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    Piece by Piece
    Piece by Piece
    Piece by Piece
    Ebook73 pages50 minutes

    Piece by Piece

    By Anthony Morgan-Clark

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Nobody stays in the game forever. A smart hitman knows every kill shortens the odds of getting caught, and Mon Oliver has killed a lot of people for a lot of money. Almost enough to settle into the quiet life of a Californian business owner. Most of the pieces are in place, and he needs the cash from one more job to set up the gym he dreams of owning.

     

    To finally go legit Mon has to make a choice. Does he take the seemingly easy money from an acquaintance with murky motives, or go for a stranger's bigger payday?

     

    But no player can control every piece on the board, and this latest job throws a curveball he didn't expect.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAnthony Morgan-Clark
    Release dateOct 27, 2020
    ISBN9781393098461
    Piece by Piece
    Author

    Anthony Morgan-Clark

    Anthony is an independent author of novels, novellas and short stories. He writes across all styles of horror, as well as sci-fi, thrillers and non-genre fiction. His horror has been compared to that of early James Herbert, and to Graham Masterton. Anthony currently lives in the Forest of Dean, in the UK.

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      Book preview

      Piece by Piece - Anthony Morgan-Clark

      Monday

      Mon shivered. He hated travelling this far north. San Marcos might get cold in the winter, but never this bad. Perhaps one day he’d move to San Diego. Boring weather was good weather, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t care how many art galleries Olympia had, you could keep it.

      From Percival Point, he could see into the State Capitol Campus, half a kilometre away on the far side of Capitol Lake. Not the whole campus, but enough. The leaves of the tree in which he sat provided him with enough cover, and the scope gave more than enough clarity to the campus car park.

      The jogger, the same one he’d watched every day for the past week, made her way up Deschutes Parkway. Mon watched her pass the grade crossing. She’d follow the path clockwise past Heritage Park, loop back past Capitol Point and Marathon park, and then take Parkway back the way she’d come.

      If Mr Velnos tuck to his routine he had the past week, he’d park his car any time in the next seven minutes. He’d make a call on his cell before getting out of the Audi A8. A real cockmobile. One of those cars that a certain type of wealthy middle-aged man bought to compensate for other failings. He’d take a few seconds to brush himself own after locking the car. And that would be the end of his day.

      The figure in leggings and T-shirt would barely have passed the short run of houses before Mon took his shot. She’d probably stop and look to see where the noise had come from. She might hear the shouts and cries coming from the campus; she might not. The light breeze meant a relatively easy shot, but the cries would travel further in their direction. She’d most likely carry on jogging. He’d have disassembled the M24 and be away long before she reached Heritage park. His car was one of several parked in front of Marathon Park, a hundred metres away. He’d be on the I-5 before the police arrived. He’d ditch the car at the Maytown rest area, swap it for the Chevy Equinox he’d left there, and get back on the interstate. If anyone was suspicious enough to call in the blue Taurus left behind, well, they’d be looking for a driver with collar length blonde hair and a prominent mole on the left cheek. A pair of five-dollar shades hid his brown eyes.

      The jogger disappeared out of view to his left, hidden by foliage. Man, it was green up here. She’d be out of his line of sight until she passed the houses. She came back into view, or at least her ass did. The A8 pulled in to the car park. Mr Velnos made his call. It took a little longer than usual. Perhaps he was arguing the details of some deal Mon was being paid to stop. Whatever. He looked more flustered than usual when he got out. The slam of the door was nothing compared to what followed.

      Tuesday

      He arrived back in San Marcos, late afternoon. The Equinox lurched to a halt in front of the Rancheros Drive lockup. The engine was hot. It idled, glad of the break, as he lifted the garage door. He eased the SUV inside. His backpack and what looked a flight case lay in the trunk. He took both, and locked everything.

      His first stop was a storage warehouse, twenty minutes away. He unlocked his unit and stored his flight case, then walked the half hour to his apartment.

      The ache of the long drive was still on him. The shitty motel he’d slept in overnight had done nothing to help. He looked forward to a hot shower and a cool beer. He still had a few Michelobs in the fridge. After two of those, he might go to Lou’s bar.

      Hot water massaged his shoulders. What little energy he had swirled down the drain with everything else. The stink of a long day’s drive. The smell of a hastily eaten drive-through on his fingers. The mold of the motel’s lukewarm shower. Everything. He ran the

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