I reached under the table and put a hand on Graham’s ankle which was at the far edge of the desk. It was the most-disturbing thing I have ever done in my life, but it worked. I saw Graham’s eyes come to life.
“What do you mean by ‘work?’” I asked.
Graham started to slip away again.
“Those kids talked shit on the road, got what they deserved” Graham muttered, barely audible.
I had some insight into what Graham was talking about. A Reddit board about murders was recently visited by an anonymous poster who said that the car full of kids Graham and/or John butchered that summer day in July 1993 had reportedly been in a road rage altercation at an intersection with two men on the afternoon of the day of the murder. Had they had an altercation with Graham which turned ugly? Had Graham left those messages?
I grabbed Graham’s leg again.
“Come on? What? Come on!”
I smacked Graham’s leg as hard as I could.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I smacked Graham again out cold. Fuck it. I got plenty out of the piece of shit. I was ready to shock the world with my series.
I ran out of his office and the building and into the night.