The King by Rick Soper Page B

had in his head wasn’t a pretty one: an obsessive- compulsive CPA, whose job it was to focus on details, had been planning what he was going to do to Billy Stone for just over a year.
    Stevens looked down at his watch – eight hours and fifteen minutes – he thought about all the things that could happen in that amount of time. He felt sure that they were too late, but he knew that they would go through the motions, like actors in a play who had stumbled on stage to witness the final act.
    Stevens motioned to the Swat Commander to hit the door. The Commander pointed towards the men in front of him, and they smashed it with the battering ram. Identifying themselves as FBI, as they stormed into the house, guns out.
    Stevens was right behind them, breaking from the group that was running up the stairs to go with the team hitting the basement door, adjacent to the kitchen. He was running behind as the battering ram blew the door off the hinges and they scrambled down the stairs to find nothing but boxes, gym equipment, and the washer and dryer.
    No Russell Scott. No Billy Stone.
    Stevens turned and ran back up the stairs. Emily Sarah and Emory Thomas were in the front room with the Swat Commander, who turned to him as he ran up.
    “The house is clear,” the Commander said, shaking his head.
    Stevens pointed at Sarah. “Come on!” They ran to the room that Scott had turned into his home office, and Stevens ushered Sarah to the computer. “We need to get into that thing, fast. Somewhere, there’s another dead client, and this one has a house in a secluded location.”
    Stevens tore open one of the file cabinets and started going through the files. There were hundreds  – it was like looking for a needle in a haystack – but it was all they had. Suddenly, he looked up at Emory. “What about his phone or car?”
    “You mean tracking them?”
    “He’s got to be getting around, somehow.”
    Emory pulled out his phone. “I’ll get someone on it.”
    Stevens skimmed through the paper files. He wasn’t a numbers guy, and he could barely understand what he was looking at, but he had to burn off his frustration. He was just finishing up the first cabinet when Emily Sarah slammed her hands down on the keyboard.
    “I’ve got something!” she said.

Chapter 36
     
    Russell flipped another switch on the remote, and Billy’s chair rotated 45 degrees, far enough that he could see the tools, laid out on the table next to them. Russell watched his eyes as they moved from the bat, to the rubber-headed chisel that he’d had specially made, to the rubber-headed mallet, to the pliers, to the bottles of water, to the IV bags, to the different glass bottles filled with various medications, and finally to the syringes.
    Billy looked up, his eyes filled with horror. “I have money,” he said.
    Russell couldn’t help but smile. “I know,” he said, “you paid for all of this.”
    “How...”
    “You should really think before you have Tom Francis write those big checks.” As Russell watched, realization spread across Billy’s face, and with it, a rising panic.
    “You’re London’s father,” Billy said, as if it were a death sentence.
    “I’m surprised you remember her name. I thought to you she was ‘just another girl.’” Russell heard the rage in his own voice.
    “I was mad at her,” Billy said, “for leaving.”
    Something in his voice seemed off, somehow, as if... what was he playing at? “You gave her a check and booted her out the door!” Russell said.
    Billy looked down at the ground. “She took the check,” he said, his voice a mixture of spite and defiance.
    Russell took up the bat. “You bastard!”
    Billy screamed as Russell raised the bat over his head and brought it down in the middle of Billy’s right thigh with enough force to break the bone.
    Billy Screamed in pain, his eyes glazing over just before he passed out. Russell shook his head as he put down the bat and picked up one of the bottles