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 B
Authors: Roger Hobbs, Eric Beetner, Patti Abbott, Sam Wiebe, Albert Tucher, Christopher Irvin, Anton Sim, Garrett Crowe
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hoping for. That was the good thing about small police departments.
“Hey, Diana.”
“McGarrity, what’s up?”
He nodded at the uniformed officer, who went outside and closed the door behind him. McGarrity looked at Jacki on the floor and then back at Diana.
“ Switchboard says you confessed.”
“Not exactly.”
He looked around some more. He was slow and methodical about it.
“So,” he said. “What are those assholes trying to pull?”
She explained.
“Could be hard to prove if the bodyguards back him up,” said McGarrity.
“They will. You have a smartphone?”
“A dinosaur like me? Come on.”
“I don’t either. Your uniform looks young enough to be digital.”
McGarrity went to the door and opened it. He spoke to the uniformed officer, who came back inside. McGarrity nodded, and the young man unlocked the handcuffs. Diana refused to rub her wrists in front of the two cops, but the relief was sweet.
“Give her your phone for a minute.”
The young cop was careful to keep his face expressionless, but disapproval came through in his movements. He held his cell phone out at arm’s length. Diana took it and thumbed in numbers that she knew well. She was af raid the call would go to voicemail, but Mary Alice answered.
“You still have that picture of Len Howard? Email it to this number, okay?”
“What happened to taking your lumps?”
“That was when we were talking about a hooker bust. This is a lot more than that.”
“Okay, but I’m earning some ‘I told you so’ points here.”
“No argument from me.”
The photo arrived seconds later. Diana held the phone out to McGarrity.
“Please,” he said. “I just ate.”
“Try being me for a day.”
“How am I supposed to use this?”
“You can lie to a suspect, can’t you?”
“Howard’s not a suspect.”
“Make him think he is. Make him think Jacki took the picture. Then give him a chance to throw Porterfield under the bus. When he does that, the two sidekicks will give him up. They know he was here.”
He nodded.
“I’ve made it work with less than that. No guarantees, though.”
“Kind of like life.”
Gallows Point
by Sam Wiebe
Mid-afternoon and the sky was a wreath of smoke over the ash-gray water. The Bastard would be on the afternoon ferry from Departure Bay. His first time on the mainland since retirement.
From the terminal parking lot the Old Man watched the fat white boat cut a stately pace through the gray waves. Ten minutes. Rain swept over the windshield in streaks. The Old Man rotated the ignition key enough to make the wiper blades fling the water to the margins of the pane. The Bastard was long-legged and extremely tall. Remembering this, the Old Man bent and adjusted the passenger’s seat back. Then he opened the glovebox and transferred the pistol to the stash below the armrest.
The boat docked. The ramp came down. The foot passengers left the vehicle deck. The Bastard was last off the boat, trailing behind two crew members. His clothes were outdated. Old age had stooped him, undercutting his height. The Old Man flipped on the headlights. The Bastard veered toward them without seeming to change direction. The Bastard’s paleness and height made his movements seem uncanny, almost spectral.
When both of them were in the car they shook hands.
“Hope the ferry ride was tolerable,” the Old Man began.
“Infrequency makes it so. And yourself?”
“Alive. Healthy.”
“And therein lies the problem.”
Even with the seat reclined, the Bastard’s knees grazed the underside of the dash. The Old Man had turned slightly to face him. The Bastard stared straight ahead, smiling. His smile coaxed unpleasant memories from the Old Man.
“Retirement doesn’t agree with everyone,” the Bastard said. “Your responsibilities dwindle. You linger over past mistakes. I assume your invitation sprang from sheer boredom.”
“We have unfinished business,” the Old Man said.
“You
“Hey, Diana.”
“McGarrity, what’s up?”
He nodded at the uniformed officer, who went outside and closed the door behind him. McGarrity looked at Jacki on the floor and then back at Diana.
“ Switchboard says you confessed.”
“Not exactly.”
He looked around some more. He was slow and methodical about it.
“So,” he said. “What are those assholes trying to pull?”
She explained.
“Could be hard to prove if the bodyguards back him up,” said McGarrity.
“They will. You have a smartphone?”
“A dinosaur like me? Come on.”
“I don’t either. Your uniform looks young enough to be digital.”
McGarrity went to the door and opened it. He spoke to the uniformed officer, who came back inside. McGarrity nodded, and the young man unlocked the handcuffs. Diana refused to rub her wrists in front of the two cops, but the relief was sweet.
“Give her your phone for a minute.”
The young cop was careful to keep his face expressionless, but disapproval came through in his movements. He held his cell phone out at arm’s length. Diana took it and thumbed in numbers that she knew well. She was af raid the call would go to voicemail, but Mary Alice answered.
“You still have that picture of Len Howard? Email it to this number, okay?”
“What happened to taking your lumps?”
“That was when we were talking about a hooker bust. This is a lot more than that.”
“Okay, but I’m earning some ‘I told you so’ points here.”
“No argument from me.”
The photo arrived seconds later. Diana held the phone out to McGarrity.
“Please,” he said. “I just ate.”
“Try being me for a day.”
“How am I supposed to use this?”
“You can lie to a suspect, can’t you?”
“Howard’s not a suspect.”
“Make him think he is. Make him think Jacki took the picture. Then give him a chance to throw Porterfield under the bus. When he does that, the two sidekicks will give him up. They know he was here.”
He nodded.
“I’ve made it work with less than that. No guarantees, though.”
“Kind of like life.”
Gallows Point
by Sam Wiebe
Mid-afternoon and the sky was a wreath of smoke over the ash-gray water. The Bastard would be on the afternoon ferry from Departure Bay. His first time on the mainland since retirement.
From the terminal parking lot the Old Man watched the fat white boat cut a stately pace through the gray waves. Ten minutes. Rain swept over the windshield in streaks. The Old Man rotated the ignition key enough to make the wiper blades fling the water to the margins of the pane. The Bastard was long-legged and extremely tall. Remembering this, the Old Man bent and adjusted the passenger’s seat back. Then he opened the glovebox and transferred the pistol to the stash below the armrest.
The boat docked. The ramp came down. The foot passengers left the vehicle deck. The Bastard was last off the boat, trailing behind two crew members. His clothes were outdated. Old age had stooped him, undercutting his height. The Old Man flipped on the headlights. The Bastard veered toward them without seeming to change direction. The Bastard’s paleness and height made his movements seem uncanny, almost spectral.
When both of them were in the car they shook hands.
“Hope the ferry ride was tolerable,” the Old Man began.
“Infrequency makes it so. And yourself?”
“Alive. Healthy.”
“And therein lies the problem.”
Even with the seat reclined, the Bastard’s knees grazed the underside of the dash. The Old Man had turned slightly to face him. The Bastard stared straight ahead, smiling. His smile coaxed unpleasant memories from the Old Man.
“Retirement doesn’t agree with everyone,” the Bastard said. “Your responsibilities dwindle. You linger over past mistakes. I assume your invitation sprang from sheer boredom.”
“We have unfinished business,” the Old Man said.
“You
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