Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 52

Chapter 52
There were only two reasons Mayor Gold ever drank alcohol. The first was to celebrate on New Year's Eve. The second was when pacing wouldn't calm his nerves. New Year's Eve assured that the bottle of Crown Royal hidden in his study would never go a year without taking a hit. However, uncapping his secret elixir rarely occurred before the annual visit from his in-laws at Thanksgiving. This year, he was three months ahead of schedule.
Pacing and drinking only hyped up Gold. He preferred to take his whisky sitting down. But he didn't know if anything could settle him at this hour. Presiding over the murder of not one but two FBI agents was enough to make him consider searching for a barrel of whisky. But he knew that would be the least of his problems if the feds discovered what exactly Statenville was up to. All he could now was wait.
The clock ticked slowly. It was 10:30 p.m. Thus far, Gold's contingency plan had been executed flawlessly. However, the two reporters trying to be superheroes threatened to mar his precious ointment. For years, Gold held The Register under his thumb, buying off editors with the publisher firmly in his pocket. He never really considered a reporter from The Register having the ability to flesh out this story, much less two of them. They usually consisted of halfwits who - if they somehow graduated from community college - struggled to write a well-constructed sentence. But the economy's poor state flooded the market with able-bodied reporters, even The Register had jobs available that appealed to top journalism students. They had to write somewhere. Gold had underestimated Cal's skills and wherewithal to pursue this story. It was a rare mistake.
Gold looked at his watch again and took another pull on his whisky. He figured Yukon Grant was about 30 minutes away from correcting that mistake.
Keeping a secret of this magnitude requires a commitment to sacrificing profit to keep it silent. When you tell people you're going to pay them, you pay them. And when they do a great job, you sometimes pay them more than you agreed. Happy employees don't blow whistles. Keeping a secret like this also requires the guts to do the dirty work. This was the part that Gold didn't like, but one he accepted as a necessary evil.
He didn't simply dislike the dirty work-he loathed it. But Yukon wasn't the only one with an assignment. There was one job Gold needed to finish on his own. He drained the last drop of whisky and grabbed his 9 millimeter handgun. His work was almost done.
***
Guy hung up the phone. He wasn't sure if he could convince his old paper, The Tribune, to run Cal's story, but he had pulled it off. He had done the same with The Times, too. If Cal could put together what Guy thought he was capable of, tomorrow might bring relief. No more lies. No more deception.
He began buttoning up the house for the evening, shuffling from room to room in his robe, turning off all the lights and securing all the doors and windows. His bedtime routine consisted of being fully ready for bed and sitting up for his DVR replay of the late local news. It was a luxury never afforded to him so early in the evening while working the late shift at a daily newspaper. But working at a weekly newspaper with 9 to 5 hours almost every day made him feel like he had a somewhat normal life. At least now he could slice up his time into convenient and predictable parcels like most Americans.
Guy had just finished brushing his teeth when he froze.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Somebody was knocking at his backdoor.
Guy crept back toward the kitchen, unsure of who might be dropping by unannounced at this late hour. Would it be Cal and Kelly ignoring his warning to stay out of Statenville? Would it be one of the mayor's thugs?
He grabbed a wooden baseball bat from the large floor vase he used to store his umbrella-and other objects handy during a home invasion. He inched closer to the door and flipped the back door light on.
It was Mayor Gold.
Guy exhaled. He slid the baseball bat back into the vase and swung the door open.
"Mayor Gold. What brings you out here at this time of night?"
"We need to talk," Gold said. "May I come in?"
"Sure. What's going on?"
This wasn't Gold's first time visiting Guy. Gold strode through the kitchen and into the den, while Guy scrambled to turn on some lights. They sat on opposing couches with only a glass coffee table separating them.
"I know it's late, so I'll be brief," Gold started.
"So, what's going on?"
"Well, I need to ask you a very important question."
"OK, shoot."
"Why did you help Cal and Kelly escape Statenville today? I was under the impression that you had been instructed to keep them pre-occupied with other assignments so they wouldn't be digging too deep on things that are best left alone."
"What do you mean? I didn't help them do anything but their job."
"Well, I know your VMAX is missing and we've had reports from several people that Cal and Kelly were seen on it heading out of town. Care to explain?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Should we go to your garage and look at your VMAX."
"I don't think that's necessary. You know I would never break our agreement."
Gold didn't say a word. He pulled a digital recorder out of his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. He pushed play.
"... put together her best photos with your story and send it to The Tribune in Salt Lake and The Times in Seattle. I'll let those editors know your story is coming.
"And they would print it, Guy?"
"If I tell them you're trustworthy, they will. They'll know what to do with it."
Gold pushed stop.
"Would you care to revisit your last statement, Guy?"
Guy avoided eye contact and said nothing.
"I thought you were on our side, Guy. I really did. I trusted you. But that is unforgivable."
Guy knew he should've known better. Tapping his phone should have been a given, especially with the suspicious treatment he received earlier in the day. But he was careless.
Gold pulled out his gun and pointed it at Guy.
"You'll never get away with this, you know? I know deep down you're a decent man. You wanted to make a better life for people in this town, but you made some poor choices a long time ago. You don't have to take another innocent life."
"You're not innocent, Guy-stand up!"
Gold was already standing, while Guy slowly rose from the couch, placing both hands in the air as to surrender. However, Guy knew this wasn't a time to surrender. In a matter of minutes, Gold was going to fill him with lead, dump his body and have a tight alibi and plausible story about Guy's accidental death.
"Go get some jeans and a shirt on. We're going outside. Move it!"
Guy had resigned himself that this was the end. With all the accidental deaths in Statenville, you would've thought local clothing shops only offered shoes in pairs of left feet. Guy knew the truth behind every single one, but printed the invented version fed to him by local law enforcement. He knew his story would be no different.
Well, if I'm going to die, I'm not going to make it easy on the mayor.
Gold marched behind Guy as he moved through the kitchen toward his bedroom. Just as Guy was about to leave the kitchen, he lunged for his baseball bat.
Gold didn't even wait for Guy to turn around. He shot Guy twice in the back and once in the head.
Guy fell toward the corner, his head slamming against the now blood-spattered wall. He slumped face-first to the ground, his maroon robe turning a deeper hue of red.
***
Gold looked at the mess in Guy's kitchen. One of his workers would scour the house. It would be spotless when Sheriff Jones came to do a standard investigation on the strange death of Guy Thompson, who would drown in a fishing accident on the Snake River. A number of witnesses would see him fishing that evening after work. But only the coroner would see his body, falsifying his report about the cause of death. A cremation would follow since the next of kin never responded.
Gold sighed and looked at his watch. He couldn't stand waiting much longer to hear from Yukon. If Gold was lucky, Cal and Kelly would be in Yukon's possession right now.