Return To Me. Shannon McKenna

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      Now it was only a matter of time.

      Ray’s heart thundered with hot anticipation. Everyone was dead except for him and the two wounded Vietcong sprawled at his feet; an old man and a young girl. Everything was burning. Flames, smoke, stink.

      The asshole helo pilot had run his rotor right into a coconut tree, disintegrating the sucker. It had landed on the hooch and exploded, killing Ray’s men and roasting the VC inside. All except for these two.

      The door gunner had taken a bullet to the throat. The radioman was buried in the rubble, just his broken, splintered hand sticking out. When the time came he would be all broken up about his men. He had the routine down cold. He could even sob on command.

      But nobody was looking today. No need to pretend.

      He took the gas he’d siphoned out of the fifty-gallon drum that had been meant to refuel the burning helo. He poured it over his prisoners. They struggled and screamed. He’d killed more than he could count since he’d arrived at this jungle slaughterhouse, but fire was special. The lizards and cats he’d burned when he was little had taught him that. No one had ever known. He’d been so careful, so patient, waiting for his chance. He smiled at them, waved his hand bye-bye. He lit the match—

      The vibration of his cell phone from the pocket inside his pajamas dragged Ray out of his dream, if one could call it a dream. It was more like a vision. He’d done some reading on post-traumatic stress syndrome. Flashbacks were common, particularly in times of stress. And enjoyable as it had been, blowing a hole in Gus Riley’s head had definitely qualified as stressful.

      He checked the display. It indicated that he had to drag himself out of his bed to rendezvous with one of his employees. Scotty and Bebop couldn’t wipe their own asses without detailed instructions.

      He leaned back and idly stroked his lingering erection. The dream was coming too often, affecting his sleep. Both sleeplessness and sleeping aids diminished his ability to keep his mask well fortified.

      And each carefully planned time that he indulged in his secret hobby, it was harder to reestablish his mask. Sometimes he felt it buckling under the internal pressure. Hairline cracks, dust falling, a rumbling sound. The power was overwhelming now. It had forced him to retire from his position as district attorney, which he regretted bitterly, but just too many people were asking him if he was OK. Too many times he’d found himself blank and confused. No idea what look had been on his face, what words had just come from his mouth.

      Killing Gus had eroded his mask. He wondered if finding the proof Gus had dared to taunt him with would give him “closure,” as Diana put it when she was talking about emotions. Usually her own. He looked at Diana’s sleeping form on the bed next to him. She was the most self-absorbed woman he’d ever known, and he was glad of it. That quality gave him privacy. Controlling Diana was easy; a thoughtless mix of coaxing, cajoling and flattery. He was widely known to be a saint of a husband, deeply in thrall to his domineering wife.

      His reputation privately amused him.

      Brad had been the dangerous one, back when he’d been a curious, persistent child. But Ray had taught his young son not to intrude upon his privacy. Brad kept a wary distance from his father, and had for many years. Brad was a smart boy. Ray was proud of him.

      Ray pulled on his bathrobe and slipped on his loafers. He paused to look up at the full moon, and strolled across the grass.

      A hoarse whisper issued from the shadows of the gazebo. “Boss?”

      “Good evening, Bebop,” Ray said. “Anything to report?”

      “Yeah. And how. Looks like your future daughter-in-law is screwing Riley. Ellen the Angel ain’t quite so angelic after all. No surprise to me. Women are all the same. Dirty sluts.”

      The shock of that unpleasant news reverberated through him. Ellen Kent had been the exquisite crowning touch to his perfect family, and Riley had soiled her on his first day home. Stressing his mask. Hairline cracks, expanding into a webwork. Rumbling. Falling dust.

      “…going on? You OK, Boss?” Bebop’s voice sounded frightened.

      Ray bent over for a moment to let blood run back to his head. “I’m fine.” He forced his voice to stay even. “No problem. Thank you.”

      “You was making weird sounds, like you was hyperventilating—”

      “I’m fine,” Ray bit out. “What exactly did you see?”

      “Well, she comes out onto the porch with him, and they talk. Then she gets on his bike with him, and they take off. Then they come back and stop under the trees. Couldn’t see ’em in the dark, but I didn’t have to, if you know what I mean. Man, was she ever lovin’ it—”

      “That’ll do,” Ray said sharply. “The details don’t interest me.”

      “Want us to keep watching?” Bebop’s voice was eager.

      “Yes,” he said. “But I would like for you to do more than watch. I want you to arrange for an unpleasant incident. I want Riley to feel very unwelcome here. I do not want Ellen injured, but I do want her to think very hard about spending time with him. Are you and Scotty up for it?”

      Bebop thought about it. “Can I call a couple of extra guys?”

      “If you can do so without telling them anything they don’t need to know,” Ray said. “An envelope with the extra money will be in the usual place tomorrow. It is important that you be anonymous. Understand? Riley must not find out who you are.”

      “How soon you want us to do it?”

      “As soon as the perfect occasion presents itself,” Ray said. “I trust you to handle the details.”

      “No problem,” Bebop said. “We’ll mop the floor with the bastard.”

      “Then I leave it in your capable hands. Good night, Bebop.”

      It took Bebop a moment to figure out that he’d been dismissed. He finally took himself off and swaggered away into the dark.

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