WHAT A HOOT. The wasted bastard across the street was a dead ringer for Callaway. Yeah, if Callaway were a bum, Kevin Green was a millionaire.
No, the Great One had won the championship and was rolling in dough. Callaway was not out begging on the streets, that’s for sure.
Kevin glowered from the opposite corner. Shit, he’d never erase the jerk from his mind. He could never forgive the bastard for fingering him. Heartland and his present predicament were all Callaway’s fault.
The more he thought of it, the more he realized what a mistake he’d made. He should have offed Callaway, not the wife.
Hell, he could still do it. In fact, he would. After the heat died down, people would forget what had happened. All he had to do was wait and play his cards right. Acting the bum grated, but he’d stick it out long enough to get some moolah together. Then he’d strike.
He was as fit as he’d ever been and could easily outmuscle a basketball player.
When his revenge was complete, he’d not be hallucinating make-believe Callaways, that’s for sure.