As he tossed the steel pipe
from hand to hand Bryant studied the man hanging in front of him. “I have to
make it look as if the damage came from the car crash,” he said, smiling at the
look of dread on the man’s face.
Crispin nodded as he poured
a tumbler full of cheap whiskey and approached their second victim. “Open
wide,” he said, gripping the man’s chin firmly with his free hand. When the man
gritted his teeth tightly Crispin said, “A little help here?”
“What would you do without
me?” Bryant laughed as he came over. “Ready?” He brought the pipe down hard on
the man’s shoulder. As the bone shattered the man screamed and Crispin poured
the liquor down his throat, holding his mouth closed so that none was lost.
“Thanks. I can handle it
from here,” Crispin said, pouring another tumbler of liquor. One slam of his fist onto the man’s shoulder
and he screamed again and got another mouthful of liquor.
Returning to his prey,
Bryant’s smile turned savage as he began to use the pipe with great efficiency,
singing under his breath, “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…” as he
landed each blow.
By the time he reached
eighty-nine the man’s screams were echoing through the basement so loudly that
Crispin called out, “Can you turn the sound down a little? I can’t think over
it.”
“As easily done as said.”
Drawing back his arm again Bryant smashed the pipe across the man’s mouth. “Better?”
he asked when the man passed out.
“Much, thanks.” Crispin
finished pouring a fifth tumbler of liquor down his target’s throat and then
capped the bottle. “I think this one is beyond help now,” he said, returning to
the man to check his condition. “Comatose, so we should get moving.”
Bryant cut his man down and
then rolled him up in the large sheet of plastic he had laid out this time to
catch the blood and other things such as teeth that his victim had lost. Crispin
did the same to his man. Then they carried them one by one up to the top of
the stairs. After a fast check to make certain none of the servants were in the
kitchen getting a late night snack Crispin went to get the van, parking it in
the drive as close to the back door as possible. After bundling the two bodies,
still alive but barely, into the van they headed back to the city.
When they arrived at the
first man’s house it was close to three a.m. Leaving the van in the darkness of
the alley behind the house, Crispin went to the garage to get the man’s car
while Bryant retrieved the one he’d driven over from the second man’s place.
After putting the comatose men into the passenger seats of their respective vehicles
Bryant and Crispin got into the driver’s seats and they headed off to the spot
where they planned to finish this particular game.
With the hour so late there
was little traffic on the stretch of highway they’d chosen. They parked on the
shoulder briefly, leaving the cars running while they moved the drunk’s now
dead body into the driver’s seat of the first car. Then they maneuvered the car
onto the highway, stopping to wave on a lone driver who passed them, keeping
their faces hidden.
Next they moved the second
car back a few hundred yards and placed the 'tailgater' on the console of his
car. Bryant sat on the edge of the driver’s seat and revved the motor until the
tachometer read 6300. Then, keeping his right foot on the brake for the moment,
he got as far out of the car as possible and pulled the dead man towards him.
Releasing the brake Bryant jumped back. The car, now free to move, sped
forward, slamming into the rear of the first car.
“That should do it,” Crispin
commented as his brother joined him. Digging into his pocket he took out the
message they’d prepared, sliding it under the windshield wiper of the drunk’s
car. Headlights of an approaching car glanced off the thin sheet of etched
medal.
“Time to get out of here,”
Bryant said shortly. He gripped the guardrail at the edge of the highway and
vaulted over, ducking down into the weeds. Crispin joined his seconds later and
they crept away as they heard a car screech to a stop beside the wrecked vehicles.
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