me my son now,’ Sharon said, her voice strong despite the horror on her face.
‘Step back,’ he repeated. When they did, he clasped the boy tight and climbed out of the boot.
‘Our son,’ Brian said.
‘Silence.’
‘We did what you asked. Give us back our son.’
Fernandez raised his gun, pointed it at Brian’s snivelling face. He walked around the car, keeping the gun steady in the hand that supported the kid in his arm, opened the driver’s door, reached in and pulled out the car keys. He opened the rear door and said, ‘Get out.’
Sally unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. She ran into her father’s arms in tears.
‘Please,’ Sharon said. ‘Take the car. There’s money in my purse. My credit card PIN—’
‘Silence!’ Fernandez demanded.
He smiled. He liked the woman. He’d kill her fast.
‘You drove where I told you to. I am pleased.’
‘We’ve done everything you asked us to,’ Brian said.
Fernandez didn’t like him. He’d kill him slow.
To the woman he said, ‘As a favour, you will not watch your children die.’ And he shot her in the face.
Brian Ludlow wailed as he saw his wife drop to the ground. He fell to her side and screamed into her hair as he held her, ignoring the agonised keening of his children.
Fernandez pointed his gun again, closed one eye, and blew a hole through the young girl’s chest.
Still in his arms, the boy screamed and kicked and punched him.
Fernandez laughed. The boy had more spirit than his own father, who now clung tightly to his dead wife and daughter, his mouth wide, breath but no sound coming from him, a line of saliva dripping from his lips down his blood spattered chin, his eyes popping.
Fernandez fed off the adrenalin. He could feel it flushing through his body and giving him an erection.
He let the boy fall from his arms to the ground and as he lay there on his back, struggling to get up, Fernandez placed a heavy foot on the little boy’s stomach, pinned him down, and shot him once.
He watched Brian Ludlow fight for breath, the air refusing to enter his constricted throat. Letting him watch the death of his entire family had been genius and powerful and arousing. Now, Fernandez strode forward and kicked him hard in the face. Brian fell back and lay unmoving. Momentarily, Fernandez had wondered if he’d kicked him so hard he had killed him but, unconscious, his throat muscles had released their stranglehold and his chest rose and fell as he breathed.
Fernandez pocketed his gun and searched the ground in the dim light for the three bullet shells. He threw them into the car and then picked up the boy, placing him in the back seat and buckling his belt. He did the same with the girl and took a little longer with the woman, the pretty woman who had followed his commands even though she knew it would be her ruin.
He dragged the unconscious man to the car and heaved him into the driver’s seat. Then he closed the door and walked around to the other side. Hopefully he’d wake soon.
Fernandez leaned in to the woman and tore the sleeve of her shirt from her arm. He closed the door and, with the car keys, triggered the central locking mechanism. He opened the fuel cap and stuffed the end of the shirt sleeve inside. With his cigarette lighter, he lit the other end of the sleeve and he walked back to a safe distance to watch.
As he had hoped, Brian Ludlow woke. The recognition on his face, just before the car exploded, was priceless.
Fernandez was mostly happy. He had wished to taste the woman before he had to dispose of her, but it was not to be.
He turned away, the heat from the flames warming his back, and he withdrew his phone, loaded up the contacts, and called a pre-programmed number.
When the patent attorney answered the phone, Fernandez said, ‘Mr Thomas Walter. A friend sends me.’
‘What do you need?’ Walter asked.
‘First,’ Fernandez said, ‘I need a lift.’
Chapter 8
It was just a
‘Step back,’ he repeated. When they did, he clasped the boy tight and climbed out of the boot.
‘Our son,’ Brian said.
‘Silence.’
‘We did what you asked. Give us back our son.’
Fernandez raised his gun, pointed it at Brian’s snivelling face. He walked around the car, keeping the gun steady in the hand that supported the kid in his arm, opened the driver’s door, reached in and pulled out the car keys. He opened the rear door and said, ‘Get out.’
Sally unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. She ran into her father’s arms in tears.
‘Please,’ Sharon said. ‘Take the car. There’s money in my purse. My credit card PIN—’
‘Silence!’ Fernandez demanded.
He smiled. He liked the woman. He’d kill her fast.
‘You drove where I told you to. I am pleased.’
‘We’ve done everything you asked us to,’ Brian said.
Fernandez didn’t like him. He’d kill him slow.
To the woman he said, ‘As a favour, you will not watch your children die.’ And he shot her in the face.
Brian Ludlow wailed as he saw his wife drop to the ground. He fell to her side and screamed into her hair as he held her, ignoring the agonised keening of his children.
Fernandez pointed his gun again, closed one eye, and blew a hole through the young girl’s chest.
Still in his arms, the boy screamed and kicked and punched him.
Fernandez laughed. The boy had more spirit than his own father, who now clung tightly to his dead wife and daughter, his mouth wide, breath but no sound coming from him, a line of saliva dripping from his lips down his blood spattered chin, his eyes popping.
Fernandez fed off the adrenalin. He could feel it flushing through his body and giving him an erection.
He let the boy fall from his arms to the ground and as he lay there on his back, struggling to get up, Fernandez placed a heavy foot on the little boy’s stomach, pinned him down, and shot him once.
He watched Brian Ludlow fight for breath, the air refusing to enter his constricted throat. Letting him watch the death of his entire family had been genius and powerful and arousing. Now, Fernandez strode forward and kicked him hard in the face. Brian fell back and lay unmoving. Momentarily, Fernandez had wondered if he’d kicked him so hard he had killed him but, unconscious, his throat muscles had released their stranglehold and his chest rose and fell as he breathed.
Fernandez pocketed his gun and searched the ground in the dim light for the three bullet shells. He threw them into the car and then picked up the boy, placing him in the back seat and buckling his belt. He did the same with the girl and took a little longer with the woman, the pretty woman who had followed his commands even though she knew it would be her ruin.
He dragged the unconscious man to the car and heaved him into the driver’s seat. Then he closed the door and walked around to the other side. Hopefully he’d wake soon.
Fernandez leaned in to the woman and tore the sleeve of her shirt from her arm. He closed the door and, with the car keys, triggered the central locking mechanism. He opened the fuel cap and stuffed the end of the shirt sleeve inside. With his cigarette lighter, he lit the other end of the sleeve and he walked back to a safe distance to watch.
As he had hoped, Brian Ludlow woke. The recognition on his face, just before the car exploded, was priceless.
Fernandez was mostly happy. He had wished to taste the woman before he had to dispose of her, but it was not to be.
He turned away, the heat from the flames warming his back, and he withdrew his phone, loaded up the contacts, and called a pre-programmed number.
When the patent attorney answered the phone, Fernandez said, ‘Mr Thomas Walter. A friend sends me.’
‘What do you need?’ Walter asked.
‘First,’ Fernandez said, ‘I need a lift.’
Chapter 8
It was just a
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