Page 28 of Gatling
Gatling
There was nothing remarkable about Gary Fetterman, nothing that indicated he was Kelsie’s stalker. He was just an average middle aged bachelor with a regular desk job. He didn’t even have a speeding ticket on record.
Picking the lock of his rental house took less than ten seconds. No security system, so we didn’t have to worry about tripping an alarm.
The quiet little suburb he lived in wouldn’t appreciate four bikers rolling through their streets, so we left our cuts at the clubhouse and used our cage instead—a generic black utility van. If anyone came snooping around, we could pass ourselves off as plumbers, electricians, or cable guys. Folks wouldn’t think twice about technicians in the area.
While I waited for Fetterman to get off work from his 9-5, I surveyed his house, poking through his stuff to pick up information on him. Credence did a thorough job already, pulling files on previous places of employment, bank accountstatements, loans he’d qualified for, and even his internet search history.
Now that I was in his house, on his turf, this was my part of the hunt. Studying my target. Learning what made him tick. Then sinking my teeth into him.
Vlad dropped into the armchair and turned on the television, flicking through the channels.
Blackbeard lingered by the door, keeping watch.
In the kitchen, I found nothing out of the ordinary for a bachelor. Empty beer bottles clustered by the garbage can. Frozen pizzas and TV dinners stacked in the freezer. The refrigerator was practically a wasteland, with some moldy leftover cottage cheese, a carton of eggs, and some questionable lunch meat past its expiration date.
Down the hall was Fetterman’s office—clean, tidy, minimal. Not even a framed photo of a pet, or a family member, or a girlfriend.
Why did he pick Kelsie? Why did he target her? Was it a freak occurrence, like a brief interaction in a restaurant or a coffee shop that morphed into obsession? Or maybe he asked her out and she turned him down, so he became hellbent on changing her mind, determined to take what he wanted?
“He’s here,” Blackbeard called.
I gestured for Vlad to cover the back door. Blackbeard tucked himself into the shadows of the entry hall, waiting for Fetterman’s arrival.
Under normal circumstances, I would have handled this on my own. The Blackjacks had already proven they were capable of keeping their mouths shut in the past, but still, witnesses were a liability. I didn't like owing anyone favors either.
And I didn’t like blurring the line between the Blackjacks and my personal business.
If I chose to take a risk, it was on my head alone. No one else’s. I knew the burden of bloodied hands. I knew how heavy it felt to remember the lives you took, the sins you’d committed. Whether you were acting in self-defense, helping a brother in need, or protecting the people you loved, the reason didn’t matter when the memories haunted you anyway for weeks…months…years…
But making someone disappear in the middle of a busy neighborhood was not my area of expertise.Vlad and Blackbeard had more experience with that.
A rumble of machinery indicated the garage door had opened. An engine shut off. Footsteps approached the front door, followed by the jingle of keys in the lock.
Then Fetterman entered the house.
Blackbeard slammed the door behind him.
“What the—?” Fetterman started, bewildered.
I clamped a hand on his shoulder, hauling him into the living room.
“Who the hell are you?” Fetterman sputtered. “What are you doing in my house? I’ll call the cops!”
“Shut up,” I hissed, shoving him to his knees. “You tried to run a woman off the road yesterday.”
Fetterman frowned, baffled.
“What? No, I didn’t.”
I flicked my hunting knife from my boot and brought the six-inch blade up so he got a good look at it. He quailed, turning white as a sheet. Blackbeard took up a position at the window, peeling the curtains aside with one finger to watch the street.
“I don’t like liars," I said. "And I have a feeling you’re lying. Right to my face.”
Fetterman’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“I’m telling the truth, I swear.”
