David Wolf: Books 1-4

by Jeff Carson

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...