| sangria to calm myself. “That’s the rumor, Post. Don’t know what was destroyed in the fire and don’t know what was removed by Kenny Taft. Just rumors. There was a missing flashlight, as I recall. I’ve read your post-conviction petition, saw where you lost last week, and anyway the flashlight was presumed to have been destroyed. Right, Post?” “That’s right.” “Maybe it wasn’t destroyed.” “That’s interesting,” I manage to say with calmness. “Does the rumor cover the part that reveals what Kenny did with the boxes of evidence?” “No, it doesn’t. But interestingly enough, the rumor says that during his funeral service, which was fit for a five-star general, Pfitzner had two of his men go through Kenny’s house inch by inch looking for the boxes. They have never been found, according to the rumor.” “But you have a hunch, right?” “No, but I’m working on it, Post. I have lots of sources, old and new, and I’m on the prowl. Just thought you’d like to know.” “And you’re not worried?” I ask. “Worried about what?” “Worried that you might discover something that has been well hidden. Quincy Miller didn’t kill Keith Russo. The murder was ordered by a drug gang with Pfitzner’s blessing and cover-up. The gang is still around and ten days ago they tried to kill Quincy in prison. They don’t like our way of digging up the past, and they won’t like yours either.” He laughs and says, “I’m too old to worry, Post. Plus, I’m |
a tree on the other side. If not for the crocs, it might have been a fun summertime swimming hole with a zip line. If not for the crocs. My head was pounding and my heart was about to explode. They picked up a burlap sack filled with bloody chickens and hitched it to the zip line, then released it. As it swung down to the water it dripped blood, and this really excited the crocodiles. When the sack stopped over the center of the pond, one of the guards pulled a cord and the dead chickens dropped in a heap on top of the crocs. They must have been starving because they went crazy. “With the appetizer served, it was time for the entrée. They grabbed the first skinny Latino boy and hitched his wrists to the zip line. He screamed as they kicked him off the tower and screamed even louder as he flew across the pond. When he stopped in the center, his toes were about ten feet above the crocs. The poor boy was crying and screaming. It was awful, just awful. Slowly, a guard turned a crank and down he went. He kicked frantically, as you can imagine. He kicked and screamed for his life but soon his feet were in the water, and the crocs began ripping apart his flesh and bones. The guard kept turning the crank, the boy went farther down. I watched a human being eaten alive.” He takes a drink |
