Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (24 page)

I have never met a man so ignorant that I couldn’t learn something from him.

–Galileo Galilei

Bud and Jenson stared down at what used to be a man. Stretched out on the coroner’s table, the corpse was a macerated and grotesquely swollen. The neck had a deep cut.

Chip hung back, intently staring at the floor.

“I’ll be,” Jenson said.

“One strangled, psycho-clown perp, just like the doctor ordered,” Bud said. 

Jenson said, “Even if our young friend Enid strangled him, I’m having trouble imagining ninety pounds of her wrapping two hundred pounds of him up tighter than a Christmas turkey with a duct tape bow and dumping him in the canal.”

“She’s a person of interest,” Bud said.

Chip said, “There’s no way that kid did this.” He looked at the corpse and turned away, greenish.

Jenson waved his hand at the corpse, “I thought gross anatomy would have inured you to this.”

Chip said, “Big difference between a cadaver and – this.”

“Can we get a photo of his face?” Bud asked.

The pathologist, Sarah Nells, serious-faced and pretty, wore a white coat stained with cadaver juice. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which made her look younger than her thirty-two years. She whipped off her greasy gloves and snapped a picture of the dead man’s face with a Polaroid. She straightened, “I don’t have my official cause of death yet but it’s most likely strangulation.”

“Ya think?” Chip said, eyeing the neck.

She glanced at him, unimpressed. “I’ve got fibers in the wounds that indicate man-made materials, nylon rope or clothing maybe.”

“Like a bra?” Bud said.

“Possibly.”   

“Is it common?” Chip said. “I mean – getting strangled by a bra?”

Dr. Nells shrugged, “Wouldn’t be the first time; won’t be the last.”

“Cause of death looks rather conclusive to me,” Jenson said.

“I’m not done,” Dr. Nells said.

“What else could it be?” Chip said, averting his eyes from the corpse.

She shrugged, “I rule nothing out until my examination is complete.”

“Wise woman,” Bud said.

“Once burned, twice sure,” she said. “He has a penchant for Marvel comics and he’s a breast man.”

Chip said, “How would you know that?”

“Tattoos,” Bud said.

“I only wish they’d include their social security numbers,” Dr. Nells said.

“Do you like being a doctor?” Bud said, turning to Dr. Nells. “Are you glad you went to medical school?” 

Chip’s lips tightened. 

She gazed at him in surprise, “I guess so. Why?”

“You ever think of dropping out?” Bud said.

“I didn’t realize being a doctor meant I’d spend so much of my time exploring dead people’s orifices.”

Jenson made a face.

Dr. Nells said, “I always had a hankering for being a country singer – but I couldn’t carry a tune if I had needle-nosed forceps.”

“But you like it?” Chip said.

Dr. Nells put on her gloves, “Love it.”

“We’ll let you get back to work,” Bud said, holding up the Polaroid photo in thanks and heading for the door.

She glanced at the clock, “I have a blunt trauma I need to get done before lunch.”

“
Bon appetit
,” Jenson said.

Once in the hallway, Jenson said, “What’s the difference between a serial killer and a pathologist?”

“A degree,” Bud said.

“Sometimes not even that,” Jenson said. “Well, our leads are Superman and big tits. I won’t say that narrows it down.”

“Oh, I think it does,” Bud said.

“How so?” Jenson looked at him in surprise.

“I know who he is,” Bud said.  

Chip and Jenson stared at Bud in surprise.

Any idiot can face a crisis – it’s day-to-day living that wears you out.

–Anton Chekhov

Ernie’s treehouse that sat twelve feet up was weathered to the point of being dangerous. Ernie sat in the fetal position, groaning and mumbling to himself.

Enid struggled to hold a pomegranate-cherry Popsicle with her bandaged hands. The bandages had been “repaired” with a series of crisscrossing duct tape.

Enid said, “There are worse things then having your mother explain the birds and bees.” She pressed her toe into a loose floorboard. “Are you sure it’s safe up here?”  

