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Authors: Ed Lynskey
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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I've got no choice but to kill you."
She laughed. But I didn't. Then she tried to out-scream the banshee wind blasting our motel crib before I ended her valiant struggle. Afterward I felt a little forlorn.
I n the pre-dawn's sepia light, I tramped along the highway’s gravel shoulder. I carried my duffel bag slung over a shoulder. The night's torrents had swept south. Scratches lined my face from where Bunnie's tigress fingernails had clawed me as I overpowered her. Tied up and muzzled her. Stood up. Cursed her. Cursed me. Barked my shin on the bed-frame. Wriggled back under the bed. Bumped my head. Untaped the piece. Snaked out again. Dragged to my feet. Fired two— blat, blat —more caps.
Ignored my whistling ears. Got dressed. Took a leak. Snaked back under the bed. Re-taped the piece. Took out my banknotes from her wallet. Wiped down all the surfaces. Slipped outside. Cleaned my prints from her car interior. Cursed again. Left the empty motel, no maid service until 2 p.m. Trotted faster, but not quite a jog. Thought maybe my system wasn’t as slick as I thought it was. Later, I barged into the same air terminal bar, downed three gins neat, and made a pledge I'd never return to this godforsaken burg.
M r. Ogg never learned of my bonus kill. Later we convened at his new digs, the shabby bungalow where he'd moved to hide out in plain view.
"Everything went according to Hoyle?" he asked me.
Like after every job, I grunted to assure him such was the case.
"My associates there liked your work."
"Well, I always aim to please."
Like every time, he ignored my witty pun. "Any hiccups come up?"
My shrug came too fast before my slower deliberate headshake. "None or I'd have reported them," I lied through my teeth, and it pleased me to do so.
"Good man. How many is that for this year?"
I shrugged. "Don't jinx me by keeping a damn scorecard."
"Why? Have you turned superstitious?"
"I never like to spit in the wind."
"Well, since I pay for them, I count them. This one made it thirteen."
"Unlucky thirteen. Are you just breaking my chops?"
"No. Why are you so damn touchy this afternoon?"
"Look, I'm trying to do my job is all."
"Okay then, we've got no problems."
"Marvelous."
Mr. Ogg produced a rubber-banded wad of money and tossed it to the coffee table. "Five gees. Grab it. Wire me if you need more."
"For another job already?"
"Nope, you're going on R&R. This uptight you'll end up in a vegetative state or else in prison, and that's no damn good to me."
"But I don't want or need a vacation."
"I'm your boss. That means what I say goes."
"Okay, boss, you win. Where do I fly?"
"That's more like it. How does Waikiki Beach sound to you?"
"Aloha," I said, already despising taking a long trip without an assignment.
Chapter 11
T he homicide detectives and CSI had processed, then released the crime scene at Gwen's townhouse. I tried turning her doorknob, but it didn't twist this time. The human bulldozer on the porch behind me provided a ready solution.
"Can you ram down her door?" I asked.
"The crashing noise will disturb her neighbors," replied Esquire.
"Then how do we get inside?"
He removed a cloth-wrapped packet from inside his windbreaker. "I can pick the lock."
Hearing that surprised me. "How did you learn that skill?"
"Young Hermes was a sneak thief in a former life, and I figured it might be useful to know in my upholstery racket, so he taught me the finer points."
"I owe Hermes a vote of thanks."
"Don't we all, sweetheart. Don't we all."
"Just do your open sesame, please."
After I shifted aside, Esquire stepped on Gwen's slate porch and crouched over at her door. Standing guard behind him, I heard the steel scratching on steel. He cursed and tinkered at the door lock for a plodding minute. One street down toward the old library a spirited gang of kids—girls and boys—hollered their taunts back and forth. Vehicles, their headlamps bright, droned by on the nearby street between the
She laughed. But I didn't. Then she tried to out-scream the banshee wind blasting our motel crib before I ended her valiant struggle. Afterward I felt a little forlorn.
I n the pre-dawn's sepia light, I tramped along the highway’s gravel shoulder. I carried my duffel bag slung over a shoulder. The night's torrents had swept south. Scratches lined my face from where Bunnie's tigress fingernails had clawed me as I overpowered her. Tied up and muzzled her. Stood up. Cursed her. Cursed me. Barked my shin on the bed-frame. Wriggled back under the bed. Bumped my head. Untaped the piece. Snaked out again. Dragged to my feet. Fired two— blat, blat —more caps.
Ignored my whistling ears. Got dressed. Took a leak. Snaked back under the bed. Re-taped the piece. Took out my banknotes from her wallet. Wiped down all the surfaces. Slipped outside. Cleaned my prints from her car interior. Cursed again. Left the empty motel, no maid service until 2 p.m. Trotted faster, but not quite a jog. Thought maybe my system wasn’t as slick as I thought it was. Later, I barged into the same air terminal bar, downed three gins neat, and made a pledge I'd never return to this godforsaken burg.
M r. Ogg never learned of my bonus kill. Later we convened at his new digs, the shabby bungalow where he'd moved to hide out in plain view.
"Everything went according to Hoyle?" he asked me.
Like after every job, I grunted to assure him such was the case.
"My associates there liked your work."
"Well, I always aim to please."
Like every time, he ignored my witty pun. "Any hiccups come up?"
My shrug came too fast before my slower deliberate headshake. "None or I'd have reported them," I lied through my teeth, and it pleased me to do so.
"Good man. How many is that for this year?"
I shrugged. "Don't jinx me by keeping a damn scorecard."
"Why? Have you turned superstitious?"
"I never like to spit in the wind."
"Well, since I pay for them, I count them. This one made it thirteen."
"Unlucky thirteen. Are you just breaking my chops?"
"No. Why are you so damn touchy this afternoon?"
"Look, I'm trying to do my job is all."
"Okay then, we've got no problems."
"Marvelous."
Mr. Ogg produced a rubber-banded wad of money and tossed it to the coffee table. "Five gees. Grab it. Wire me if you need more."
"For another job already?"
"Nope, you're going on R&R. This uptight you'll end up in a vegetative state or else in prison, and that's no damn good to me."
"But I don't want or need a vacation."
"I'm your boss. That means what I say goes."
"Okay, boss, you win. Where do I fly?"
"That's more like it. How does Waikiki Beach sound to you?"
"Aloha," I said, already despising taking a long trip without an assignment.
Chapter 11
T he homicide detectives and CSI had processed, then released the crime scene at Gwen's townhouse. I tried turning her doorknob, but it didn't twist this time. The human bulldozer on the porch behind me provided a ready solution.
"Can you ram down her door?" I asked.
"The crashing noise will disturb her neighbors," replied Esquire.
"Then how do we get inside?"
He removed a cloth-wrapped packet from inside his windbreaker. "I can pick the lock."
Hearing that surprised me. "How did you learn that skill?"
"Young Hermes was a sneak thief in a former life, and I figured it might be useful to know in my upholstery racket, so he taught me the finer points."
"I owe Hermes a vote of thanks."
"Don't we all, sweetheart. Don't we all."
"Just do your open sesame, please."
After I shifted aside, Esquire stepped on Gwen's slate porch and crouched over at her door. Standing guard behind him, I heard the steel scratching on steel. He cursed and tinkered at the door lock for a plodding minute. One street down toward the old library a spirited gang of kids—girls and boys—hollered their taunts back and forth. Vehicles, their headlamps bright, droned by on the nearby street between the
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