Dead Mann Walking

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Sixteen pieces.

That’s how many chunks the newslady said Colin Wilson was cut into. He was scattered across the desert like bits of burger wrapping and leftover fries. The cops found all the bits. Except the head. That’s unusual, seeing as how the police don’t tend to get involved with Wilson’s type, no matter how many pieces they’re in.

Of course, the news didn’t play it like a murder. To the livebloods, it’s more about litter. Lousy so-and-sos always leaving their body parts around, making the living waste their time picking up after them. The candy-blond anchor shrugged. Must’ve been an accident. Wilson’s type are always getting into accidents. Cut to deodorant commercial. At times like this, you want to smell nice.

Accident, my ass. One or two pieces, maybe, and they would have found the head. Seeing as how there’s no middle ground between accident and design, that meant something weirder: He was cut up on purpose. That’s a lot of work. First, you have to get Colin Wilson into a position where he can’t disagree, and then you have to do all that cutting. Human bone, too. Probably needed special tools. It’s sure as hell not the kind of thing you do on a whim, or even out of anger. The reasons would have to run dark and deep.

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