Read Online Shot of Tequila by J. A. Konrath - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. A. Konrath
Tags: Suspense
Ads: Link
at the ceiling, listening to the printer whir.
She’d stay there tonight. Start going through the list. The prospect of going to her apartment, to Alan, was depressing, and she knew that no sleep awaited her there. If she were lucky, she’d catch a wink or two at the desk.
Daniels only slept when total exhaustion overcame her. When she tried to sleep, tried to go to bed the normal way, her mind refused to shut off and kept her awake with guilt.
Jack breathed guilt like most people breathed air.
She yawned, picturing the bloodbath in the liquor store earlier that night.
“Are you somewhere in here, my man?” She stared at the printout, which was already three pages long. “And will you do it again?”
Jack removed the notepad from her jacket pocket and scribbled the word PRIORS , as a mental note for her to check for similar murders once Ballistics came up with a make on the slugs and the casings they had found. It would be interesting to see if others had been killed in such a style. Jack was reluctant to do this, because a search of that scope would mean Federal involvement since it crossed borders, and bringing the FBI into an investigation was like sitting on a screw driver—screwing yourself. Still, it was important to see if the MO had been documented before.
Because Jack was sure she would see the same MO again. And soon.
W hen the phone rang, Tequila knew it was work. No one else called in the middle of the night. No one else called, period. Tequila had no friends, of the female gender or otherwise. His only family was his sister, and she was asleep in her room. He’d tried dozens of times to teach her their phone number, but Sally didn’t understand numbers. The only number he’d managed to drill into her head was 911, if there were ever an emergency.
He guessed it was around one in the morning from how rested he felt, and a quick glance at his digital clock confirmed his guess.
This all flashed through his mind during the first ring. He picked the phone up before it rang again.
“Yes.”
“Tequila, this is Slake. You better get down to Spill right away. Marty wants you. It’s an emergency.”
Tequila hung up and held his chin, jerking his head to the left in order to crack his neck. It didn’t crack, because he hadn’t been asleep long enough for the calcium deposits to build up. He dressed in the dark, finding his chinos, shirt, and socks in the drawers where they always were. Instead of putting on his boots he chose a pair of black Reeboks, lacing them so tight they felt like an extra layer skin. Then he slipped into his gun rig and slipped out of the bedroom, walking down the hall and knocking once on China’s door.
“Mr. Abernathy?”
“I have to go out, China. Please keep an eye on Sally.”
“No problem, Mr. Abernathy.”
China had no qualms about him leaving in the middle of the night, any more than she had qualms about the guns she always saw Tequila with. She had no idea what Tequila did for a living, and didn’t much care either. Which was more than could be said about the previous care-giver. When Tequila had brought home his first gun, after being taught to shoot by Marty shortly after his hire, she panicked and fled. When screening replacements, he told applicants he was a bodyguard and showed them his carry permit. Almost as a rule, women who cared for the mentally challenged had an abhorrence to firearms. Until he found China. She didn’t seem bothered by anything.
He pocketed the incriminating .45 barrels that he’d taken out of his guns and left in the recycle bin. Then he grabbed his coat from the hall closet and locked the door behind him when he left. As he walked to the elevator he let his mind dwell on what Marty considered an emergency. Marty was an over-reactive type, and several times Tequila had been summoned at odd hours to help track down the latest bimbo in Marty’s life, who had taken off with his car, or some cash, or once his gold chain—the one
She’d stay there tonight. Start going through the list. The prospect of going to her apartment, to Alan, was depressing, and she knew that no sleep awaited her there. If she were lucky, she’d catch a wink or two at the desk.
Daniels only slept when total exhaustion overcame her. When she tried to sleep, tried to go to bed the normal way, her mind refused to shut off and kept her awake with guilt.
Jack breathed guilt like most people breathed air.
She yawned, picturing the bloodbath in the liquor store earlier that night.
“Are you somewhere in here, my man?” She stared at the printout, which was already three pages long. “And will you do it again?”
Jack removed the notepad from her jacket pocket and scribbled the word PRIORS , as a mental note for her to check for similar murders once Ballistics came up with a make on the slugs and the casings they had found. It would be interesting to see if others had been killed in such a style. Jack was reluctant to do this, because a search of that scope would mean Federal involvement since it crossed borders, and bringing the FBI into an investigation was like sitting on a screw driver—screwing yourself. Still, it was important to see if the MO had been documented before.
Because Jack was sure she would see the same MO again. And soon.
W hen the phone rang, Tequila knew it was work. No one else called in the middle of the night. No one else called, period. Tequila had no friends, of the female gender or otherwise. His only family was his sister, and she was asleep in her room. He’d tried dozens of times to teach her their phone number, but Sally didn’t understand numbers. The only number he’d managed to drill into her head was 911, if there were ever an emergency.
He guessed it was around one in the morning from how rested he felt, and a quick glance at his digital clock confirmed his guess.
This all flashed through his mind during the first ring. He picked the phone up before it rang again.
“Yes.”
“Tequila, this is Slake. You better get down to Spill right away. Marty wants you. It’s an emergency.”
Tequila hung up and held his chin, jerking his head to the left in order to crack his neck. It didn’t crack, because he hadn’t been asleep long enough for the calcium deposits to build up. He dressed in the dark, finding his chinos, shirt, and socks in the drawers where they always were. Instead of putting on his boots he chose a pair of black Reeboks, lacing them so tight they felt like an extra layer skin. Then he slipped into his gun rig and slipped out of the bedroom, walking down the hall and knocking once on China’s door.
“Mr. Abernathy?”
“I have to go out, China. Please keep an eye on Sally.”
“No problem, Mr. Abernathy.”
China had no qualms about him leaving in the middle of the night, any more than she had qualms about the guns she always saw Tequila with. She had no idea what Tequila did for a living, and didn’t much care either. Which was more than could be said about the previous care-giver. When Tequila had brought home his first gun, after being taught to shoot by Marty shortly after his hire, she panicked and fled. When screening replacements, he told applicants he was a bodyguard and showed them his carry permit. Almost as a rule, women who cared for the mentally challenged had an abhorrence to firearms. Until he found China. She didn’t seem bothered by anything.
He pocketed the incriminating .45 barrels that he’d taken out of his guns and left in the recycle bin. Then he grabbed his coat from the hall closet and locked the door behind him when he left. As he walked to the elevator he let his mind dwell on what Marty considered an emergency. Marty was an over-reactive type, and several times Tequila had been summoned at odd hours to help track down the latest bimbo in Marty’s life, who had taken off with his car, or some cash, or once his gold chain—the one
Similar Books
