Read Online THUGLIT Issue Four by Roger Hobbs, Eric Beetner, Patti Abbott, Sam Wiebe, Albert Tucher, Christopher Irvin, Anton Sim, Garrett Crowe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roger Hobbs, Eric Beetner, Patti Abbott, Sam Wiebe, Albert Tucher, Christopher Irvin, Anton Sim, Garrett Crowe
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were on. She could hardly miss Jacki lying on the floor.
Diana had seen death a number of times, and as always, there was no mistaking it. Jacki lay on her back. She had surrendered unconditionally to gravity, and her head tilted so sharply to her left that her temple rubbed her shoulder. Only a broken neck would permit such an angle.
Diana pulled her eyes away and focused on Porterfield.
“Why?” she said. “Why would he kill her?”
Porterfield’s lack of expression told her everything.
“He didn’t. Howard didn’t kill her. You did. Do your sidekicks know that? I’ll bet they don’t. They’d accept it from Howard, but not from you.”
Still no reaction from him.
“You pathetic piece of shit. You wanted some of your boss’s scraps, and she wouldn’t put out. Right?”
“I didn’t kill her,” said Porterfield. “You did.”
“I figured that was what this is about.”
“You confronted her about trying that sting on you. And you argued, and you broke her neck.”
“I’m in shape, but I’m not that strong.”
“You were in a rage. You didn’t know your own strength.”
She decided it wasn’t worth arguing. Porterfield took her silence for surrender.
“Now you’re going to call 911 and confess. I know cops. They love a confession, and they’ll love taking two of you off the board at once.”
“Why would I confess?”
“To stay alive. If you don’t you’ll disappear. People like you disappear all the time.”
“And if I do?”
“You’ll do a few years for manslaughter. Free room and board. Then you get out and get on with your pathetic life. There will be some money for you in it.”
“Money,” said Diana. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Porterfield hadn’t expected that. He studied her.
“Be very sure about this. Don’t think you can put anything over on me. If I get that idea, I’ll get rid of you and take my chances.”
“You don’t give me much choice.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He took out a c ell phone and handed it to her.
“It’s prepaid,” he said. “It can’t be traced to me. And it’s expired, so don’t bother trying to call anyone but 911.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
“That’s what I do for a living.”
Diana took the phone and made the call. She explained where she was to the operator.
“Somebody’s dead here. It just happened.”
The operator sounded as if she heard it all the time. “Stay on the line. The officers will be right there.”
Porterfield stared at her for another long moment. When he was satisfied, he opened the door and closed it behind him. Through the door she heard the faint sound of an upscale engine starting and then accelerating smoothly. It faded, but she knew the Lexus would stay close by.
The operator asked one innocuous question, and then another. It was obvious what she was trying to do.
“Relax,” said Diana. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Five minutes later came a knock, the kind that only cops k new how to do.
“They’re here,” Diana told the operator.
She ended the call and set the phone down on the cheap table in the corner. She opened the door. It was just one young man in uniform. She didn’t know him. He looked so young that she was afraid she had been hooking longer than he had been breathing.
Diana nodded toward Jacki’s body on the floor. The young cop motioned to her to turn around and raise her arms. He frisked her and then cuffed her wrists behind her. It was her second experience of handcuffs, and the experience hadn’t improved.
He pointed to the flimsy chair by the cheap circular table in the corner of the room. She went and sat. With her hands and arms trapped between her own back and the hard back of the chair, she hoped she wouldn’t have to stay there long.
She didn’t speak. Neither did the officer. About fifteen very long minutes later another knock sounded. The uniformed officer opened the door and admitted the detective Diana had been
Diana had seen death a number of times, and as always, there was no mistaking it. Jacki lay on her back. She had surrendered unconditionally to gravity, and her head tilted so sharply to her left that her temple rubbed her shoulder. Only a broken neck would permit such an angle.
Diana pulled her eyes away and focused on Porterfield.
“Why?” she said. “Why would he kill her?”
Porterfield’s lack of expression told her everything.
“He didn’t. Howard didn’t kill her. You did. Do your sidekicks know that? I’ll bet they don’t. They’d accept it from Howard, but not from you.”
Still no reaction from him.
“You pathetic piece of shit. You wanted some of your boss’s scraps, and she wouldn’t put out. Right?”
“I didn’t kill her,” said Porterfield. “You did.”
“I figured that was what this is about.”
“You confronted her about trying that sting on you. And you argued, and you broke her neck.”
“I’m in shape, but I’m not that strong.”
“You were in a rage. You didn’t know your own strength.”
She decided it wasn’t worth arguing. Porterfield took her silence for surrender.
“Now you’re going to call 911 and confess. I know cops. They love a confession, and they’ll love taking two of you off the board at once.”
“Why would I confess?”
“To stay alive. If you don’t you’ll disappear. People like you disappear all the time.”
“And if I do?”
“You’ll do a few years for manslaughter. Free room and board. Then you get out and get on with your pathetic life. There will be some money for you in it.”
“Money,” said Diana. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Porterfield hadn’t expected that. He studied her.
“Be very sure about this. Don’t think you can put anything over on me. If I get that idea, I’ll get rid of you and take my chances.”
“You don’t give me much choice.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He took out a c ell phone and handed it to her.
“It’s prepaid,” he said. “It can’t be traced to me. And it’s expired, so don’t bother trying to call anyone but 911.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
“That’s what I do for a living.”
Diana took the phone and made the call. She explained where she was to the operator.
“Somebody’s dead here. It just happened.”
The operator sounded as if she heard it all the time. “Stay on the line. The officers will be right there.”
Porterfield stared at her for another long moment. When he was satisfied, he opened the door and closed it behind him. Through the door she heard the faint sound of an upscale engine starting and then accelerating smoothly. It faded, but she knew the Lexus would stay close by.
The operator asked one innocuous question, and then another. It was obvious what she was trying to do.
“Relax,” said Diana. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Five minutes later came a knock, the kind that only cops k new how to do.
“They’re here,” Diana told the operator.
She ended the call and set the phone down on the cheap table in the corner. She opened the door. It was just one young man in uniform. She didn’t know him. He looked so young that she was afraid she had been hooking longer than he had been breathing.
Diana nodded toward Jacki’s body on the floor. The young cop motioned to her to turn around and raise her arms. He frisked her and then cuffed her wrists behind her. It was her second experience of handcuffs, and the experience hadn’t improved.
He pointed to the flimsy chair by the cheap circular table in the corner of the room. She went and sat. With her hands and arms trapped between her own back and the hard back of the chair, she hoped she wouldn’t have to stay there long.
She didn’t speak. Neither did the officer. About fifteen very long minutes later another knock sounded. The uniformed officer opened the door and admitted the detective Diana had been
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