Read Online Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara by Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale, Astrid Amara, Nicole Kimberling - Free Book Online
Tags: Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Gay, Fantasy, Gay & Lesbian, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, Paranormal & Urban
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“We can go get a warrant if you like, but all I need to do is look at your product.”
“Well, you can’t.” Cindy crossed her arms, raising her chin triumphantly. “I won’t let you because I don’t have to and you know it.”
Keith shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to play it, ma’am, then we will. I’ll be back with a warrant, a health inspector, and a representative from the state liquor board. I might bring an auditor just to get it all over with at once.” He turned and started toward the door. He needed to get out of this joint anyway. The smell of char-grilled meat was beginning to seriously nauseate him. He saw a slight motion out of the corner of his eye.
“Son of a bitch!” With a jangle of expensive bangles Bullock smashed her fist directly into his jaw. He staggered back a step, pain exploding through the side of his face. In a moment, Gunther had caught her right arm, but she still lashed out with her left, raking her nails across his neck.
“That is really uncalled for, ma’am,” Gunther said, tightly twisting her arm around her back and slapping one handcuff on. He caught hold of her left hand and managed to get it in the cuff, but Bullock bolted. Keith stuck out a foot and hooked her ankle. She went down, screaming and cursing, on the damp tiled floor. Gunther wasted no time; he cuffed her ankles, then brought them up and hogtied her.
The kitchen had gone silent as the whole kitchen crew gaped at the scene. The dishwasher seemed to be working hard to suppress a smile.
Gunther leaned down and said very loudly and very close to her ear, “You are under arrest for assaulting a federal officer.” Then, to Keith, he said, “You want to go have that look around now or wait till the police get here?”
“Yeah, sure.” His jaw throbbed. He glanced at the dishwasher. “Show me to the meat locker, kid.”
The dishwasher led the way back into the kitchen. They passed a busy line of grills. Flames and smoke leaped and billowed around the cooks as they tended the orders. Then they entered the back kitchen—a small, clean space whose walls were lined with steel prep tables and banks of shelves holding dry goods.
“The big one’s right there.” Tentatively the dishwasher pointed back toward a heavy door. “But there’s another smaller one for the really expensive steaks that’s padlocked.”
“Who’s got the key?”
“It’s a combo lock.” This came from a burly Black guy who had followed them from the line. Keith thought he might be the head grill man. “Ms. Bullock is the only one who knows it.”
“Of course it is.”
After a wait of approximately ten minutes, Portland Police Bureau arrived with a car to transport Ms. Bullock and a pair of bolt cutters for the padlock. Being a member of the strike force, Gunther could have probably performed a spell to open it, but there were far too many bystanders and it was just easy to use a human tool. By the time PPB carried Bullock away, the deep bruise on Keith’s jaw had begun to darken, but he refused to show any pain in front of the restaurant’s staff. There was still no way to tell where any of their allegiances lay.
Keith entered the meat locker. He already felt ill. Very quickly he found himself fighting to avoid retching. Two naked bodies hung suspended upside down from chains, throats cut, blood collecting in buckets on the floor.
To the left, on a stainless steel rack, were more remains. This one had been skinned, cut apart at the joints, and separated into several metal hotel pans, but Keith recognized the anatomy immediately.
Gunther’s cookie search had led them straight to the abattoir. Plainly, the butchering had taken place here. For all his commentary about humans not abandoning their carnal pleasures easily, Keith would have never seriously thought that Bullock’s wife would have the sheer stupidity to continue her Thyestean feasting after her husband had been caught. Yet, here she was.
Keith
“Well, you can’t.” Cindy crossed her arms, raising her chin triumphantly. “I won’t let you because I don’t have to and you know it.”
Keith shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to play it, ma’am, then we will. I’ll be back with a warrant, a health inspector, and a representative from the state liquor board. I might bring an auditor just to get it all over with at once.” He turned and started toward the door. He needed to get out of this joint anyway. The smell of char-grilled meat was beginning to seriously nauseate him. He saw a slight motion out of the corner of his eye.
“Son of a bitch!” With a jangle of expensive bangles Bullock smashed her fist directly into his jaw. He staggered back a step, pain exploding through the side of his face. In a moment, Gunther had caught her right arm, but she still lashed out with her left, raking her nails across his neck.
“That is really uncalled for, ma’am,” Gunther said, tightly twisting her arm around her back and slapping one handcuff on. He caught hold of her left hand and managed to get it in the cuff, but Bullock bolted. Keith stuck out a foot and hooked her ankle. She went down, screaming and cursing, on the damp tiled floor. Gunther wasted no time; he cuffed her ankles, then brought them up and hogtied her.
The kitchen had gone silent as the whole kitchen crew gaped at the scene. The dishwasher seemed to be working hard to suppress a smile.
Gunther leaned down and said very loudly and very close to her ear, “You are under arrest for assaulting a federal officer.” Then, to Keith, he said, “You want to go have that look around now or wait till the police get here?”
“Yeah, sure.” His jaw throbbed. He glanced at the dishwasher. “Show me to the meat locker, kid.”
The dishwasher led the way back into the kitchen. They passed a busy line of grills. Flames and smoke leaped and billowed around the cooks as they tended the orders. Then they entered the back kitchen—a small, clean space whose walls were lined with steel prep tables and banks of shelves holding dry goods.
“The big one’s right there.” Tentatively the dishwasher pointed back toward a heavy door. “But there’s another smaller one for the really expensive steaks that’s padlocked.”
“Who’s got the key?”
“It’s a combo lock.” This came from a burly Black guy who had followed them from the line. Keith thought he might be the head grill man. “Ms. Bullock is the only one who knows it.”
“Of course it is.”
After a wait of approximately ten minutes, Portland Police Bureau arrived with a car to transport Ms. Bullock and a pair of bolt cutters for the padlock. Being a member of the strike force, Gunther could have probably performed a spell to open it, but there were far too many bystanders and it was just easy to use a human tool. By the time PPB carried Bullock away, the deep bruise on Keith’s jaw had begun to darken, but he refused to show any pain in front of the restaurant’s staff. There was still no way to tell where any of their allegiances lay.
Keith entered the meat locker. He already felt ill. Very quickly he found himself fighting to avoid retching. Two naked bodies hung suspended upside down from chains, throats cut, blood collecting in buckets on the floor.
To the left, on a stainless steel rack, were more remains. This one had been skinned, cut apart at the joints, and separated into several metal hotel pans, but Keith recognized the anatomy immediately.
Gunther’s cookie search had led them straight to the abattoir. Plainly, the butchering had taken place here. For all his commentary about humans not abandoning their carnal pleasures easily, Keith would have never seriously thought that Bullock’s wife would have the sheer stupidity to continue her Thyestean feasting after her husband had been caught. Yet, here she was.
Keith
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