The Beasts of Juarez, R.B. Schow [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

“Not after what you’ve told me and not after what I’ve seen. Mr. Hargrove, could you please move away from Congressman Fox.”

Atlas shoved Camden’s head away then he stood up and stepped back.

The second the security guard started shooting, Leopold thought his heart was going to explode. As shocked as he was that the man discharged his weapon in such close quarters, no one was as shocked as Camden Fox. All three bullets ended up passing through him.

Leopold stared at Camden Fox’s dead body and found he was at a loss for words. He turned and looked at the security guard, almost too afraid to ask why he did what he did.

“I heard everything, Mr. Wentworth,” the security guard explained. “I have daughters, too.”

Atlas nodded at the man, and Kiera said nothing.

“I’ll wait a few minutes until you’re gone,” he said. “I’ve already erased the cameras and started a new twenty-four-hour cycle, so you’ll be clear of what happened here. Then I’ll phone the authorities and take responsibility for killing the congressman.”

“If you need representation,” Leopold said, “please call.”

“Oh, you can bet I will.”

“Damien Stone out of Texas will put you through to me if it comes to that,” Leopold said. “And if not…thank you.”

“You bet,” the guard said. “Now you’d best be on your way.”

Chapter Forty-Six

ATLAS HARGROVE

Another plane, another car, Atlas thought. He didn’t mind the freedom, but the travel was getting a bit tiring. It was even worse when Leopold wouldn’t tell anyone where they were going. This bothered Yergha and Esty, who opted to stay on the plane and relax rather than get into another car and travel to another mystery location.

When Atlas slid into the rented car with Kiera and Leopold, he said, “This is getting old, Leopold.”

“The only reason you’re using my full name is because it rhymes,” Leopold said. “That would be tragic if it wasn’t a little funny.”

Atlas chuckled at the man’s expense but he was tired of the emotions, the physical war, all the killing. For a minute there, he actually longed to be back in solitary confinement where it was dark, quiet, and cold.

“Where are we going?” Atlas finally asked.

Leopold said, “I promised you a performance bonus.”

Now he perked up, wondering what the man was talking about. When they arrived at a gross-looking old house and Leopold handed him and Kiera black elbow-length dishwashing gloves, Atlas couldn’t take it any longer. “This has to do with Alabama, doesn’t it?”

“You haven’t asked about her, but I assume she’s been on your mind,” Leopold said.

“Of course,” he replied. “Ever since you said your detective has made some progress on the case.”

Smiling, Leopold said, “Don’t spoil your gift.”

“I’m trying like crazy, Leo,” Atlas said, “but Alabama is all I think about.”

The three of them walked through the back gate and into the house. Kiera picked up a cell phone on the counter while Atlas and Leopold walked down a dark hallway to the back of the house. In the bathroom, they found a skinny man sitting in his own urine-soaked feces, moaning. If they didn’t need to get the man free, they would have set the house on fire just to burn out the acrid smell of human sewage.

“My knees, man, my frickin’ knees!” he cried out when he saw them.

“Where’s the key to the lock?” Leopold asked when he saw the padlocked chain around his neck.

“By the sink, bro. Hurry up!”

Leopold opened the lock while Atlas took off the handcuffs and loosened the rope around his knees. When Mr. Poopy Pants was free, he just flopped over on the floor moaning about how bad his joints hurt. Leopold grabbed an ankle, dragged him out into the hallway and then into the living room. He protested loudly and with a lot of cursing, but he was so exhausted from being tied up for days that he barely even put up a fight.

Atlas followed Leopold’s lead, his head now filled with questions, concerns, and a burning curiosity. He was about to ask about this man when he saw Kiera staring at the cell phone. Something was happening to her, something very odd and unexpected. She was crying.

The bald assassin looked up and handed the phone to Atlas. He saw the photo. It was of a girl on a mattress turned on her side, her knees curled up to her elbows. He scrolled through a few more pictures then saw his daughter’s face. His eyes started to water. For a second he lost track of himself, this house, the man begging for a glass of water and some food. All he saw was his daughter. He wanted to see more of her but he couldn’t bear to look. Was she dead? Is she dead? He scrolled through a few more photos and found what looked like a recent picture of her. She was holding a very pregnant belly and looking mad. This photo, of all the others, rattled him so deeply, he felt the black tide of rage swelling inside of him.

“Who is this man?” he roared as he stared at the asshole on the floor. “Where is Alabama?!”

“We’re getting close,” Leopold said.

“Is she dead?”

“No,” the man said.

“Who is this, Leopold? No more games!”

“This is the shit bird who took your daughter,” Leopold said. “My gift to you for what you did this week.”

The man’s head shot up, fear exploding in his eyes and all over his face. Instead of speaking—because Atlas had transcended words at this point—he unsheathed his knife, the same one used to kill Russell Lumley, and then he started for the man.

But then he thought twice.

Turning around, he stalked to the back of the house, went into the garage, and turned on the overhead fluorescent lights.