Justice by Oleander - 2012 Watty Awards, Finalist

Chapter 19

© Carey MacLean, 2012

Chapter 19

He watched as the man approached his car in the parking garage.  He couldn’t believe the gull of the guy.  They were family for fuck’s sake!  Well, sort of.  Just because the blood matches doesn’t necessarily allow you to call yourself family.

His blood boiled at the mere memory of what he had observed over a month ago at Mika Stafford’s house.  Because of the simple fact that they were in this together and that blood should have run thicker than water, he had tried to let it slide.  It all came down to the fact that he could no longer ignore his urges.  The man had to pay for his actions.

He followed the black sports car to its intended destination.  A posh home in a neighbourhood he had always detested.  The neighbourhood he had grown up in and bid his time until he had been able to leave and make something of himself.  Something he had indeed achieved if you weighed him by his bank account alone.

Waiting for the man to leave his car and enter his home, he slowly got out of the silver car and walked up to the front door.  Depositing the glass bottle of vintage cognac, he rang the doorbell and made a mad dash back to his car.  He knew that the man wouldn’t be able to resist that rather priceless vintage cognac.  He should know – after all, they had known each other their entire lives.

Exiting his car, he made his way back toward the house.  Bidding his time, he finally snuck in through the front door, making the least amount of noise as possible so as to not give himself away.  He heard a crash coming from the back of the house.  His feet followed the direction where the noise had come from and he knew he’d find himself in the den.

There, on the floor, the man laid; his eyes bulging out of their sockets and bloodshot.  He was desperately fussing over his tie, trying to loosen the damn thing.

“Oh brother, that’s simply not going to work,” he told the distressed man.  “You should have known not to have harmed what was mine.”

“W-why?”  He managed hoarsely.

“Why not?”  He told the dying man.  “Mika Stafford is a beautiful woman.  She never deserved to be harassed, dominated, and attacked by you, little brother.”

“Y-you-” the man stumbled, “Y-you b-bastard,” he finally managed.

“Stop wasting air you sack of shit and die already,” he said exasperatedly.

He waited for what felt like hours which in turn was nothing more than forty-five minutes before the man finally died.  With that, he walked away from the house and drove off.

Now if only I could find a way to get her alone with me, he thought. 

His patience was all but worn out.  He hadn’t appreciated the fact that his stealth tactics were far from that and that the presence of his company’s car had been noticed.  Officers had shown up at his place of work that afternoon and he hadn’t been too pleased with the new development.  For once, he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t been using his own name when signing the damn thing out.  The police could look all they want; all they’d find would be trails of breadcrumbs leading them to nothing but dead ends.

He headed into town to get a few provisions when the messages on his phone began to ping him thanks to the local cellphone reception.  Xavier groaned but knew that if he missed something important, his head would be on a platter.  After parking the vehicle in the lot, he looked on.  And that’s when he saw it – Brian Stafford had been found dead, in his home.