Hell Hole | Chapter 10 of 51 - Part: 1 of 6

Author: Chris Grabenstein | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1254 Views | Add a Review

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Someone ransacked

Shareef Smith’s Ford Focus.

“Bastards,” mutters Dixon as we stare at the mess the burglars made.

“Happens all the time,” says the state trooper who escorted us out into the parking lot.

Saul Slominsky stayed back in the men’s room with Smith’s body to, as he put it, “tag him and bag him.” He wanted to wrap things up fast. Pack up the body and head home. Maybe grab a double Whopper with cheese on his way out the door.

Meanwhile, we’re staring at the tumbled interior of a recently broken-into subcompact. No broken glass. Guess Smith forgot to lock his doors. Maybe he was in a hurry to grab a Whopper too. Either that or a hit of heroin. I see papers on the seats. Cigarette butts crowning a mound of gray dust in the cup holder. Someone yanked out the ashtray and dumped it there. There is no radio in the dashboard. Just a hole with loose, torn wires.

“Same old, same old,” says the trooper. He’s pretty young. Muscular. Balloons for biceps.

Dixon doesn’t say anything. He looks shaken. Queasy. Like he just stepped out of the Hell Hole, this ride they used to have on the boardwalk before they closed down Pier Four. You stand against a wall and the room begins to spin. It picks up speed and rotates faster—so fast centrifugal force pulls you away from the center and pins you against the wall. All of a sudden, you feel paralyzed, like a wet sock during the spin cycle. That’s when they drop the floor out from under your feet and you don’t even budge because you’re glued to the wall.

It’s when the room stops spinning, when you step out and try to walk through the real world that you feel wobbly. I think that’s where Dixon is. Thrown for a loop. Wondering what the hell happened to one of his men who survived the horror show over in Iraq only to end up dead in a men’s room on the Garden State Parkway.

“Small-time hoods,” says the trooper, swinging his flashlight around inside the car. “They prowl these parking lots. Look for unlocked doors. Keys in the ignition. Folks on vacation typically pack a lot of pricey gear. Bikes. iPods. Satellite radios. Seatback DVD players for the kids.”

“So, what the hell happened there?” asks Dixon. Guess he found his land legs again because he sounds pissed. He’s pointing at the steering wheel. “These hoods think Smith hid a DVD player in his steering wheel?”

“No, sir. They stole his air bag.”


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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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