David Wolf: Books 1-4

by Jeff Carson

realizing it for the first time. “Were you with him at the bar this weekend

underbelly ground floor was devoid of people,

the room, and everyone was stealing

the man, but couldn’t recall from where. Wolf’s head ached. He looked back at Rossi, a movement that sent a pulse of pain bouncing through his skull. “It’s Sergeant Wolf, dickhead.” Rossi’s eyes widened with amusement. “Oh, I am sorry.” He pointed to the body on the floor. “The man you murdered tonight.” Wolf looked again at the body, then back to Rossi. “The man who also murdered you, I’m sorry to say.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “You two shot each other.” Wolf leaned forward to sit up, to shake the cobwebs. He went dizzy and fell forward. Subconsciously, Wolf had assumed he was somehow fastened to the chair, but there was just a pair of steel cuffs on his wrists behind his back, so he kept plummeting forward. Rossi caught him and pushed him upright again. “Whoa, attento, Deputy Wolf! I guess I should not have hit you so hard. You are not doing so well.” Wolf remembered the pistol in his face. The side street. Being escorted out at gunpoint by Cezar. The walk. Kicking Cezar in the balls. The phone calls. Wolf smiled at the memory of Cezar buckled over on his side on the damp alley street. Rossi sat back and returned the smile with a tilt of his head. “What is it ... Sergeant Wolf?” Wolf’s smile vanished and he glared into Rossi’s eyes. “I’m going to kill you, Rossi. You were the one who killed my brother, and I’m going to kill you for that.” Rossi inhaled sharply and sat back, launching into a lazy overhead stretch with his arms. “I don’t think so, Mr. Wolf....

as he collapsed straight forward into a lifeless

aimed. There was a figure already out of the door of the vehicle behind her, and the cab light illuminated a man with one hand up, and the other looking like it was tucked inside

of the vehicle behind her and she comprehended who it was at

and slammed the door of his vehicle shut. She squinted against the bright headlamps, unable to see his face as his silhouetted figure crunched toward her with fast strides. She raised the gun again. “Just stop! What are you doing?” He continued, and now she noticed he was holding up a small square of paper in his free hand. She stepped once to meet him halfway. Before she knew it she felt her pistol wrenched from her hand. There was a loud clank on the top of the Tahoe, and she realized Wolf had lobbed it up there. Without an instant’s hesitation, she launched into a flurry of punches. She glanced one jab off his cheek, but he easily blocked the next three quick shots. Suddenly the square piece of paper was shoved in her face, and that was all she could see. “Look at this!” he yelled. She was too shocked not to. It was a picture of a child, maybe ten years old. A boy kneeling next to a soccer ball, smiling with a hole where a front tooth used to be, with a long mess of black hair. “Take a good look,” he said, making sure his headlights shone on the picture. He continued in a softer voice. “Those men shot at my son. Were inches from killing him. Over and over, they shot at him. And I had to watch it, and hope to God they missed every time. I couldn’t help him.” She shook her head and clenched her eyes. “I’m so—” “Tell me!” he screamed so loud it hurt her ears. “Tell me about that man with the tattoo.” A pair of headlights illuminated them, and a car drove by slowly. They st...

death, talking to a few contacts I have

become a completely different person, easy-going

conversing and enjoying another round

out biking a trail, or paddling a river, or riding a few miles on the motorcycle during her time off, rather than sitting down with a good book. She had no television, and Wolf couldn’t tell whether it was her décor on the walls or not.

mouth,