another man’s—
No, hang on. Shit. That’s a lie. Several times over, in fact.
Okay, I’ve never taken the Lord’s name in—
Goddamn it. That’s wrong too.
Wait, so what are the others? Something about honoring thy parents? Yeah, that was never going to happen. To be honest, I can’t remember ever honoring anyone’s parents.
Man, that’s strike three, isn’t it? Guess I’m out. Sent back to the minors.
Screw that. If a priest can diddle a toddler and still ride the Heavenly Express to eternal salvation, then a lowly wanderer with an uncontrollable urge to say fuck and shit, and a knack for standing over dead bodies he didn’t create, should garner the same consideration.
I mean, really. There’s hypocrisy, and there’s outright stupidity. And while the debate over religion’s place in that argument will be forever raging, God himself—or herself; no need for inherent sexism here—is not to be drawn into it.
So sayeth me. Amen.
I check the bay window for more surprises before pulling out my phone, angling away from Sandecker’s empty eyes. Whatever he’s staring at, I don’t want him looking through me to do it. It’s creepy, and it makes me feel cheap and dirty—and not in the fun way.
Tully answers immediately, like she’s been staring at her phone for hours waiting for someone, anyone, to call her. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Damn, maybe she should be out guessing fat people’s weights as they suck down corn dogs and funnel cakes.
“Yeah, and it’s not pretty.” I glance at the body as if to verify this isn’t ground zero for the zombie apocalypse or some shit. “Beaten all over, then shot in the gut.”
“Fuck. Did he say anything?” I tell her his final words. “Guess we know what that means.”
“I’d say so. You know where she is?”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll find out.” Her voice sounds funny, like she’s in the bathroom or something. I can’t place it. “What are you going to do?” she asks.
I feel Sandecker’s mystery key in my pocket, burning its imaginary flame against my skin.
“Look for a needle in a pile of long pointy things,” I say. A shrill wail floats in on the night through the open front door. Sirens. Police cars are coming. Damn, that was quick. “I need a ride,” I tell Tully as I leave the office and jog to my car.
“What happened to yours?” she asks with a healthy dose of surprise.
“Circumstances beyond my control.”
The guards at the main entrance have my car and plates on file. They also know whose house I was visiting. If I leave as the cops are arriving, they’ll assume I had something to do with Sandecker’s death. That would be bad for me, while simultaneously being good for both the police department and the local news channels.
In the event of a tie, I choose being selfish. Don’t judge me.
I come up behind the car and stop dead in my tracks. It’s leaning to the driver’s side.
Son of a bitch.
“Oh,” I tell Tully, “and my tires were taken out.” Shit. I just had those fuckers balanced.
“Ouch,” she says in my ear. “Didn’t you just get those balanced?”
And now you know why we’re friends.
A knife would’ve taken too long, but a gun with a silencer would work for one quick shot to each tire. They don’t muffle the sound nearly as much as they appear to in the movies, but I was upstairs when the Charger drove off, and could have easily missed it under the roar of the car starting up and speeding off.
Whoever was driving that beauty wanted me stuck here.
Damn it. Is it a silencer or a suppressor ? I keep hearing it both ways, and no one seems to have reached an accord on that.
Son of a bitch. Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like the least intelligent person on the planet?
I open the passenger door and with one hand remove anything and everything that can immediately identify the vehicle as mine. The other hand presses the phone tight to my ear as I scan the street
No, hang on. Shit. That’s a lie. Several times over, in fact.
Okay, I’ve never taken the Lord’s name in—
Goddamn it. That’s wrong too.
Wait, so what are the others? Something about honoring thy parents? Yeah, that was never going to happen. To be honest, I can’t remember ever honoring anyone’s parents.
Man, that’s strike three, isn’t it? Guess I’m out. Sent back to the minors.
Screw that. If a priest can diddle a toddler and still ride the Heavenly Express to eternal salvation, then a lowly wanderer with an uncontrollable urge to say fuck and shit, and a knack for standing over dead bodies he didn’t create, should garner the same consideration.
I mean, really. There’s hypocrisy, and there’s outright stupidity. And while the debate over religion’s place in that argument will be forever raging, God himself—or herself; no need for inherent sexism here—is not to be drawn into it.
So sayeth me. Amen.
I check the bay window for more surprises before pulling out my phone, angling away from Sandecker’s empty eyes. Whatever he’s staring at, I don’t want him looking through me to do it. It’s creepy, and it makes me feel cheap and dirty—and not in the fun way.
Tully answers immediately, like she’s been staring at her phone for hours waiting for someone, anyone, to call her. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Damn, maybe she should be out guessing fat people’s weights as they suck down corn dogs and funnel cakes.
“Yeah, and it’s not pretty.” I glance at the body as if to verify this isn’t ground zero for the zombie apocalypse or some shit. “Beaten all over, then shot in the gut.”
“Fuck. Did he say anything?” I tell her his final words. “Guess we know what that means.”
“I’d say so. You know where she is?”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll find out.” Her voice sounds funny, like she’s in the bathroom or something. I can’t place it. “What are you going to do?” she asks.
I feel Sandecker’s mystery key in my pocket, burning its imaginary flame against my skin.
“Look for a needle in a pile of long pointy things,” I say. A shrill wail floats in on the night through the open front door. Sirens. Police cars are coming. Damn, that was quick. “I need a ride,” I tell Tully as I leave the office and jog to my car.
“What happened to yours?” she asks with a healthy dose of surprise.
“Circumstances beyond my control.”
The guards at the main entrance have my car and plates on file. They also know whose house I was visiting. If I leave as the cops are arriving, they’ll assume I had something to do with Sandecker’s death. That would be bad for me, while simultaneously being good for both the police department and the local news channels.
In the event of a tie, I choose being selfish. Don’t judge me.
I come up behind the car and stop dead in my tracks. It’s leaning to the driver’s side.
Son of a bitch.
“Oh,” I tell Tully, “and my tires were taken out.” Shit. I just had those fuckers balanced.
“Ouch,” she says in my ear. “Didn’t you just get those balanced?”
And now you know why we’re friends.
A knife would’ve taken too long, but a gun with a silencer would work for one quick shot to each tire. They don’t muffle the sound nearly as much as they appear to in the movies, but I was upstairs when the Charger drove off, and could have easily missed it under the roar of the car starting up and speeding off.
Whoever was driving that beauty wanted me stuck here.
Damn it. Is it a silencer or a suppressor ? I keep hearing it both ways, and no one seems to have reached an accord on that.
Son of a bitch. Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like the least intelligent person on the planet?
I open the passenger door and with one hand remove anything and everything that can immediately identify the vehicle as mine. The other hand presses the phone tight to my ear as I scan the street
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