Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

handle.’ He said it like he might to a kindergartner.
    Giving him a dirty look, George crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Prove it.’
    I should prove it on you . But that wouldn’t suit his goal. Mitch looked around the alley, spied a bicycle tire. He picked it up and tossed it to George, who dropped the original dull fingerprint-riddled plastic brace so that he could catch it.
    ‘ What the fuck? ’ George exploded. ‘I gotta go to court. I might be on TV and you almost messed up my suit.’
    ‘If you hold the tire, you’ll know how much pressure I’m using to cut it.’ The knife easily sliced through the tire and George’s irate disbelief became greedy delight.
    ‘Give it to me.’ George opened his backpack. ‘Small bills, just like you asked for.’
    ‘Very good.’ Just to mess with him, Mitch began to count the cash.
    George growled. ‘If I miss the verdict, I promise you will be a very unhappy man.’
    ‘I don’t want to be unhappy.’ Mitch unsnapped the handle from the blade, fitted the plates together and slid them into the brace. ‘There you go.’
    ‘If I get caught with this thing, you’ll be even unhappier.’ With that, George shoved the backpack at him and took off, fastening the brace to his wrist as he ran.
    Actually, if you get caught I’ll be exceptionally happy, you inbred dick .
    Once alone, Mitch emptied the backpack, dumping the cash into the plastic grocery sack. He scooped up the legitimate plastic brace plate that George had dropped, put it in the backpack, and tossed the backpack behind a Dumpster, his plan on track.
    The cops would inevitably find the weapon he’d just sold to George, either because George got caught in security or because the Millhouses’ crazy Plan B actually worked and they ended up using it in the courtroom.
    Regardless, Baltimore PD’s CSU expert would be so excited – because in the crevice where the handle met George’s blade, they’d find blood that matched a certain dead DC Metro cop. George and the whole Millhouse clan would be on the hook.
    Sweet . One more thing to do and he could go home. Mitch took Ford Elkhart’s iPhone from his pocket and slid the SIM card he’d removed the night before back into place. Turning it on, he checked Ford’s texts. There were several, including two from somebody who appeared to be Ford’s boss, asking why he hadn’t shown up at his job.
    Mitch had been surprised to find Ford had a job at all considering he was mega-rich. Granted, it was a nerd desk job, but the kid put in twenty hours a week. On top of his studies and sports and his girlfriend, he kept busy. Hard to find time for his mama.
    Who would be in court, waiting for that jury verdict. I’m so damn tired of hearing about that verdict . But the Millhouses couldn’t have come along at a better time. All the trash talk aimed at the prosecution gave him one enormous decoy to hide behind.
    I want Montgomery to suffer . I want her to die . But I won’t get caught . Prison was not for the faint-hearted, which he knew first-hand. Much better for the cops to think the Millhouses were behind his evil deeds. Much better if no one suspects me at all .
    Except for Daphne, of course. She needs to know that I’m the one holding the gun to her head . Just like she held the gun to my mother’s .
    Ford’s phone held no new texts from his mother. Old texts asked how he was, how was school. Ford’s responses were brief, so the text Mitch had in mind would fit right in.
    Good luck, Mom! he typed, then removed the SIM card and turned off the phone. The cops would soon start hunting for Ford. When they checked his phone records, they’d think he’d sent a text from this very spot.
    Unfortunately, all they’d find when they got here would be George Millhouse’s backpack – and one plastic wrist brace plate with George’s fingerprints all over it. The same shape as the blade George is smuggling into the courthouse at this very moment .
    I love it when everything comes together . Now he could go home. He’d first check on the girls, make sure they hadn’t died from exposure or blood loss during the night.
    Then I have to sleep . He should feel tired after driving so many hours, but he didn’t. He felt juiced. On the verge. The plans he’d spent months constructing in painful detail were about to come to fruition. It was as if he’d spent months setting up dominoes in intricate designs and now stood poised to nudge the first one down. It was