A Dark and Broken Heart Read Online Free PDF

fuck. What the fuck . . .”
    Landry steps away from the front of the car. He looks down at Fulton—there on his side, still now, not a flicker of motion—and Landry says the only thing that he can think of in that moment which is, “I don’t know who the hell you are, and I sure as hell don’t wanna know.”
    Madigan looks at Williams. Williams slows down. He calms a little. He’s gripping the handles of the duffel like a lifeline to something. He’s breathing heavily.
    Madigan knows what to do. It comes together like a jigsaw puzzle. He walks to the wall and retrieves Fulton’s .38. He points it at Williams.
    “You know who I am?” Madigan asks him.
    Williams is shaking his head vigorously, but Madigan knows he’s lying. He knows they’re both lying. Fulton found out who he was and told both Williams and Landry, and now he has to deal with it.
    “You know Ben Franklin?” Madigan asks.
    “I don’t know anyone,” Williams says. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know any Franklin guy.”
    Madigan smiles. These guys really were dumber than dog crap.
    “Benjamin Franklin, the President of the United States . . . that Ben Franklin.”
    “Sure, yeah. Sure . . . Heard of him, yeah . . .” Landry says. He takes a step back. He’s clutching his duffel to his chest like it’s bulletproof.
    “Said something that makes a great deal of sense in this situation,” Madigan continues.
    “Yeah, okay . . . Okay, man,” Williams replies. “Ca—can we just get the hell out of here now? Fulton’s dead, okay? He was an asshole and he opened his dumbass mouth and now he’s dead. We’ll split up his share, you and me and Bobby here . . . No, forget that. You just take Fulton’s share, and that’ll be the end of that—”
    “You haven’t heard my Ben Franklin quote yet,” Madigan says. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t understand why he feels so calm. He hefts the .38 in his hand. “He said that a secret between three people is only a secret if two of them are dead.”
    It takes a second before either Landry or Williams understands the significance of Madigan’s words.
    A second is too long.
    Madigan shoots Williams first, right through the heart, and he’s close enough for the force of impact to spin Williams right over the bumper of the car and onto the ground.
    Landry looks like he’s going for the wall.
    Madigan takes one step forward and shoots him in the face. Both of them are down. He checks vitals. There is nothing.
    He gathers up the four duffels, opens one up, takes a good threeor four handfuls of notes and scatters them across the floor. He turns the bag out and empties it beside Fulton.
    Madigan wipes his prints off of the .44 and puts it in Williams’s hand. He cleans off the .38 and reaches down to put it beside Fulton.
    Fulton opens his eyes and looks back at Madigan.
    Madigan starts suddenly.
    Blood bubbles from Fulton’s lips as he tries to speak. Madigan stands straight. He pockets the .38. He cannot shoot the man again. A second shot would preclude any possibility of this being read the way he intends. It needs to be clean, simple, a closed case. Three people robbed one of Sandià’s drug houses, and those same three people had a go at each other in a storage unit near the subway. Three shots, three DBs, case closed.
    Madigan backs up the Econoline and opens the door. He sits sideways in the seat, now no more than three or four yards from where Fulton lies on the ground in an ever-widening pool of blood. The man’s leg twitches once more, a brief flurry of motion, and the side of his shoe draws an arc of blood out from the edge and across the concrete.
    Fulton tries to speak again, and blood bubbles grow and burst from his mouth.
    “It’s over, Larry,” Madigan says. “I ain’t takin’ you anywhere. You do understand that, right? You and me are just going to have to sit here until you die.”
    Fulton’s eyes tighten with whatever ravages of pain are coursing through his gut.