Matt Geller fixed his single eye on the photo of his sister. The Chief of police, Roger, had said they could not find her killer. That they had exhausted all their resources in their attempts to find the man who had butchered her, left her dismembered body for Matt to find.
Matt knew they hadn’t done all they could, that Roger was holding something back. He was going to find her killer, and he was going to make him pay.
Matt slashed with his machete, slicing through the practice dummy. He vented his built up anger on its cotton flesh, ripping it to shreds. Soon all that remained was a mangled pile of fabric. Chest heaving, Matt stood straight and left his training room. He moved into his office and stared into the mirror.
A different face than Matt was used to stared back, his face gaunt and consumed with rage and a lust for revenge. His wavy black hair was wild, and the scar which dragged from his left eye to his chin only emphasised that wildness. Matt’s right eye was blue, and it was the only part of him which appeared calm.
He took a calming breath and sat at his computer. An email popped up on the screen. His editor was wondering if he had any new novel ideas. Matt did not. He was contemplating writing about his search for his sister’s killer; he was sure it would sell well, like his first two novels.
Matt sighed, changed from his practice gear into a casual shirt and jeans, picked a Glock from his drawer and holstered it in his belt. He glanced for a moment at some of the larger guns; an AKA 47, an RPG, an M14 Sniper Rifle, a Remington 870 Shotgun and a Sten, to name a few. Matt’s former employ with the CIA had rewarded him with some heavy firepower. He shook his head, deciding they were not for today.
Matt quickly grabbed a jacket for himself, and as he was about to leave, the doorbell rang. He opened it, revealing Kevin White, a local fellow.
“Hi, Matt, I was wondering, could I ask a favour?”