Page 50 of PSYCHOlogical

He set the shot glass down on the countertop and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I poured his glass full and nodded toward it.

“To Sergeant Austin Shephard,” I said.

He drew a breath, downed the shot and slammed the glass down on the countertop.

I set my empty glass beside his and raised my hands in mock surrender. “I’m done.”

“Gonna stop at three huh?” he asked.

I needed him to have whiskey in his system for my plan to work. Having more than three shots and half a beer in mine would prevent me from being mentally sharp.

The three shots of whiskey he’d consumed would be enough for the coroner to find in the autopsy. That was all that mattered.

It was time to quit.

After a few more steps were taken care of, I would kill him without remorse.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got to hit the head. My gut’s churning.”

“You know where it is,” he said.

I left the kitchen and went to the hall bathroom. Purposely, I left the door ajar. I lifted my shirt tail, removed the HK23 .45 caliber pistol from its holster, and screwed the silencer to the threaded barrel.

I placed the weapon on the far side of the toilet, out of sight. I pulled down my pants, sat on the toilet, and tilted my head back.

“Hey Pike!” I shouted.

“What?” he responded, his voice muffled by the half-closed door.

“Do me a favor.”

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Taking a shit?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That Jack Daniels is killing me.”

“Pussy.” He chuckled. “What do you need?”

“Can you write me a note?”

“What?”

“God damn it, come here!” I yelled. “I can’t hear you.”

I heard his footsteps approach the door.

“What?” he asked through the door crack.

“I just thought of something, and ever since that Texas job, I can’t remember shit. My short-term memory’s fucked. Will you write it down before I forget it?”

He laughed. “You want me to write you a fucking note?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Just scribble it down on a piece of paper. I’m not admitting it to Doc Rhoades, but lately, if I don’t write shit down, I forget it. It’s terrible since killing that bitch in Texas.”

Memory loss was common with military forces that had been exposed to bomb blasts, and we’d been exposed to our fair share.

“Do you have any short-term memory loss?” He asked in a mock female voice. “I’d like to butt fuck that sexy bitch.”

I clenched my teeth at the thought of him touching her. “Me, too.”