Rich Blood （Jason Rich #1）
Robert Bailey
PART ONE
1
Waylon Pike had never killed anyone before.
He’d done other things. Terrible, awful things. Some of which he’d served time for doing. Some he hadn’t.
But in his forty-two miserable years on this earth, he’d never taken a life.
He’d thought it would be harder. That there would be cold feet, nerves, something.
But Waylon didn’t feel a damn thing.
As he waited for the car that would take him on his way to do the deed, Waylon cast his rod back in the water and gawked at the fireworks lighting up Lake Guntersville. He wondered how many of these pyrotechnic devices had been purchased at one of the outlets in and around his home in South Pittsburg, Tennessee. Waylon had worked a job in high school at the supercenter off the interstate and learned quite a bit about roman candles, smoke bombs, missiles, rockets, crossettes, ground spinners, and every other kind of firework you could think of. He’d always had an affinity for explosives. Both the ones that provided visual entertainment . . .
. . . and the devices that did a little more than decorate the sky.
His first brush with the law had been for lighting a roman candle in a friend’s truck and shooting the projectile out the window at an oncoming car. He’d gotten youthful offender status, and the misdemeanor didn’t even show up on his record. Waylon should have been relieved to escape punishment, but, if anything, his initial foray into crime only made him want to go further. When he was nineteen, he’d torched a restaurant at the behest of the owner for the insurance proceeds. The fire was investigated, but he was never charged or suspected of arson. The owner gave him 10 percent of the payout, and Waylon was on his way to a career of being a “fixer” for people.
And a life of trouble. He had a rap sheet that included convictions for theft, arson, and possession of cocaine, and he’d served two different stints in prison, the last of which had wrapped up a year ago.
Waylon wondered as he reeled his line back in and recast if he’d ever had a chance in life. If the stars were just aligned for him to be a criminal.
When he’d met Jana Waters, he’d felt that his luck had changed. She was a rich, bored housewife who seemed to be tortured by her life of affluence. They’d met at a bar and gotten drunk, and then he’d enjoyed her talents inside her vehicle in the parking lot of the bar. Waylon smiled at the memory. Since that initial romp, Jana had hired him to do an endless array of handyman tasks at the family mansion on Buck Island. She’d also referred him to some of her rich friends, and so he’d made a handsome wage these last nine months. Waylon had been a terrible student, but he was great with his hands. Whether he was hired for engine repair, house fixer-upper projects, or boat maintenance, he was a “good man to have around,” as Jana had told him and her friends. He had to admit that he enjoyed going legit. Doing honest work and getting paid for it. Of course, he was screwing another man’s wife, but all was fair in love and war, right? Adultery was a sin, not a crime. And he was going to hell anyway. Might as well go happy.
Waylon had known it couldn’t last. Before long, he figured he’d be dragged back into his old life. Something or someone would pull him to crossing over again. It was as inevitable as Auburn rolling Toomer’s Corner after a big win or an Alabama loss.
He hadn’t figured that Jana Waters would be the instrument behind his return to his seedier past, but life was full of surprises, wasn’t it? He glanced at his watch and then back at the lake. The night was dark now, but there would be more fireworks. It was the Fourth of July after all.
He reeled the line back in and grabbed his tackle box. Then he crossed the highway and climbed into his truck. Just a fisherman finishing up for the day.
He still had a few minutes before the pickup would happen, but he remained calm. Cool. Almost numb.
In approximately sixty minutes, he would kill a man.
Waylon Pike watched the fireworks show. And waited.
2
Jana Waters gazed into her almost empty glass of vodka. She bit her lip and then drank the rest before sliding it across the bar and standing.
“Leaving us so soon, Ms. Waters?” the bartender asked with a tease in his voice.
On a normal night, Jana might blow the handsome young lad a kiss. What was his name? Keith? Kenny? She couldn’t remember. But tonight, her heart wasn’t in it.
“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked.
Jana blinked, managing to find her patented fake smile. “If you’re lucky.”