The Killing League - By Dani Amore Page 0,35

home only once, and that was for a wedding.

He liked routine. He enjoyed getting up in the morning and knowing exactly how the day would go. No surprises, no control turned over to someone else.

He explained to his two employees that he would have to attend a meat distribution emergency meeting and that he would return within a matter of days. The shop was run like a military operation, and they could handle it while he was gone.

Now, Skittlecorn asked at the Holiday Inn of Omaha’s front desk about his conference, and was directed to the KL meeting room.

There were two empty seats at the front of the room facing the big television screen. A big guy stood by the door, and a skanky looking woman was lounging at the back, smoking a cigarette. She glared at him. He stared at her. She looked like a whore. A used up piece of meat, over tenderized. And way too skinny. Cut up, she would amount to nothing.

He walked to the front and sat next to an older lady who glanced at him, without smiling. Now she was more like it. Thick, big boned. He pictured her meaty leg sliced up and placed in plastic wrapping paper. Plenty of ham hocks out of that one.

He wondered if all of these people had the same hobby as his. Or if it was really just the cops, here to arrest him.

The slow rage that had been building in him ever since he’d gotten the note, ever since they’d violated the sanctuary of his shop, was building. And now that he was here, now that he’d followed their directions this far, the rage was threatening to ignite. Of course, he hadn’t been allowed to bring any of his tools onto the plane, but he could always find some. Or go old school.

Just get a hacksaw from a hardware store, and grind it out. He’d start with that filthy bitch at the back of the room. Maybe she’d learn not to stare at someone with a dirty look.

After that, maybe he’d—

Just then, the giant television screen came to life. The black was replaced with gray. Skittlecorn heard movement at the back of the room and turned to see the security guard move to the conference room door and shut and lock it.

When he turned back to face the screen, the gray was gone.

In its place…

…was a man.

Skittlecorn looked at him. So this was the guy? This was the asshole who had broken into his shop and left that stupid note?

He looked more closely.

The guy was in his late forties or early fifties. He had short gray hair, almost a buzz cut, and dark eyes. He wore a shirt and tie.

He looked kind of like someone you’d see in a commercial for toothpaste or Cialis.

The man began to speak.

45.

Mack

“That’s bullshit!” Mack said. He pressed the phone tighter against his ear, as if he hadn’t heard right. He absolutely couldn’t believe what Ellen Reznor was telling him.

“They have no record of your requests,” she reiterated.

“But that’s impossible!” he said. He paced around his office. “I received responses from both of them. They both said they would look into my request and get back to me. You saw the messages.”

He had forwarded to Reznor his correspondence, or lack thereof, between himself, the Georgia Trucking Commission and the Charleston Municipal Hospital.

“I showed all of that to the directors of both the hospital and the trucking commission,” Reznor said. “Both claimed that although the emails had come from them, there was no record of who sent them, or a request actually being placed.”

Mack plopped into his office chair. “What am I missing?”

“I’m not sure what happened, but they’re both now fully tasked with your requests and I expect we’ll hear from them quite quickly,” she said. “I used that famous Reznor charm that’s kept me single for so long.”

Mack knew what she meant. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of Ellen Reznor.

He tapped the keyboard on his computer and the screen came to life. “If it had just been one of them that claimed they’d never received my response, I wouldn’t be so pissed off. But both? That just doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s what I thought,” Reznor said. “The only common denominator is you.”

“Yeah, me,” Mack said.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking?” Reznor said.

Mack dropped his gaze back to his computer. He thought about the strange things Janice had been saying of late, about