen now reconnected with Nico, he discovered his old friend was a shell of the guy he’d known – he’d done jail time for petty crimes, dabbled in drugs and illegal gambling, and occasionally made extra dough as a police snitch. The small-time hustler was all too happy to accompany Owen on his ‘mission’ this brisk spring night, figuring he’d at least get his rocks off with a little excitement. Owen didn’t mention to Nico that he’d packed a Glock 19 in the pocket of his Tommy Hilfiger jacket.
It wasn’t hard to track Geoffrey Faust down. One call to Pizza Joe’s, where Robin had first met him, and the teen who answered gave up an address where Geoffrey usually crashed. Geoffrey turned out to be an easy target.
They found his beat-up Toyota Corolla pulled to the side of a disused road that led to a forgotten park’s overgrown entrance. Beyond the gate was a dirt path that now only saw the footprints of drug dealers and secret lovers. Honeysuckle vines snaked along the walkway to a small clearing where the carcass of a merry-go-round rusted in a rank sea of nimbleweed and quackgrass. The skeleton of a swing set remained, but the swings had long ago dry-rotted away. From the dusky edge of the tree line, Owen and Nico watched as Geoffrey sold a skittish-looking teen a dime bag of weed.
The kid dashed off into the trees as Geoffrey pocketed the ten-spot in his Eckō brand cargo jeans, then headed back toward his car. Stepping out of the shadows onto the moonlit path, Owen and Nico cut him off.
Geoffrey curtly lifted his chin in acknowledgment, playing with the rim of his Von Dutch trucker hat. ‘’Sup.’
‘’Sup. You Geoffrey?’ Nico asked.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘We wanna score some weed. We heard you could hook us up, man.’
Geoffrey looked from Nico to Owen and back again. ‘Sorry, dude. Just sold my last bag. Besides, your Ken doll buddy here looks like a cop to me.’
‘I’m not a cop,’ Owen said evenly.
‘Then who the hell are you?’
‘Never mind who I am.’
‘I don’t have time for this cloak-and-dagger shit,’ said Geoffrey. He tried to walk around them on the path, but Owen grabbed his shoulder.
‘Get out of my way, motherfucker!’ said Geoffrey, shrugging himself loose.
Owen backhanded him across the mouth. Geoffrey reeled, then looked quizzically at Nico.
Nico laughed nervously. ‘I’d watch my language if I was you, G.’
‘He’s right, G,’ said Owen. ‘I ought to kill you just for your foul mouth.’
Geoffrey laughed and spat on the ground. ‘With what? Your bare hands?’
‘I could.’ Owen drew his weapon and brandished it in the moonlight. ‘But I’d rather use this.’
Geoffrey took a step back. ‘Easy, man. You don’t want weed. What do you want?’
‘I have a friend who says you’re her baby’s daddy. What about it?’
‘Naw, man, bitches be crazy. I ain’t never got a girl pregnant.’
‘Robin Goldman begs to differ.’ Owen leveled the Glock, aiming it at Geoffrey’s heart.
‘Yo, I swear, I didn’t get your girl pregnant!’ Geoffrey screamed, throwing his hands up in surrender. ‘I don’t know any Robin, dude.’
‘Well, that’s even worse if you don’t remember the girl you raped, Geoffrey.’
‘Shit, man, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. If your girl got herself raped, she probably wanted it. Have you seen these college girls around here? These bitches are beggin’ for it.’
‘That’s the only admission of guilt I need,’ said Owen. ‘There’s a special corner of hell for scumbags like you. And that’s where you’re going – now.’
Owen didn’t hesitate. Geoffrey was just a 3D version of the targets he had shot at all his life. A pop broke the silence of the still night air, then Geoffrey hit the ground with a soft thud.
Right in the heart. Dead on impact.
‘Holy shit, Owen! I thought you were just bluffing.’ Nico’s eyes goggled in horror, his mouth frozen in an O. He was a common criminal, not a murderer, and he’d never seen this much blood before.
‘Come on, we gotta get rid of the body,’ Owen ordered, but Nico couldn’t move. His feet were dead weight.
‘Nico! Get it together, man!’ Nico jolted, snapping out of his trance. ‘We gotta hide the evidence.’
With chilling detachment, Owen picked up Geoffrey’s limp arms. ‘Grab his legs. We’ll bury him in the woods where there’s not a lot of foot traffic.’
Spooked, Nico numbly obeyed. Together they carried the body deeper into the woods until they found a remote spot where the ground was soft and there were plenty of leaves at hand to disguise the grave. Owen had brought shovels; they fetched these, along with rags and flashlights, from his vehicle, then blistered their palms as they dug a hole big enough to drop the body in. But first Nico cleaned out Geoffrey’s pockets, taking his car keys and wallet, then unlaced his Timberland boots.
‘Dude, his shoes?’ Owen scoffed.
‘What? They’re a hundred bucks a pair! Besides, it’s one less piece of evidence to leave behind,’ Nico reasoned.
‘Good idea. Nobody’ll be able to ID him, if the body’s ever found,’ Owen remarked. ‘Which it won’t be.’
‘You sound pretty sure of yourself,’ said Nico as he rifled through the billfold’s contents.
Owen was matter-of-fact. ‘I’m not worried. Trust me, nobody’s going to miss a lowlife like Geoffrey Faust.’ He kicked the corpse.
‘Especially if Geoffrey Faust is alive and well,’ Nico said.
‘What are you talking about?’ Owen asked.
‘Dude has a clean record, a bank account, employment history … how hard would it be to just take his place?’
‘You’re serious? Why would you want a dead guy’s identity?’
‘I already got an arrest record and nothing to live for. But Geoffrey’s a clean slate. His death could be my second chance, man.’ Nico traced the edge of Geoffrey’s driver’s license.
‘Look, do what you want to do. But it’ll be getting light in a few hours. We’ve gotta hurry.’
Hours of sweat-stained shirts and bloody hands later, they filled in the grave and covered it with a bed of leaves and pine straw. Over this, they arranged small logs and heavy stones in a natural-looking pattern. They used a pine limb, dense with stiff needles, to brush away their footprints. The trail of blood from the execution site to the grave they sprinkled with gravel and dirt.
Together they buried the one secret that would hold Owen captive for life. But Owen was good at hiding things. He swore Nico to secrecy, and the punk readily agreed. He had seen what his trigger-happy friend was capable of.
The sun was just rising as they headed back to the road. Nico took off in Geoffrey’s Corolla. Owen, carrying both shovels, walked to where his car was parked.
And there, standing next to the trunk, was Mackenzie with her arms folded across her chest. Owen halted mid-stride. Her hooded eyes said it all; she’d seen too much.
‘Mackenzie—’
‘Dammit, Owen, what have you done?’