“I’d rather fall off a hundred-story building and have my eyelid catch on a rusty nail on the way down than go through that again,” Ernie said, curling into a tighter ball.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Ernie shot her an evil look.

Enid said, “What’s the big deal? You know what sex is all about, right?”

“Yeah,” Ernie said, his face reddening. “But a man doesn’t want to discuss these things with his mother.”

“Your mom was mostly right – I think she was making up the part about – ”

Ernie held up his hand, “Puh-leaze! I’d rather be surprised – someday.”

From below, Cheryl said, “Ernie?”

They froze.

Ernie scrambled to the hole in the floor. “Yeah?”

“What’s going on up there? I hear talking.”

Ernie hesitated and said, “I’m practicing my lines for the school play.”

“Since when are you in theater?”

“It’s mandatory,” Ernie said. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Cheryl said, “I’m going to the store – I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Do you need anything?”

“Amnesia,” Ernie muttered. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They listened as she got in the car and drove off.

Ernie said, “Have you done it?”

“Done what?”

“What you were talking about.”

“Sex?” Enid shook her head. “No, but I’m thinkin’ about it.”

Ernie’s eyes widened. “With who?”

“Guy named Chip. He’s – I’m in love.”

“He love you?”

“Not yet.”

“What grade’s he in?”

“He’s not in a grade. He’s a man,” Enid said.

Ernie made a face. “Don’t text him pictures, he’ll end up in jail.”

“Gross.”

“So you haven’t done it?”

“Not it, but – stuff.”

“Like what?” Ernie said.

Enid thought about Joey Wysocki and his thing an
d how great it felt to slug him after he shoved her hand down his pants.

Did that count?

Enid shrugged, “You know, guys want to do stuff, they chase me – that kind of stuff, but I’m waiting for the right guy. Chip is it.”

“What kind of car
does he drives?”

“Black Charger.”

“Wow. When you gonna do it?”

“He wants to, but – you know.”

Ernie sighed, “Yeah, I know. Amber Johnson told me that Mindy Lindd wants to go out with me, but – you know.”

“Yeah,” Enid said. “I know.”

Ernie contemplated this. “You still hungry?”

“Starving.”

Ernie led the way into the house, where they raided the pantry for Oreos, crackers, peanut butter, soda and a box of cereal. 

“I stink,” Enid said, sniffing her armpit.

Ernie led her down the hall to his and Sharon’s shared bathroom. “Sprinkle when you tinkle – she’ll think it was me.”

“Where can I snag a T-shirt and – stuff?” Enid said, thinking about how you never think about how great it is to have clean underwear – until you don’t have any.

Ernie pointed to his mother’s room, “Pull from the back of her closet. She’ll never miss it.”

“She hangs up T-shirts?”

“She hangs up socks.”

Once in a hot shower, Enid felt like she was getting clean for the first time in a century. She had taken off the bandages, which was a mistake because the soap burned. She gingerly washed herself and removed most of the sticky residue left on her skin by the hospital monitors.

There was a knock on the door. Ernie said, “Hurry up.”

Enid stepped out of the shower, grabbed her clothes off the floor and wrapped a towel around her as she made her way to her Aunt’s bedroom. She found the closet and thumbed through a row of T-shirts and was startled to see that Ernie wasn’t kidding – her socks were neatly pinned on hangers.

Aunt Cheryl is a weirdo.

She chose a black T-shirt with a cracked
decal of “Lou Reed Transformer.” She didn’t know who Lou Reed was, but thought she looked cool.

A car pulled up in the driveway.

She froze.

The front door opened and Sam’s voice boomed through the house, “Cheryl?”

Ernie stood in the bedroom door, eyes locked on Enid. His wide eyes moved down her towel-wrapped body. He put his finger up to his lips.

Enid pushed back into the closet until her back was against the wall and socks dangled in her face. She got behind the dresses, which hid her better.

