Target Bag - The Wheelman

SAUGHERTY KEYED BACK INTO THE HOTEL ROOM, mouth full OF Mickey D’s French fries, then for the second time that day nearly defiled himself.

The image before him unpacked itself in a fragmented, Dick-and-Jane style in Saugherty’s brain. See Lennon. See Lennon look at faxed crime photos. See Lennon look at dead Katie Elizabeth Selway photo.

See Lennon snap Saugherty’s neck.

The mute looked up at him. And while he didn’t smile, the way he curled his lip indicated to Saugherty that all was cool. Lennon didn’t know yet. If he had, it would have been obvious in his eyes. What’s more, Lennon would have probably gut-shot him where he stood. Saugherty would have bled to death with a face full of fries.

“Hey,” he said.

Lennon nodded, then turned back to the stack of papers.

“Got you a grilled McChicken sandwich. Figured you were into this Atkins shit, from the looks of you.”

Pause. Maybe he wasn’t Atkins after all. Maybe he should’ve bought the guy a Quarter Pounder. Or a Happy Meal.

Spin, Saugherty, Spin.

“What you’re looking at there is the sad remnants of a career in law enforcement. Yeah, it’s true. Took it right from the filing cabinets down at the roundhouse. No one cared. Everything fit into a plastic bag from Target. Walked them right out of there.”

Lennon was still flipping, idly.

“Thing is, my ex-partner was crooked. What you have in front of you there is the remnants of hundreds of broken lives.” Huh. That sounded good, Saugherty thought. “Planted evidence. Rigged trials. You name it. And the day he painted the inside of his Ford Explorer with his brains was the day I swore I’d try to set things right.” Damn, boy! You’re on fire! Hot-cha! I have to remember this shit for when I retire with the 650K. Sit down there in Cancún and write a police novel. Bank robbery loot, that was one thing. But write a cop novel? Being a retired Philly cop with some scandal behind him? That was like printing money.

Saugherty looked down.

Lennon was holding the photo of his dead sister, naked and smeared with peanut butter.

But he didn’t look down. He was studying Saugherty. Probably trying to figure how much of this was bullshit.

About ninety-nine percent, buddy, Saugherty thought.