Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3), Brett Battles [best books to read in your 20s TXT] 📗

ask him a question here and there to keep him on track or clarify a point, but for the most part we just let him talk.

Chuckie has been manipulating Bergen for years. It started after Bergen’s second stint in prison, when he came to Chuckie looking for a job. Instead of hiring his old football teammate to train as a mechanic or just to clean the offices, Chuckie used Bergen for odd jobs he needed done, promising to one day give him a full-time position.

It was a promise unfulfilled. What did happen was, the jobs Chuckie had Bergen do started drifting into the gray area between legal and not, and eventually crossed the line entirely. Sometimes it was a car from Chuckie’s own dealership that he wanted Bergen to steal. Used ones, normally, that he’d make more on from the insurance and the sale of the car parts when the vehicle was scrapped than if he sold it outright. Sometimes it was tossing the office or the home of someone Chuckie was having a problem with.

Bergen hated doing these things, but he needed the money to help care for his increasingly ill mother. He tried getting regular jobs, but he was always let go after a few months or a year at most, usually for no reason he could understand.

He describes some of these instances to us and I have to agree—the grounds for his terminations sound dodgy at best. Of course, he could be painting a rosy picture that makes him out to be better than he is. But I wonder if there’s an alternative explanation. Perhaps someone doesn’t want Bergen to have the security of full-time work? Someone with influence in the community who needs Bergen to remain dependent on the odd jobs this same person hands out?

It’s just a theory, but it’s easy to imagine.

Once the jobs Chuckie had Bergen do veered into the illegal, Bergen was trapped. As a two-time felon, he would receive a harsh sentence and might never see the outside of a prison again if he was caught and convicted. To keep Bergen in line, Chuckie would dangle the possibility of tipping off the police. We didn’t ask why Bergen didn’t go to the police himself but I can guess the reasons. First, he would likely still end up in prison. And second, I don’t think he has the fortitude to act against Chuckie.

At least he doesn’t on his own.

He’s not aware of it yet, but our presence changes things.

According to Bergen, he never wanted to be involved with the fires. But Chuckie exerted his pressure and Bergen gave in. Chuckie even showed him what to do, which makes me wonder if there are other fires in Chuckie’s past. Together they burned down a few old buildings a couple of counties away. Once Chuckie was convinced Bergen had a handle on things, the Mercy Arsonist was born. Chuckie would give Bergen the names of the places he wanted hit and Bergen would scope them out, then inform Chuckie via one of the postcards when the fire would occur.

“Why does he want to burn these places down?”

“I’m not sure,” Bergen says. “I do know they’re all owned by big companies. I think that has something to do with it.”

“Has he said anything about that to you?”

“Not really.”

“Nothing at all?”

He thinks for a moment. “We don’t really talk that much. Just when he comes to the range sometimes.”

“What does he say when he’s there?”

“I don’t know. Little things, I guess. He’ll usually say, ‘I’ve got something for you.’ Sometimes, ‘Don’t mess anything up.’” He pauses. “I remember one time, after he gave me the name for the next house, he said, ‘Make it really good.’ I thought that was kind of strange. Fires burn everything. There’s not much else I could do.”

“Which house was this?”

Another pause. “I’m pretty sure it was the Murphys’ place.”

I glance at the computer as Jar pulls up the list of the Mercy Arsonist’s accomplishments. The Murphy farm was the third to be torched, but the first one owned by Hayden Valley.

I gesture at the keyboard, and Jar turns her laptop for me to tap in the next question. “Why are the fires happening faster now?”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow’s fire would be your fourth in less than two weeks. Before that, there was normally a month between them.”

“Oh, um, because we’re almost done.”

I look at him for a moment, then type in, “Charles said this?”

“He said one or two more should be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“I don’t know. He’s never told me that. Honest.”

He’s a broken man, and I have no doubt he’s told us everything he knows.

I don’t want to feel sorry for him, but I do. He’s been trying to get his life back on track for years, which made him vulnerable to a manipulator like Chuckie. But he’s not completely blameless for what he has done. He could have made different choices, ones that would have kept him from making a third trip to prison. Sadly, that ship has sailed. But perhaps, if he cooperates with prosecutors, he’ll receive some leniency. That’s the best he can hope for now.

I type in another question. “When are you supposed to contact Charles again?”

“Tonight. He…he’s expecting another card to confirm tomorrow night’s, um, event.”

“Fire.”

“Yes. Fire.”

“Another postcard?”

“Yes.”

“That you leave at the dealership?”

“Yes.”

Jar and I retreat to the living room for a quick chat. When we return to the bathroom, Jar is once again manning the laptop.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the computer voice says for us. “We will do what we can to make things easier for you, but do not expect much.”

“Wait. You’re leaving? Then let me go. I told you everything.”

“You will remain here for the duration.”

“What? The duration? I don’t under—”

I shoot a dart into his thigh.

This one is loaded with a maximum dose and should knock him out until noon tomorrow, at least. As soon as he’s unconscious, we untie him and I carry him into his bedroom, where we secure him