We Found Bones: Thriller

Von Neal Chadwick

We Found Bones: Thriller

Thriller by Neal Chadwick

 

The size of this ebook is equivalent to 111 paperback pages.

 

Human bones are found in barrels of acid. Did a crazed mass murderer try to dispose of the remains of his victims in this way? And what does all this have to do with a gang whose members call themselves 'cannibals'?

The investigators eventually find out that the case is quite different from what it originally appeared...

 

A thriller by Neal Chadwick

 

Neal Chadwick is the pseudonym of the author ALFRED BEKKER, who became known to a large audience primarily through his fantasy novels and books for young people. He has also written mystery and historical novels and co-authored numerous suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, John Sinclair, and Kommissar X.

• Sprache: Deutsch
• Herausgeber: BEKKERpublishing
• Erscheinungsdatum: 4. Jan. 2023
• ISBN: 9798215295977

Buchvorschau

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

COVER TONY MASERO

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[e-mail]

Follow on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alfred.bekker.758/

Follow on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BekkerAlfred

Get the latest news here:

https://alfred-bekker-autor.business.site/

To the publisher's blog!

Be informed about new releases and backgrounds!

https://cassiopeia.press

Everything about fiction!

We Found Bones: Thriller

Thriller by Neal Chadwick

The size of this ebook is equivalent to 111 paperback pages.

Human bones are found in barrels of acid. Did a crazed mass murderer try to dispose of the remains of his victims in this way? And what does all this have to do with a gang whose members call themselves 'cannibals'?

The investigators eventually find out that the case is quite different from what it originally appeared...

A thriller by Neal Chadwick

Neal Chadwick is the pseudonym of the author ALFRED BEKKER, who became known to a large audience primarily through his fantasy novels and books for young people. He has also written mystery and historical novels and co-authored numerous suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, John Sinclair, and Kommissar X.

1

Shit, the cops! They've got the whole block surrounded!

Don't shout, Toby! This damn warehouse has acoustics like a church!

The two young men listened briefly to the megaphone voice that was supposed to persuade them to surrender. Panic shone in Toby Reynolds' eyes. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. In his left hand he held an inconspicuous plastic bag. Inside, two kilos of the purest cocaine. His accomplice was a whole head taller. He gestured with the automatic in his left to a cluster of metal barrels. That's where we leave the dope!

Rick!

Without the snow, they can't do anything to us!

Toby was undecided. Rick snatched the bag out of his hand. He sprinted toward the barrels. There were several hundred of them. Some rusted, some overturned and obviously empty. Skull and crossbones signs indicated that the contents must have been poisonous. Rick tried to open the lid on the first barrel he saw. It was stuck. So he moved on to the next one. The lid fell to the floor with a clang. Rick looked inside. And blanched. My God, it flashed through him. Human bones!

2

Police sirens blared. The megaphone voice announced itself again. One could get the impression that a hundred cops were about to storm the fallow premises of Houseman Chemistry Ltd. on the edge of the South Bronx.

They were waiting for us, Toby thought. There's no other way to explain all this crap...

At the dead end of Togeda Road, Toby, Rick, and a few other members of the YOUNG CANNIBALS had met with the Colombians to take over the weekly cocaine delivery. Then the cops had struck.

YOUNG CANNIBALS dominated the crack trade in the area of a few streets. And from one kilo of cocaine, with plenty of baking powder or flour, it was easy to boil up a hundred times the amount of crack.

Toby caught up with his accomplice, gasping as he did so.

He was not a sporty guy, also took from his own stuff quite often. However, always only pure snow, never crack.

What's going on? Should we put down roots here?

Rick half opened his mouth.

He was incapable of uttering a single sound.

A second later, Toby saw the bones as well.

Shit, what is that?

There was a pervert at work!

A barely bearable pungent odor rose to Toby's nose. He grimaced.

Get out of here, Rick!

Rick spun around, looking at his accomplice with his face frozen into a mask. They're killing us, Toby! Hell, we'll end up with those bones pinned to our legs, too! We'll end up in the electric chair!

Don't bullshit!

Yes, that's exactly what's going to happen! They're...screwing...us...

Toby gasped for air.

His nasal mucous membranes were swollen. They were extremely sensitive due to regular cocaine consumption. Something caustic was steaming out of the barrel with the bones.

I'm going to be sick, Toby muttered.

Rick's numbness dissolved.

They rushed on.

They hid the substance in a pile of old car tires at the end of the warehouse.

Then they reached one of those exits that were only for personnel. They would not have been able to open the large gates. Everything had been rusting away for several years, and the gates could not be moved an inch.

But this door does.

One massive kick from Rick was all it took, she bounced to the outside.

Toby charged ahead, yanking an automatic from under his studded leather jacket.

Rick was behind him.

The two looked at an asphalt surface. Rusting containers stood around there. The inscription Houseman CHEMISTRY LTD - CHEMICAL SUPPLY & SUPPORT in large red letters was already peeling off. A few truck tractors had also found their autograph here. Cannibalized to the skeleton.

Tires, windows, upholstery -—not even the bodies were still complete.

Beyond the asphalt surface followed more warehouses and a five-story cube that had once housed offices and laboratories. Now there was hardly a window pane left whole on the lower floors.

Police sirens were still blaring from the background. The megaphone voice had fallen silent.

Apparently, the cops now felt that enough talking had been done.

Damn, I wonder what happened to the Colombians, Toby commented.

The bastards will blacken our names through and through when the cops get them. You bet your ass they will!

Guess you're right!

They continued on their way, guns at the ready.

The damn cops can't possibly turn the whole block upside down! If we're lucky, they'll never find our dope, Rick muttered.

Do you have any idea!

Toby, believe me, I...

Shut up!

They took cover behind one of the containers.

Finally, they rushed on, keeping in the direction of the office and laboratory building. The premises of HOUSEMAN CHEMISTRY LTD. were surrounded on three sides by wide streets. Only in the northern direction immediately adjoined a neighboring area, on which the empty warehouses of an import and export company were rotting away.

If there was a chance to escape, it was in this direction.

Suddenly Rick cried out.

Toby whirled around, saw that Rick's right leg had turned all red.

A terrible wound gaped at the thigh.

Something got me! exclaimed Rick.

No sound of gunfire had been heard. The shooter had apparently used a weapon with a silencer.

A split second later, Toby saw the red beam of a laser pointer dance through the air. Toby threw himself to the ground. ETWAS whizzed close to him. A projectile.

It burned into the asphalt a few inches from Toby, creating a thumb-sized hole.

Toby looked up.

Looked up at the towering facade of the office cube.

An estimated three hundred windows, almost half of them without glass. The shooter had struck from one of these holes.

The killer!

Because, that it was a cop, Toby could not believe. If cops had one pleasant quality, it was their predictability. They were bound by the law. Probably their biggest handicap.

Toby scrambled to his feet.

At one of the windows, he thought he detected movement. He fired his automatic. Untargeted shots.

Rick stumbled.

He also fired in the direction from which he thought he had been fired upon.

He held the gun one-handed while trying to stop the bleeding on his leg with his left.

Probably the artery had been torn by the first hit.

He sank to his knees, groaning.

For a split second, a red laser dot appeared in the middle of his forehead. The next moment, it became a round, bloody hole. His body jerked back.

Lifeless, he slumped to the asphalt.

Toby ran forward, ducking and trying to reach one of the gutted