“Cheryl?” Sam said, slamming kitchen cabinets.

“She went to the store,” Ernie from the hallway as he headed toward the kitchen.

“Hey, Ern,” Jack said.

Enid felt a rush of anger.

What’s he doing here?

“Hey, Uncle Jack,” Ernie said, his voice unnaturally loud so that Enid could hear him. “What – are – you – doing – here?”

“Nice – to – see – you – too – Ernie,” Jack said in an equally unnatural voice.

Sam said, “Did your mother go to the hospital?”

Enid strained to hear the reply but couldn’t. 

“Was Enid there?” Sam said.

More mumbling.

Enid struggled to make out their conversation but it got more muffled. Another car pulled up and, in moments, Enid heard what sounded like Cheryl’s voice.

Enid moved the dresses aside and eyed the window, looking for a way to escape back to the treehouse.

Ernie popped up in front of the dresses, “You won’t believe what happened.”

Enid almost yelped in surprise. “Do they know I’m missing?”

Ernie said, “Uncle Jack – ”

Enid scowled, insulted that they weren’t talking about her being gone. “I don’t care about him. He’s not my father and I never want to hear his name again.”

Once again… welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.

–
Bram Stoker, Dracula

On the drive to Sam’s house, Jack told him what had happened the night before – it was the least he could do after Sam had bailed him out of jail.

Once in the house, Sam had jerked his head in Ernie’s direction and shot Jack a warning look, so Jack had left off anything to do with Eve. What Ernie did hear was shocking enough without adding the truth of what really happened.

The night before, after his date with Eve had come to a screeching halt, Jack came home to a dark, empty house feeling dejected.

He headed up his driveway with a bag of groceries that he’d stopped to purchase.

Annie Cisco bounded out her front door, followed by her father, who sounded like he’d bagged some pints. It was ten o’clock – too early for Jack’s date to end, but too late for a kid like Annie to be going out.

Annie and her girlfriend clambered out the front door, her father’s voice bellowing behind them.

Annie spun around, high heels digging into the grass and her long legs overexposed in her mini. “Gawd, Dad! Don’t worry – we won’t smoke, drink – ”

Annie caught sight of Jack, flashed him a smile. She called to her Dad, “I’ll call if we’re late.”

“Don’t be late!” he said.

Annie and her girlfriend jumped into the Mustang with grins that boded trouble. Annie eyed Jack’s ruined suit, “Hey, Mister Fox, how was the prom?”

The Mustang pulled out onto the street to the sound of peals of laughter and squealing tires. 

Jack watched as Nick stalked
back into his house. 

Another fun night polishing his shotgun collection.

Jack unlocked the front door, careful to keep an eye out for Harriett, the cat. He flipped the light switch, but it was dead. He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

A noise.

Jack froze, looking intently into the shadows.

Harriett?

A woman’s voice said, “I hope you don’t mind – ”

Startled, Jack stepped back.

“I let myself in,” Eve said from the darkened corner.

Jack remained silent. In the moonlight, he could make out Eve sitting on his couch. He could just see the white of her neck, rising above the deep V of her dress. 

He said, “You rig the light?”

“I’m not that talented.”

Harriett nosed open the kitchen door and Eve rubbed her fingers together, enticingly. Harriett bounded to Eve’s lap, where she purred under Eve’s caressing fingers. 

Jack said, “I didn’t realize I was such an easy target.” 

“I’m not accustomed to being turned down.”

Jack walked over, standing above her, staring down at her upturned face. Her eyes glinted like shards of glass on a welcome mat.

He bent down, knowing that she expected him to kiss her. He hovered and, with a swift movement, he scooped Harriett off her lap and into his arms.

He stepped away from Eve, caressing Harriett’s ears.

Eve’s eyes flashed and Jack felt a stab of satisfaction.

It felt good to hurt her.

Eve jumped up, pushed past him toward the door.

