Kick Back - The Wheelman

FUCKING DEREK. HE NEVER TURNED HIS CELL PHONE on. What was the point of owning one of the fucking things if you never turned it on? So instead of chilling out for a couple of hours like he had promised himself—hey, throwing dead bodies down a fucking pipe is still hard work, no matter how you cut it—he was forced to drive all the way back down to Center City to check in on Derek and Lennon’s bitch.

The doorman looked at him funny at first, then regained his composure. He must have remembered him from this morning, when Wilcoxson had called for him. That was the way it was going to be from now on. Instant respect. Especially with that $650 large all to himself. Maybe he’d buy Wilcoxson’s apartment with some of the money. The old guy sure wasn’t going to be needing it anymore.

Holden took the elevator up. He keyed into Wilcoxson’s apartment and called out. “Yo, Derr.”

Nothing.

He walked into the bedroom and saw his cousin on the floor, dead. The girl was still handcuffed to the pole, but it looked like she was dead, too. Water was all over the floor, like someone had dumped a wash bucket. What the fuck?

Holden kneeled over Derek and felt his neck for a pulse. Not that he’d really know what to check for, but his skin was cold anyway, so there wasn’t any need to get scientific about it. Derek’s neck felt funny—aside from being cold.

Holden turned back around, and just in time.

The bitch was yelling and throwing a knee at his face.