Resurrection 53Posted: November 27, 2016
This is a chapter of the book I am writing for NaNoWriMo. If you want to read it from the start, click here for the chapter index.
Completing the Job
Tab needed to complete this job. It had already been five days, and Langston had made it clear time was of the essence. Tab struggled with two opposing ideas. The first was a rushed job means mistakes. Mistakes mean prison, or worse. The second was staying too long in one place carries risk as well. People notice you, remember you.
Polly was fun. He had thought about it all day. The sex, the way she responded and the terror in her eyes when she realized she was about to die. He wondered if they had found the body yet. So far it hadn’t hit the Lexington TV news. The Corbin Times-Tribune would cover it, but it was likely they would be a day after Lexington.
Tab had his laptop open and was monitoring Reeves’ Cherokee’s movements. Saturday morning it stayed parked. About 4pm it had gotten on the road and parked at a subdivision just outside of town. Then nothing again.
Tab had figured Reeves was visiting someone and would probably head home for the night after. He was pretty sure he knew where Reeves would be Sunday morning. Once Reeves made it back home, Tab could get a solid night’s sleep.
Reeves would have a busy Sunday, but he might decide to take a hike Monday, his day off. He needed to get Reeves to an isolated area. If he had to, he could call and ask Reeves to come out for some emergency, maybe someone dying who needed last rites. Tab was brought up Catholic, like many in Cincinnati, and he didn’t realize Methodists don’t do last rites.
Just after 9pm, the Cherokee was on the move again.
“Finally,” said Tab out loud. He was tired.
Surprisingly, the Jeep wasn’t heading back to the parsonage on Front Street. Instead it was heading toward the heavily wooded hills south of Silerville.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Said Tab. He pulled on his pants, grabbed the laptop, and hurried out to the Buick, opening the large duffle and grabbing his silencer. He got in the driver’s seat, affixed the silencer to his S&W M&P Shield, checked the clip, then placed it on the passenger seat. He hurried to Silerville, hoping for his chance.
“I guess the reverend has a little side piece,” he mused. He had a low opinion of most people, most of all ministers. He had followed the news in the early 2000s when the Archdiocese of Cincinnati finally had to admit it had covered up for decades the priests abusing children.
From the laptop next to him he could see the Cherokee heading up one of the access roads for a cell tower Tab had previously visited as a possible body dump. It stopped near the tower. Tab was ten minutes away. It was isolated, no one would see him, and it was dark. The light rain had blown over, so the moon was bright, but the paved access road would allow him to approach silently. He could park, walk up and shoot him. Simple. Perfect.
Entering the access road, Tab shut off the Buick’s headlights. He slowed to a creep, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lower light. The car moved almost silently up the steep hill toward the tower. He checked his laptop once more to ensure Reeves was still at the top. Within 50 yards from the top, he stopped the car.
Grabbing his S&W, he quietly exited the vehicle, careful not to make any noise with the door. Being on an uphill slant, it wanted to slam itself. He slowly walked up the road, holding the gun with both hands, ready to fire.
When he got to the top, he could see the Jeep. Reeves was standing with his back to Tab, facing the open rear hatch.
Tab fired a quick burst of three rounds, just left of center on Reeves’ back. Reeves fell forward, like he’d been punched, catching himself on the bumper of the Cherokee. Then turned around to see what had hit him. He caught a glimpse of Tab in the moment before he collapsed.
Tab approached him as he lay dying. He wanted to toy with him, but decided a better plan was to just end him quickly. Besides, he was bleeding out quickly. Tab raised his gun, pointed it between the dying man’s eyes and squeezed the trigger.
Now that the job was complete, he got out his phone to use the flashlight to pick up his spent brass. Shell casings are just as easy to match to a gun as the bullets. No reason to give the police any more evidence than necessary.
Tab turned on the flashlight.
“Fuck! Fucking fuck fuck.” The man who he had just killed wasn’t John Reeves. “Of all the fucking, fucks.”
He checked the tag on the vehicle. EVY 273. This was the right Jeep, without a doubt. He had fucked up.
Tab gathered the four shells and thought through the series of events that would now unfold. Whoever this dipshit was, he would probably be missed. If he didn’t come home, and someone knew where he had gone, they would find the body. A professional looking hit.
He could try to dispose of the body, but there was a significant pool of blood and Tab didn’t have any way to make that go away. There would be no doubt a man was killed here.
What scenarios would go through the police’s minds?
If they didn’t find the body, then they would know a man was killed. If he was anybody, they would figure out pretty quickly who he was and would certainly tie it to somehow knowing Reeves. Reeves would be put under some kind of protection.
If they did find the body, same thing.
At this point there wasn’t any way to make this look like an accident. Too much blood. Damn, thought Tab, he wished he’d garotted him. Then it would just be a disappearance in the woods. Fuck.
Thinking through his options, he knew what he had to do. He pulled the tracker from under the Jeep and got back into the Buick, heading for the parsonage on Front Street.