Jack dropped Harriett, who landed on the floor with a velvet thud. He grabbed Eve, pulled her close.

She was like a wild thing, pushing him away with vile curses as his lips came down on hers. She pulled away, slapped him.

He slapped her back.

Her mouth formed an “o” of shock.

“Play nice,” he said.

She stared at him, unsure. He liked that look on her.

She said, “Why’d you send me away?”

“I never will again.”

Eve pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him hungrily. Then she screamed and tore herself from him, cursing. She bent down. Blood trickled from her ankle.

Harriett shot away, hissing and spitting.

Jack crouched down, examining the claw marks on Eve’s ankle. “Jealous.”

Jack stood, turned to get some soap and water.

Eve put her arms around his neck, pressing close. Her eyes gleamed.

He tried to sweep her up into his arms, to carry her to his bed, but she stopped him. She unbuckled his belt and before he could get his pants off, she’d lifted her skirt, grabbed his dick and shoved it into her.

It was fast and she took without giving – cumming over and over and no damned faking it. On the hardwood floor, he could feel her clench around him as she shuddered and cursed her way through five minutes of cumming.

When she was done, she stared up at him, satiated. “Ladies first,” she said.

“Baby, you ain’t no lady,” Jack said. He’d cum, but – not like anything he ever knew. His felt like a wave lost to her tsunami.

She grinned. “I should have let you fuck me.” She reached down, cradled his limp cock in her hand. “First time I saw you, I knew.”

“Me too, baby.”

Two hours later, in his bed, it was Jack’s turn to lay satiated, staring up at Eve as she ran her finger along his face, pausing every time he shivered under her touch.

“I’ll make it last longer next time,” Jack said.

The second time, she’d been tame – almost cold. He’d still only lasted less than twenty minutes. He tried to hold on, make it last, but – she squeezed down in orgasm – he was done.

“Tell me a story,” she said. “You – in a bad situation – how
you got out of it.”

He smiled. “Poor little rich girl – looking for trouble.”

“Once upon a time,” she said.

“In a land far, far away,” he said as he proceeded to tell her the story of how he nearly got his wings clipped by a cheating husband who turned out to be the original “Shotgun Joe” from Chicago and was broke and hiding under an assumed name. His girlfriend, an aging off-strip Vegas dancer who was bankrolling him, thought he was cheating – and was right, as proven by Jack’s photos. It all would have ended there, but Shotgun sent a redneck with a knife
Jack’s way and got him surprised in a men’s stall at the Dew Drop Inn where Jack was taking a shit.

“Is that how you got this?” Eve sketched her finger around a scar that wrapped around his side.

“Dumb luck he never got his knife in me. He slipped on some drunk’s piss. I didn’t think it – I just did it – played crazy and scared him the hell out of that stall – or else I would’ve been dead.” Jack gave a low laugh. “There ain’t a punk in the world that wants to wrangle with somebody who is certifiable.”

“That worked?”

Jack grinned at the memory, nodding.

Eve kissed his fingertips. “Tell me about your first case.”

Jack’s smile faded.

Eve said, “What?”

Jack hesitated. “I’m taking the fifth.”

“Tell me. Or are you going to act insane – chase me out of here?

Jack pulled her down in a hard kiss. “Hell no and then some.”

Eve nuzzled him, “You might as well tell me. I never give up till I get what I want.”

Jack sighed. “I was a kid. I call it the case of the second family.”

Eve’s eyebrows went up.

He said, “My dad, turns out, had a second family.”

“Oh!” Eve stared at him, startled.

“Busted that case wide open,” Jack said.

“Did your mother know?”

Jack felt that familiar sickness in his stomach. He shut his eyes, trying to block the memory of his mother’s dead body hanging from the noose.

“Hey,” Eve gently nudged him.

Jack opened his eyes, tried to smile.

Eve
said, “That’s what made you want to be a detective?”

