Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
If we had the time - and the inclination - we could dig; we could figure out exactly what kind of trauma that was. But in this case, there seemed like there was no reason. Jacob was dead. Mary, well, we had to see about her was all.
"Change into something that doesn't look like you're about to go to a fucking gala," Smith said, shaking his head at my suit. "And we will head over on foot. Take a look. Maybe have a talk with her."
He didn't mean talk per se.
He meant a nice, friendly threat.
The We know you attacked our friend, and you better stay away from her kind of threat.
Usually, it was enough to deter people.
Especially women.
"Alright, give me five," I agreed, grabbing a tee out of my file cabinet, and going off to the bathroom. I didn't, almost as a rule, dress down. When you were the face of your business, what you presented to the world told them all they needed to know about it. If you dressed like a slob, no one was going to trust you. And since my life was my work, there was no need for me to have a supply of jeans or sneakers or shit like that. Dressing down, for me, was throwing on a black tee with my slacks.
I stopped on my way back, brewing a shot, throwing it back, and letting it burn all the way down.
"Alright, let's go," I said, reaching for a gun, tucking it into the waistband of my slacks.
I didn't plan for things to go south, but you never really knew what to expect.
"You weren't kidding about a shack," I mumbled as we moved down the quiet side street, all the houses dark except for the one that was supposed to be white, but was covered in dirt and moss. The front penny brick steps were crumbling, the mortar that was supposed to hold them together nothing but a wish and a prayer at this point. A window to the side was cut, a bright yellow plastic grocery bag used to keep the cold wind out. And likely failing epically.
"She's on her last leg of unemployment. Figure cash isn't very fluid right now."
"What'd she do before?"
"Overnight custodian at the high school."
Good job for a loner with some mental health issues.
"See some movement around the back," Smith said, jerking his chin in that direction, which was infinitely better than staying on the street where we could be noticed.
I took a breath, fighting back my impatience, my desire to just charge right in there. If this were a man, we wouldn't be checking things out before heading in and doling out the threats.
Threatening women, in general, was not something any of us wanted to take on. But there were times when it was necessary.
This was one of them.
"Aw shit," Smith growled, sighing out his breath from where he was perched below the window, peeking into the corner where the curtain was pushed over slightly.
"What?"
"She must be off her meds."
I didn't have to ask.
Really, I'd been working side-by-side with Smith long enough to know exactly what he meant when he said shit like that.
If Mary Hill was off her meds, that meant she was having a break. It meant she had something she planned to use to off herself with.
Likely, a gun.
So now we weren't here to threaten her, we were here to try to stop her from killing herself.
Just when you thought you knew what to expect on the job, people had to go and be, well, people.
"Alright, let's go," I said, sighing out my breath, leading Smith to the front door, knocking a bit too roughly in my impatience.
"Go away!" Mary snapped from inside as Smith tried the door handle.
"Let's hope to leave without bullet holes," he said before pushing the door open, and storming in.
Creep ran in the family.
But whereas her brother stalked defenseless women, Mary just collected a shitton of beady-eyed, evil-looking dolls from some bygone era. They stared down at you from every corner of the room, stacked on shelves, sitting on the end tables, propped up next to the TV.
I swear to fuck circus music started playing in my head as we crossed into the living room, making the woman twist around, eyes wild, a cigarette hanging between her lips.
My eyes trailed down her, taking in the sweat and food stains on her clothes, the bloody rag tied around her leg. I'd bet good money that she didn't even think to clean that fucker out. She would have a raging infection within the next day.
"Who the fuck are you?" she growled, waving the gun around. "Get out of my house."
"I'm afraid we can't do that when it looks like you are in a bad place, and holding a gun," I reasoned, trying to ignore the way the doll right to my left seemed to be peering into my fucking soul. There was nothing creepier than dolls, man. Give me a room full of clowns any day.