Pig Killer: A Neo-Noir Crime Thriller
By James Dargan
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About this ebook
PIG KILLER, A NEO-NOIR CRIME THRILLER
Boz Holliday, aka the 'Pig Killer', is still out for revenge after killing two Metropolisville Police Department detectives. Detective William Spence and Lieutenant Randall Moore are dirty cops, colluding with a Colombian drug cartel and street level hoods. Holliday is hot on their tail, though he doesn't know who they are yet. The vigilante wants to rid the streets of corruption in law enforcement and punish the city's men in blue for their involvement in Lester Malahide's death, his good friend.
PIG KILLER is a NEO-NOIR CRIME THRILLER anthology set in America's most dangerous city,
More books in this anthology crime series: GUN SMOKE, FAT CAT, FENDER BENDER, and SPUTNIK BABY. BUTCHER BOY coming soon!
James Dargan
James Dargan was born in Birmingham, England, in 1974. Coming from an Irish background, he frequently writes about that experience. As well as England, he has also lived in the United States, Ireland, and - for the best part of fifteen years - in Warsaw, Poland, his home from home from home.
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Pig Killer - James Dargan
METROPOLISVILLE, SUMMER 1987
THE UNDERPASS
Suspended from duty, Detective Chase Warren of the Metropolisville Police Department is sitting in his brown Plymouth Gran Fury, parked under an overpass and waiting for an associate to show up. Warren, a cop for more than twenty years, has his fair share of corruption charges pending: shakedowns and bribery, mostly, though there are countless other allegations the District Attorney is just waiting to stick on him.
A car appears from Warren's left. It's different to the one he saw his contact in the week before. The car – a silver 1979 Datsun 510 – drives past him and parks close to a mountain of garbage which includes plastic containers, old mattresses, bottles and other waste articles. A man gets out of the car. Warren has him in his wing mirror.
"Who the fuck is that?" Warren asks himself. He doesn't panic. It's probably his direct contact's precaution.
The man – wearing sunglasses and with peroxide blonde hair – reminds Warren of Billy Idol.
The cop gets out of the car.
You Warren?
the man says.
"Yeah. And who are you?"
You dunno?
Did Mambo send you?
Mambo... Yeah, that's right,
the man says nervously.
What did he say?
Everything's gonna be all right.
You got the dough?
"The dough?"
Yeah, the fucking dough, man?
Warren says, agitated now at the man's strange behaviour. Mambo has always been so professional in his dealings.
Yeah, I got the dough.
Where is it?
In my car.
Go get it.
The man smiles, then returns to the Datsun. Looking on, Warren sees him open the trunk. He takes out a sports bag. The man comes back. You got the cash in there?
Yeah.
"Open it?" Warren says, looking around, nervous as any cop under investigation on charges of corruption would be.
The man places the bag on the ground, opens it, and takes out a gun. He shoots Warren six times.
The man, Boz Holliday, spits on the corpse and leaves the murder scene before anyone spots him.
CRACK
Crack is a virus that has spread like wildfire on the streets of America.
By the late 1970s there was a surplus of Colombian cocaine. Because of this the price dropped, by as much as eighty percent, some reported. The drug dealers had to act. There was nothing else for it. They transformed their powder into a solid form called 'crack'. The new drug could be smoked, rather than snuffed. The street dealers started selling it in smaller amounts and to many more people than they had done with cocaine for a much bigger profit margin. By 1985 journalists were calling it the 'crack epidemic'. No state escaped it. No major American city went untouched.
You got some shit for me, bro?
Milky, a black dude in his late-forties, asks the guy standing guard on the door at the bottom of a public housing block in one of the many projects that scatter the city of Metropolisville.
Yeah. You got some money?
Ten bucks.
"Show me."
Milky shows him the money, which he stole off an old Greek lady at knifepoint two hours before.
Step inside,
the man says as he grabs the dirty $10 bill.
The man at the door, JayPax, is Lamont Craig's main boy. Craig's the local crack dealer in the neighbourhood. Jaypax takes Milky up to the fourth floor in the elevator to Craig's apartment.
Jaypax tells Milky to wait outside while he goes inside number 41.
Milky, in need of a hit, is shivering – it's already been five minutes, and Jaypax has his ten bucks. He knocks on the door.
Whatcha want, motherfucker?
another man says, opening the door, wearing a red Kangol hat and L.A Raiders Marcus Allen number 32 jersey.
My shit man, my crack?
What shit?
I paid, man, I paid for it!
Milky begs, jumping up and down in nervous hysterics – he knows what's coming next: it's happened to him too many times before.
Split, nigger!
the man says.
The door slams in Milky’s face.
"Motherfucker!" Milky shouts, desperate for another hit from the pipe.
What did you say, blood?
the man says, the door open again and a gun now pointing at Milky's head.
Nothing, brother.
It looks like he'll just have to rob another innocent victim and take his chances with one of the hundreds of other crack dealers in town.
CHINA GARDEN
Detective William Spence knows he's doing wrong but he can't help it. The money's good, so why not?
You want something to eat?
his commanding officer, Lieutenant Randall Moore, says.
It's another secret meeting. Tonight at the China Garden restaurant in Elizabeth, a small town just outside the Metropolisville southern city limits, away from prying eyes, naturally.
No, I just ate.
Spence sits down. As usual, he's nervous. So what is it?
What's up with you?
I've got to get back. What do you want?
Warren's dead.
Think I don't know?
And if the shit comes back our way?
I thought you had everything under control?
Moore's got a bowl of noodle soup in front of him. He's trying to eat it with chopsticks. Use a spoon.
"I'm just saying...