“When I saw him with them
–
I thought I found out the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

“
We
were the second family. I thought the old man was hiding them. The truth was – he was hiding
us.”

“Is he – ?”

“Dead.” Jack’s mind flashed back to the funeral – the uproar he caused when, with one violent shove, he overturned his father’s casket and sent his body tumbling into the first row of mourners.

He winced at the memory. He had no memory of what happened next, but he had been told.

I’d do it again – kick the shit of that worthless bastard’s corpse.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t. He’s dead – stabbed in some back alley by a two-bit crook – he got exactly what he deserved.” Jack brushed the hair from her face. “What are you doing with me?”

“Did you see it?” Eve said
.

“See what?” Jack ran his hands along her body, enjoying the feel of her silken skin under his fingertips.

“When he got what he deserved?” She said.

Jack looked at her, startled.

She smiled, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Sorry,” Jack said, withdrawing his hand.

Is she serious?

Eve laughed, that quicksilver laugh that he’d first heard in his office when he first set eyes on her. He glanced at her, relieved to see her eyes twinkling.

Eve said, “You’ll discover all too quickly how boring I am. Let me play the mysterious femme fatale a bit longer. Actually, I’m rather flattered that you thought – ”

“I don’t.”

“I like it,” she said.

He gazed at her, unsure.

She leaned in, kissing him with a gathering passion that made him forget everything. 

Flying.

In his dream, he was flying and she was there, by his side as they cut through clouds – ever thickening clouds that – stung…

A spasm of coughing brought Jack to abrupt wakefulness. He reached for Eve but she was gone.

Was it all a dream?

Thick smoke plumed under the door. Heart lurching, Jack jumped out of bed, eyes burning and watering. He could hear the crackling flames and feel the –

Heat.

Jack ran to the bathroom – empty. In the bedroom, there was no trace of Eve.

Where is she?

Jack
touched the door and yanked his hand away. It was as hot as a stovetop. Jack cursed the barred windows that had been there when he bought the house and he’d never bothered to remove. He ripped the sheets off the bed and shoved them under the door, trying to stop the smoke. 

“Eve!”
He yelled.

Please let her be safe.

Please let her be gone.

Jack
ripped the blanket off the bed and ran to the bathroom. He shoved it in the bathtub and turned on the water. The plumbing groaned but came forth with enough water to soak most of the blanket.

In the bedroom, Jack pulled on his jeans and covered himself with the wet blanket. He crouched down and, pushing his fear down, he jerked the door open.

Smoke billowed at him and he forced himself to stay low and move as fast as he could. The hallway, so short just yesterday, now seemed like a marathon distance.

Lungs burning with the smoke, Jack crawled forward as flames licked at his body. He stumbled forward, choking – suffocating – confused.

Keep moving.

There was no end to it – he sucked in, desperate to breathe – he felt like he was
drowning in an ocean of flames.

Where am I?

He inched forward, his fingers scratching against something hard. Drowning in fumes, he made one last desperate lunge forward and felt the fight leave his body.

This is it.

This is how it ends.

Death grabbed him and dragged him out of the oven and straight to hell.

Demons scraped at him – hurt him.

He called out for his mother and she pushed him over, onto his side and slapped him until he was coughing – gasping – a violent convulsion of his body that ended with him puking his guts out.

He heard voices, words – cutting through his consciousness.

Screaming devils – fighting over his soul.   

He came to and found himself on the ground, staring up at the night sky. The screaming was sirens – getting closer.

It wasn’t demons – it was Nick. His mouth was moving but Jack couldn’t make it out.

Jack struggled to sit up but couldn’t. The effort brought on another spasm of coughing that left him weak. A fireman ran past him, someone strapped something on his face. He fought against it but oxygen hit his mouth and he sucked it greedily into his still-burning lungs.

“Is anyone in the house?” A fireman was shouting in his face.

He shook his head.

She has to be gone.

He searched the street for Eve and his eyes landed on a silver sports car that he’d never seen.