Read Online Boyfriend from Hell by Avery Corman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Avery Corman
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make an omelet for dinner, her mind drifting; the new article, Richard, the sex, the knowledge that he was not someone you would take home to your parents at this stage of the relationship, if it could indeed be called a relationship, assuming one had parents.
As she left the building she noticed at the alleyway, the same alleyway where the cats were tossed in her path, a man in a black raincoat, chinos, and sneakers, with a deerstalker hat, flaps down, lampblack on his face like a deranged commando. In an underhand motion he tossed something in her direction and darted into the alleyway.
“Hey, you!” she called out, and ran toward the alleyway. When she got there he was gone. She walked back to look on the ground to see what he had thrown. It was a two-inch porcelain death skull with hollow eyes.
4
I N A CITY WHERE violence often led the eleven o’clock local news, these harassments of Ronnie Delaney were insignificant. Ronnie read that in the faces of Detectives Santini and Gomez. She brought the death skull to the precinct and the desk sergeant referred her to the detectives. They took down the information at a desk and kept the object, carefully placing it in a glassine envelope.
“It’s Cummings again,” she said. “It had to be one of his people. Who else cares?”
“This is going to be very hard to prove,” Gomez said.
“If you could see your faces. Why should big-city detectives like us bother with this trivial little case? Why don’t we just wait for one of them to kill me and then you’ll have something to work with? Do you have a supervisor? Is this like the phone company where I get to say, I’d like to talk to your supervisor?”
“Absolutely,” Gomez said.
They withdrew and a few minutes later returned with a ramrod-straight man of six feet four in plainclothes, wearing a blue Dacron suit, white shirt, and blue tie; another cheerless fellow, and that was all right with her, if he turned out to be competent.
“Ms. Delaney—Lieutenant Ed Rourke. I’m in charge of the detective squad here.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve been told, but I’m being harassed. In a really scary way.”
“Yes, I know all about it. Can I see this latest object?”
Gomez handed him the envelope and Rourke held it up to the light.
“Almost like a Cracker Jacks toy,” Gomez said.
“That is what’s troubling me, the way it’s being trivialized around here. I’m being threatened by unhappy people who worship Satan.”
“Did the man who menaced you, did he look like someone you might have seen when you were working on your article?” Rourke asked.
“He might have been at the church when I was there, I don’t remember seeing him. He looked like a lunatic. Black stuff under his eyes, on some lunatic mission. He might be a member via the Internet. He might be hired for all I know. It’s what I’d like you to find out and bring this stupid thing to an end.”
“If you’re going out of your house to do any shopping, local chores over the next few days, call this number.” He wrote it on a pad. “We’ll have a police car come by to give you protection. We can’t do it forever, but for a while.” He turned to the detectives. “Go back and talk to Cummings again. Tell him he’s a suspect, that he’s aiding and abetting. And we’ll go from there.”
“Thank you,” Ronnie said.
“Detectives Gomez and Santini are from homicide. They’ve been assigned to us on another matter, but because there was, possibly, a death threat here, they’re helping us out. You’ve got the best of the best, and when Detective Gomez says ‘Cracker Jacks,’ I understand what he means. It’s childish, really. Frightening, I grant you, but childish.”
“Except if it’s happening to you.”
After Ronnie left the station house, Rourke said, “I know. This is impossible. But lean on him. Tell him we’ll be questioning him for every violent crime that takes place anywhere in the city for the next
As she left the building she noticed at the alleyway, the same alleyway where the cats were tossed in her path, a man in a black raincoat, chinos, and sneakers, with a deerstalker hat, flaps down, lampblack on his face like a deranged commando. In an underhand motion he tossed something in her direction and darted into the alleyway.
“Hey, you!” she called out, and ran toward the alleyway. When she got there he was gone. She walked back to look on the ground to see what he had thrown. It was a two-inch porcelain death skull with hollow eyes.
4
I N A CITY WHERE violence often led the eleven o’clock local news, these harassments of Ronnie Delaney were insignificant. Ronnie read that in the faces of Detectives Santini and Gomez. She brought the death skull to the precinct and the desk sergeant referred her to the detectives. They took down the information at a desk and kept the object, carefully placing it in a glassine envelope.
“It’s Cummings again,” she said. “It had to be one of his people. Who else cares?”
“This is going to be very hard to prove,” Gomez said.
“If you could see your faces. Why should big-city detectives like us bother with this trivial little case? Why don’t we just wait for one of them to kill me and then you’ll have something to work with? Do you have a supervisor? Is this like the phone company where I get to say, I’d like to talk to your supervisor?”
“Absolutely,” Gomez said.
They withdrew and a few minutes later returned with a ramrod-straight man of six feet four in plainclothes, wearing a blue Dacron suit, white shirt, and blue tie; another cheerless fellow, and that was all right with her, if he turned out to be competent.
“Ms. Delaney—Lieutenant Ed Rourke. I’m in charge of the detective squad here.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve been told, but I’m being harassed. In a really scary way.”
“Yes, I know all about it. Can I see this latest object?”
Gomez handed him the envelope and Rourke held it up to the light.
“Almost like a Cracker Jacks toy,” Gomez said.
“That is what’s troubling me, the way it’s being trivialized around here. I’m being threatened by unhappy people who worship Satan.”
“Did the man who menaced you, did he look like someone you might have seen when you were working on your article?” Rourke asked.
“He might have been at the church when I was there, I don’t remember seeing him. He looked like a lunatic. Black stuff under his eyes, on some lunatic mission. He might be a member via the Internet. He might be hired for all I know. It’s what I’d like you to find out and bring this stupid thing to an end.”
“If you’re going out of your house to do any shopping, local chores over the next few days, call this number.” He wrote it on a pad. “We’ll have a police car come by to give you protection. We can’t do it forever, but for a while.” He turned to the detectives. “Go back and talk to Cummings again. Tell him he’s a suspect, that he’s aiding and abetting. And we’ll go from there.”
“Thank you,” Ronnie said.
“Detectives Gomez and Santini are from homicide. They’ve been assigned to us on another matter, but because there was, possibly, a death threat here, they’re helping us out. You’ve got the best of the best, and when Detective Gomez says ‘Cracker Jacks,’ I understand what he means. It’s childish, really. Frightening, I grant you, but childish.”
“Except if it’s happening to you.”
After Ronnie left the station house, Rourke said, “I know. This is impossible. But lean on him. Tell him we’ll be questioning him for every violent crime that takes place anywhere in the city for the next
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