Hollowed Out

“To hell with that.  I’m finding this bastard.”

Butters laughed into his whiskey.

“Doubtful, pal.  Besides you were thick as thieves with them.  You should have an idea by now or you aren’t going to have one.”

Roberson knew the old-timer was right.  Something should have come to him.  He’d started the same month as the first victim, Bundrage.  Roberson grew up in New York while Bundrage grew up in Los Angeles.  Good west coast boy.  Loved to comb the beaches with his four- wheeler and loved the open sea.  Roberson would rather sit in his yard and watch the streets.  New York had a lot of sights, sounds and smells to it.  Roberson inhaled them all whenever he could.  Bundrage told him he was crazy not to love the beach.  Roberson always meant to join him for some beach time.  He wouldn’t now.

On Monday night, someone had entered his house, but they didn’t break in.  It must have been somebody he knew, because Bundrage didn’t give any time to strangers.  The killer popped him twice in the throat with a .22 caliber Remington.  Bundrage hated Remington’s and now Roberson did, too.  A good man.  Thirty-one years old.  With a serious girl he had talked about marrying.  What a waste.

Butters tapped him on the back.

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