Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
He scrambles to grab it. I don’t wait for the explanation which will be a lot of words that end up meaning he’s a geek and I don’t even care. If the motto becomes geeks have more fun and geeks catch more killers, I’ll live with it. If he will just stop talking. I walk up the stairs, the area around me already contaminated, but better to cover up, than not. Once I’m on the top step, I find far too many people walking everywhere, and meandering about a cluster of desks and sitting areas both left and right. What fuckery is this?
A tall man with a bulldog face and sporting a decently expensive black jacket stands directly in my path, hands on his hips, his weapon on display. “A big guy with a big gun,” I say. “Pocher does like his playthings.”
He scowls at me. “I’m not—”
“Do you work for Pocher? That was the question you clearly didn’t understand.”
To this, he keeps the same scowl, but the lines in his forehead dip a little deeper. “You didn’t ask a question.”
“Just because you didn’t hear it, does not mean I didn’t ask it.” I hold up my badge. “Do you work for Pocher?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We made progress. Before I go on, do I need to speak slowly for you to answer some questions?”
His eyes glint. “You’re a bitch.”
“True, but the badge does keep most people from telling me. Those who work for Pocher seem to think they can do anything and more though. Even cut off someone’s hands.”
He folds his hands in front of him, allowing his weapon to slide out of sight. “It wasn’t me.”
“Is ‘me’ your name or did your parents like you more than that?”
“Mickey Smalls.”
“In other words, your parents hate you. Were they mouse fans?”
He grits his teeth loud enough that I think he might crack one. “Funny. Ha Ha.”
“You don’t sound like you think it’s funny. You get it, right? Mickey—”
“What is your question?” Impatience tinges his voice.
I tsk at him. “Testy, aren’t you? Were you here when they found the body?”
“Yes.”
“Who found the body?”
“I did,” he replies tightly, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
“Did you touch it, Mickey?”
“Of course not.” He sounds genuinely disturbed at the idea. Figures a guy named Mickey Smalls would have an emotional side.
“Did you squish on the wet carpet?”
“Yes,” he bites out. “I had no idea it was wet.”
“Good thing I haven’t decided if I want to insult you, arrest you, or call you useful or I’d be telling you that you might want to fix that radar.”
His lips pull tight across his teeth. “I wanted to be sure he wasn’t breathing.”
My brows shoot up. “You thought he looked alive?” I hold up a hand. “Spoiler alert. I know the answer.”
“Agent Love-Mendez, I’m aware he was stiff and well past dead, but I’m former military police. There are instincts that say try. We try. We always try.”
Military police may or may not make him a good guy but being dead is just being dead. “I thought you said you didn’t touch him?”
“I didn’t touch him. I jolted to my senses the minute I stood in front of the body. He’d been dead since well before our arrival.”
“Which was when?” I ask.
He glances at his watch. “Two hours and five minutes ago.”
“Why so early?”
“Your father was freaked out about safety,” he replies. “I’m not privy to what caused that freakout.”
“And yet, you’re right here, with him.” It’s not a question.
“See no evil. Speak no evil. That’s the motto around here.”
Which he wouldn’t know, if he didn’t know.
“Are you still wearing those same shoes?”
“I bagged them. Adams has them.”
“And you just happened to have extra shoes to put on?”
“I’m expected to be on property in seventy-two hour shifts. I came prepared. And just to be clear, agent, I told at least four people to stay outside, that are now inside, even after we knew a dead dude was hanging up with no hands. No one listened.”
I tilt my head. “You sure you work for Pocher?”
“I work for your Dad.”
“Why’d you say you worked for Pocher?”
“Two sides of one coin. What Pocher wants, Pocher gets.” He lowers his voice. “It’s all about who has the money.”
“Rich people become beggars for richer people,” I say dryly. “At this point, those who stayed, may wish they left. They aren’t going anywhere until I know all their bad habits. You’re included. Right or left to talk to my father?”
“Right and down, cut right again. Double doors. I don’t have bad habits that require law enforcement intervention.”
“I do. You’d be good to remember that. So would my father.” I cut right as he’s indicated and walk four steps before I pause and turn back to him. “If you haven’t seen any evil, how do you know there’s evil at all?”