Family - The Wheelman

KOWALSKI CLEANED UP AS FAST AS HE COULD—YEP, there were sirens approaching. And no cover would be adequate to explain his presence in the middle of a Camden, New Jersey, bloodbath. Not even his government creds. So his valediction would have to be on the short side.

He rolled his dead brother-in-law-to-be over on his back.

“Nice to finally meet you, Pat,” Michael said.

Lennon stared up blankly. Dark blood had leaked from his tear ducts, nostrils, and ears—as if his brain were a tomato and someone had squished it.

“This is not how I imagined our first meeting. I was looking forward to our time in Puerto Rico. A little baccarat, some steaks, some rum. Not this.

“Well, perhaps this. Eventually. A brother-in-law on the Ten Most Wanted list can be a liability to a guy in my profession, you know? But to be honest, I hadn’t made up my mind about you yet. Katie was so in love with you—she idolized you. I didn’t see how you could possibly live up to your reputation.

“And now that I see you, and now that I’ve seen my dead fiancée and unborn child on a slab in a police morgue … well, I’ve gotta say. I’m disappointed. Did you even know her? Did you know she’d do anything for you?

“Ah, maybe I’m being harsh. I don’t even know you. Maybe you tried your best.

“Maybe you didn’t.

“Maybe I’m going to have to finish what you started here tonight.”

Michael stared down at Lennon and, after some consideration, made the sign of the cross. The sirens were almost upon him.

“Okay, good talk, bro.”

Michael picked up Lennon, then carried him over to the pipe.

Lennon floated across the blood-splattered concrete slab, his lifeless body headed toward the pipe.

Had he been a smoker, Lennon would have savored a last few puffs before smashing the butt into the metal lip of the pipe. Just one cigarette—something for the geeks in khaki pants and navy blue windbreakers to pick up with tweezers, drop into a thick Ziploc bag, tag, log, then store in their evidence cases.

Maybe someone would have gotten around to analyzing the brand, try to pluck some DNA from the butt.

Maybe some part of Lennon would have lived forever.