EDGE OF SUSPENSE: Thrilling Tales of Mystery & Murder (5 page)

He took aim at the back of her head,
steadied himself, took a breath, and fired once, hitting the target
squarely.

She went down and the chaos began.

* * *

Quentin Fleishman turned himself in,
confessing to the murders of Suzanne Pratt and Maria Escobero, the
wife of Antonio Escobero. The former Special Ops marksman avenged
the death of his beloved wife, Katherine, who had spurned
Escobero's advances and paid for it with her life after he'd
ordered a hit on her.

It had taken Quentin half a year to track
down the assassin, firmly believing in an eye for an eye.

Or a bullet for a bullet.

Taking the life of Maria Escobero was meant
to hit Escobero where it really hurt, so he could also know the
pain of what it was like to lose the love of his life. Quentin
would gladly take his lumps, knowing that Antonio Escobero would
never have a day's rest while he rotted in prison before making his
way to hell.

* * *

Six months later, Lydia entered the
courtroom for her third and final day of testimony. She'd grown
stronger with each appearance, disregarding the glower of Antonio
Escobero that was meant to intimidate her.

Instead she focused on the encouraging smile
of her boyfriend, Devlin Carter, who accompanied her to the trial
each day.

After telling the truth and nothing but the
truth, Lydia left the courtroom with her head held high. She had
done her part to help put Escobero away and hoped that Javier
Whitman's death would not be in vain.

"You did great," Carter told her.

"Let's hope the jury agreed," she said.

"I have complete confidence that they won't
let Escobero get away with his crimes."

Lydia looked at Carter, her face etched with
concern. "Will I be free of Escobero even if he's convicted?"

"Not if, but when," he said. "And, yes, you
will be free of him. He's being squeezed out of his organization
even as we speak. With Feds all over him, Escobero's got more than
enough to deal with and won't have time to think about coming after
you. Besides, I won't let him or anyone else hurt the woman I
love."

The following week, Antonio Escobero was
convicted and sentenced to spend the rest of his life in
prison.

# # #

VANDALS

"Hey, Craig, can you get out to meet me?" my
best friend Stewart asked over the phone on Saturday night.

"Yeah," I told him, though I was supposed to
be grounded after getting caught with Suzy Pickford in my room.
"Mom's at the library and dad's at work, as usual. I have to be
back before ten, though."

"No problem," Stewart said. "I'll meet you
at Jasper Hill."

Stewart and I had been buddies since sixth
grade. Now we were in the tenth grade and still hung out. A lot of
people thought Stewart was a troublemaker because his brother,
Kevin, was serving time for armed robbery.

I didn't hold that against Stewart. Like me,
he just hated being bored and wasn't afraid to do something about
it.

I grabbed a bottle of water, put on my
helmet, and took off on my bike. I liked feeling the wind in my
face and the freedom riding gave me that I never felt at home.

I lived in Silver Pines, Oregon—far enough
from Portland to escape big city nightmares, but not so small that
it didn't have its own Sheriff who just happened to be my dad.

Jasper Hill was the most popular place to
meet in town. It was at the top of Jasper Lane and gave you a
360-degree view of Silver Pines.

Stewart was already there when I arrived,
standing beside his bike with a backpack. We were both nearly six
feet tall, but he was stockier.

"Hey," he said. "Thought you might not
show."

I shrugged, mindful that I wasn't supposed
to leave the house. "Didn't have anything better to do."

"Yeah, me neither," Stewart said.

"So what do we do now?" I asked. "Wanna see
who's fastest down the hill on our bikes?"

"Nope, I've got a better idea." Stewart
reached into his backpack and pulled out two cans of spray paint.
"I say we have a little fun putting some smiley faces on cars."

I chuckled nervously. "My dad would skin me
alive if we got caught."

"So we'll just have to make sure we don't,"
Stewart said nonchalantly.

"I don't know about this..."

"Oh, don't be such a wuss," he said. "We'll
just spray a dozen cars or so and be on our way. They'll never even
know what hit 'em till the sun comes up. By then, we'll be on our
best behavior while our mothers are making us breakfast."

