Edmund stood with his back against a brick wall watching the intersection. Everything was tinted a little orange under Tallahassee’s streetlights. He was breathing heavily and sweating. The Taurus handgun he’d bought just last week weighed heavy in his hoodie pocket…far heavier than the physical two pounds would suggest.
He’d bought it off a gangbanger, paid $700, twice what it was worth, for no questions asked, and kept his face covered the entire time. He’d even used a simple voice modulator during the exchange.
He’d never done this before…killed someone. Despite all he’d been through, he still wasn’t sure he had the nerve.
But when the dark blue BMW pulled up to the stoplight, time had run out. He was going to do this or not. And if he did, if he could…this was just the beginning.
He strode across the intersection and tapped on the driver’s window. It slowly slid down, revealing the face of Len Clump, Esq.
“I got the Signal message,” Clump said. “Where are they? What happened?”
Edmund inhaled sharply, making a hissing sound. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Clump. There was no police shooting here.”
“Then what am I doing here? And who are you? How’d you get that number? Nobody has that number.”
Edmund watched his face intently. Clump’s expression was confused, but not scared. He wasn’t smart enough to be scared…yet.
Edmund tapped a button on the remote in his pocket. The BMW’s engine went silent. Now, fear washed across Clump’s face.
“How…how’d you do that?” he asked in a whisper.
Edmund said, “I spoofed your car’s remote start. It’s not that difficult, if you have money, and brains, and patience. I have all three.”
Edmund turned his head aside for a moment. Clump wasn’t nearly as scared as he should be. These creatures had grown arrogant. In all his years of abusing decent men, he’d never gotten payback, so he didn’t expect any.
“What I don’t have anymore,” Edmund continued, “is this.” He pulled a wallet-sized photo from his pocket. It was a smiling 5 year old boy with unruly blond hair.
“I don’t have him because you killed him.”
“What? You got the wrong guy. I never killed nobody!” Clump fished in his pocket and pulled out the remote. He stabbed at the button repeatedly. The car did not start.
“Oh, you didn’t pull the trigger, but when you helped Darryl Simmons escape justice, you murdered him all over again.”
Clump turned his face from his key fob, mouth agape. “You…you’re—“
“A father.”
Heart thudding wildly in his chest, Edmund pulled out the gun, pointed it at Clump’s chest, and squeezed the trigger twice.
The muzzle flash lit up the dim street, but nobody was nearby. Edmund had chosen his ambush spot well.
Clump gasped a few times and made a fish-face before he slumped forward over the steering wheel.
And it was done. Everything up until now was planning and preparation. This was his first real step.
He felt…nothing, yet. He shook his head and got to work, shifting around the mass that used to be Len Clump, unbuckling it and dragging it out of the car. He left him lying in the road, got in the car, and drove away.
He drove about two miles through half-lit streets, saw the location he’d picked. He tensed himself, made sure to hold his head straight forward, and steered the BMW straight into a telephone pole.
After giving himself a minute to recover from the shock, Edmund got out and walked to the moped he’d left nearby. He rode another 12 miles to the motel. Along the way, he tossed the gun into a lake he passed.
By the time he got back into his room, it was after 1 AM. Despite his weariness, he carefully took off his gloves and all the clothes he’d been wearing and stuffed them into a garbage bag. He’d burn those later, somewhere far away from here. Then he collapsed into bed.
The Mayor of Christ Mountain 
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