Stewart gave me a look that said be gutsy
for once and step out of your dad's shadow.

"Yeah, okay," I muttered. "I'm in."

"Cool." He tossed me a can. "Let's start on
Eagle Street where they just love showing off their fancy BMWs.
We'll give them a real reason to be in the spotlight."

I tested the spray, which was fluorescent
blue, and declared myself ready to do some vandalizing, for better
or worse.

* * *

We hit a few cars on Eagle Street starting
with Mr. Donleavy's, the Vice Principal at Silver Pines High. It
was easy as pie and no one saw us that we knew of.

Moving onto Alpine Court, we sprayed smiley
faces on a few more windshields, trunks, and doors; then did the
same on Winchester Avenue.

After we high tailed it out of there, we
ended up on Dover Road. There was one car parked on the street—a
black Chevy that looked like it had already been put through the
ringer with chipped paint, scratches, and dents.

"I say we should spruce it up a bit,"
Stewart said.

Something about the car rubbed me the wrong
way. "Maybe we should quit while we're ahead," I told him.

"Come on, just one more," Stewart insisted.
"By the looks of it, we'll be doing the owner a favor."

I hesitated and Stewart started spraying the
car. "Am I gonna have to do this all by myself?" he asked, glaring
at me.

I didn't want him to be on my case about
being chicken from now on, so I joined in.

We pretty much emptied our cans on the
car.

"Wish I could see the owner's face when he
gets a load of our paint job," Stewart said, laughing. "He might
even thank us, if he knew who we were."

I frowned. "I don't know about that."

I was putting the can in his backpack when
the porch light came on at the house in front of the car. A burly
forty-something man opened the door with a pissed look on his
face.

"What the hell did you do to my car?" he
growled.

"Uh oh," I said nervously. "We better get
outta here."

Stewart hopped on his bike. "Yeah, let's do
it."

I got on my bike as the man stormed out of
the house. He started to chase us up the street, but couldn't catch
up. He finally gave up with a few choice words.

"Better luck next time, old fart," Stewart
shouted brazenly.

I sucked in a deep breath, my heart pounding
wildly. "Wow! That was a close call."

Stewart snickered. "Are you kidding? That
old guy is way too out of shape to make it interesting."

"Maybe, but we probably shouldn't have
emptied our cans on his car like we did."

"Well, it's too late to think about that
now," Stewart said. "Let's just be glad he didn't get his hands on
us."

I imagined the man's hands wrapped around my
neck, and felt a chill at the thought. Right now, I just wanted to
beat my mom home and forget about what we did.

* * *

We were cruising down the street on our
bikes when the sound of screeching tires caught my ears. I turned
around and saw a car rapidly moving in our direction.

I recognized the blue paint on the hood. It
was that man coming after us for revenge!

"It's him!" I yelled. My heart skipped a
beat. Then I heard a dog barking. "And he brought his dog with him!
What are we gonna do now, Stewart?"

"Out race him," Stewart said, somehow
managing to keep his cool. "That piece of junk will never catch
us."

"Are you crazy?" I said. "He's got a
car—junk or not—and he's really pissed. We can't beat him at this
game and I'm not even gonna try."

I darted my bike onto the sidewalk, but kept
moving, planning to turn at the next corner.

Stewart suddenly lost his courage and
followed me.

I looked over my shoulder and saw that the
car, with its bright lights on, had partially come onto the
sidewalk as well, and was gaining ground.

"Still think he can't catch us?" I asked,
pedaling as fast as I could.

Stewart grimaced. "Not if we keep moving in
different directions. I say we split up and let him try to figure
out which one of us to go after. By the time he does, we'll both be
in the clear."

"All right," I agreed, and moved onto the
grass.

Stewart bravely crossed the street and rode
on the sidewalk across from me.

At first, the car continued to follow me,
but it couldn't get up as far as I was. So the man went after
Stewart.

"Watch out!" I screamed as Stewart barreled
down the sidewalk as fast as he could with the crazy driver in full
pursuit.

With another intersection coming up, I
figured Stewart would zoom onto Halstead Street and slip into the
shopping center parking lot to disappear amongst the cars.

But he never made it that far.

I watched in stark horror as the car
careened right into him. Stewart went airborne as the car ran over
his bike and crushed it.

Stewart landed awkwardly on the grass and
wasn't moving. I wanted to help him, but when I reached the end of
the block the man came after me again. His dog was barking
viciously as if it wanted to chew me to bits.

I sped down Halstead Street, scared out of
my wits. Since there wasn't much cover for me on that side of the
road, I crossed to the other side just as the car rounded the
corner.

I was in trouble and knew he wouldn't stop
until I was injured or dead like Stewart.

I pulled out my cell phone and called my
dad, knowing that by doing so I'd be in deep trouble. But nothing
could be worse than what was going on right before my very
eyes.

He answered on the first ring with his usual
angry voice.

"Dad...I...I need your help."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I gulped. "I'm being chased on my bike by a
madman."

"If this is some kind of joke, I'm not
laughing."

I looked back and saw the car picking up
speed. I tried to zigzag, as if that would do any good.

"It's not a joke! He wants me dead!" I
screamed.

"Who wants you dead?"

"The man who just slammed his car into
Stewart's bike—with him on it."

"This doesn't make any sense," he said.
"You're grounded, remember? So what am I missing?"

"I went to Jasper Hill with Stewart," I told
him. "And we spray painted this old car for kicks. But the man who
owned it saw us and got really pissed. He came after us in his car.
And he's catching up to me..."

My dad uttered an expletive. "Where are you
now?"

"I just turned off Halstead onto
Linwood."

I pedaled as fast as I could toward an
industrial park. I could hear his tires screeching on the pavement
in fast pursuit while his dog barked ferociously.

"Please, Dad, you've gotta do something
before he kills me!"

"Calm down," he ordered. "Get the hell off
that bike and find somewhere to hide till I get there. And keep
your cell phone on."

"Okay." I put it back in my pocket and
crossed to the other side of the street where there was a furniture
warehouse. Maybe I could hide in there and wait for my dad.

I ditched the bike and helmet near some
dilapidated furniture by a trash bin and ran past some bushes and a
pickup truck with the tires missing.

With only a single light post nearby, I
hoped the crazy man had lost sight of me.

The warehouse door was locked, so I went
around to the side and found an opening in some rotted wood.

I squeezed through it and made my way behind
some furniture, trying to keep dead silent even as I heard the car
drive up.

* * *

The double doors were unlocked and slid
open. Bright car lights illuminated the inside of the
warehouse.

Crouching behind an armoire, I watched in
disbelief and horror as I realized the person holding the keys was
none other than the man I was hiding from. The same man who had
slammed his car into Stewart, leaving him for dead.

He had his Doberman on a leash while it
barked viciously and tried to break free.

Maybe the crazy man had no idea I was hiding
in there.

I waited, holding my breath, praying that he
would leave.

Then I heard him say, "I know you're in
here, vandal!" His taunting voice seemed to echo throughout the
warehouse. "Brody knows it, too. He can smell your fear. Might as
well come out and get what's coming to you. Just like your buddy
got what he deserved."

My armpits were soaked with perspiration and
my heart was pounding so loud I figured the dog could hear it. I
envisioned him ripping me to shreds. There seemed to be no way out
for me alive.

"All right, have it your way," the man said
gleefully. He released his dog from the leash. "Go get him,
boy!"

I saw the dog rushing straight toward me.
Knowing I wouldn't last a minute waiting where I was, I ran for my
life further back into the warehouse, knocking down anything I
could to distract the crazed animal.

But the dog easily slipped around the
obstacles, determined to get its teeth into me.

I climbed on top of a dresser and used it to
get to a stack of tables that were piled high.

The dog flew into the air and tried to land
on the tables, but couldn't get its footing and fell back down.