Death by Sarcasm (10 page)

“Let’s go back to the old guy.”

“Oh my God,” the fat man said.

Mary felt him jerk. “What?”

“There he is.” Mary began to look across the street where the guy’s eyes were looking, but she never finished her scan.

The fat man’s head snapped back against the brick wall and Mary felt a gush of warmth on her hand. Blood and brain matter poured from the back of his head. He slumped against her as another bullet hit him in the chest. Shards of brick bit into Mary’s neck as a bullet exploded next to her ear. She tried to push against the fat man but as his body sagged to the sidewalk, it took her with it. She found herself trapped beneath him, struggling to get free.

She looked over his shoulder across the street. An old man in a turquoise blue windbreaker was standing just behind a tree, his gun blocked from view. She saw him step to the right, saw the gun and the silencer attached and held her arm up and over the fat man, then fired a quick shot at the old guy across the street.

Mary got one leg beneath her and pushed upward, heaved with all of her strength, and rolled the fat man over. She was able to squirm out from underneath him.

Across the street, the old man’s gun spat again and glass from the art studio’s window showered down upon her. She had no choice. She got to her feet, crouched, and then dove over the art studio’s display shelf into the showroom itself. The dolphin woman sculpture exploded and pieces of metal, paper mache and wire rained down on Mary’s back. The head and shoulders of the sculpture were still intact, so she took cover behind them and fired at the old man. She steadied her hand and reeled off shot after shot, emptying her entire clip in a matter of seconds.

Mary’s ears rang and the smell of gunpowder assaulted her senses. She ducked back down and thumbed the magazine release, grabbed her spare from her coat pocket, slammed it in, then wiped her bloody hand off on a piece of curtain that had been shot off the window.

“Eewww,” Mary said, not wanting to look at the liquid on her hand.

Bullets exploded around her. The shooter had a fucking silencer. Great. She couldn’t tell where the shots were coming from now, but it seemed like he’d changed position.

Mary waited out the last of the explosions then rolled and popped up just over the display platform. The blue windbreaker caught her eye. He’d moved two trees over and was slapping another clip into his gun.

She let out a breath, and waited for him to step away from the tree.

He did.

Mary fired twice fast. The double tap.

The man went down in a heap.

Mary vaulted over the display platform and onto the sidewalk, nearly slipping on the concrete’s coating of glass and blood. She raced across the street, her gun held out in front of her just in case the old shooter was playing possum.

But once she got to him, stood over him and looked at the blood gushing from his mouth, she knew it was no act.

“Who
are
you?” she said.

A weird sucking sound came from his chest and his mouth opened.

“Aaauegh,” he said and then his eyes went still. Pink bubbles came out of his nose.

“Huh, is that an Arabic name?” Mary said.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

Mary reached into his coat pocket, nothing but more clips. Her hands shook slightly and her legs felt weak. Her breath was shallow and for a moment she thought she would faint.

Mary searched him and found a slim wallet in his pocket. She flipped it open to his California driver’s license.

Noah Baxter.

She’d never heard of him.

L
APD’s finest arrived and Mary surrendered her weapon and submitted to a search. They put her in the back of a squad car while the patrol cops wandered around, waiting for the detectives and crime scene technicians to show up.

Mary sniffed. The car smelled vaguely of vomit. Maybe it was the cop’s cologne. Eau de regurgitation.

Probably some drunk on his way to the tank must have tossed his Chips Ahoys back here. The patrol cops were in charge of cleaning their own vehicles if something like that happened, Mary knew. This had obviously been cleaned by a man. Most guys she knew, the only way they could clean something is if it was with a Swiffer.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the flash of some fish-belly white skin. Mary turned just as Jake and the Shark got out of their detective’s car.

“Fun has officially arrived,” Mary said under her breath. She looked at the Shark and the way she assumed instant command of the scene. But God she was pale. The ME guys might mistakes her for the corpse.

Mary shivered. It wasn’t the first time she had killed someone. But it wasn’t easy. She forced it from her mind, but suddenly a chill would shoot down her spine and her stomach would do flip flops.

A couple of the uniforms were talking to the pair of detectives, gesturing and pointing with their hands and occasionally looking over at the patrol car.

“Yeah, hi,” Mary said, watching the Shark. “Go to hell, uh-huh, hello,” she said. Mary felt off-kilter. She’d just shot and killed an old man, for God’s sake. The adrenaline had worn off and now she just felt tired and cranky. She pictured her bed back in her apartment. She wanted to curl up inside the warm blankets and not come out for a few months.

Mary saw the tall, pale woman nod toward the car and immediately one of the patrol cops turned and walked toward her. Jake shot her a look as if to say, “There’s nothing I can do right now.”

“Yes, your hands are tied. I totally understand,” Mary said under her breath again, just as the patrol cop opened up the driver’s door and got behind the wheel.

“Did someone puke in here or is your gym bag in the trunk?” Mary said.

The cop put the car in gear and ignored her. They drove away from the scene and Mary instantly felt a touch better.

“I mean, jeez, it smells like a French whore with a purse full of gorgonzola,” she said.

The cop looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m taking you downtown,” he said.

“Downtown? Oh, that’s lovely. We can do some shopping…go get a pedicure--”

“Ma’am, I hope you realize how serious this is.”

When they pulled up at a stoplight, he looked up at the rearview mirror. Mary saw that he was a young guy. Probably the lowest ranking of everyone at the scene. He looked a little green around the gills. Maybe he’d never seen a dead person before. He’d probably looked at both the big guy and the old man. Neither one of them looked very good.

Mary had seen more than her fair share. She should probably be more sensitive to the poor kid.

“Serious,” Mary said. “Yes. Very serious. So how do you like Lieutenant Davies? Does she remind of you Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith Show?”

“Aunt Bea? The what show?” the cop said.

Oooh. Age gap. Shit, she had to stop doing that. Stop referencing shows that were on when these young guys were in their goddamn diapers. The young cop guided the patrol car smoothly on to the I-10 freeway.

“Never mind,” Mary said, once they’d settled into a lane. “Lieutenant Davies. What do you think of her? Do you know she’s actually made of wax?”

“How do you know her?” he said.

“Hey, just answer the question.”

He looked at her in the rearview mirror. Couldn’t decide whether to be offended at her tone, or to answer. He chose to answer.

“She’s…good,” he said.

“That’s what I call a ringing endorsement.”

“Well, I mean. You know, smart. Efficient.”

“Now you’re gushing.”

“She—”

“Do you think she’s hot?”

“Ma’am, I’d rather not…I’m driving. And you’re involved in a double homicide. I don’t think I should be talking to you about our detectives.”

Mary nodded to him in the rearview mirror.

“Is she still fucking that Cornell guy?”

“Okay,” the young cop said. “That’s it. I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Just tell me the office scuttlebutt. Are they still a couple?”

He looked in the mirror again at her, as he took the exit for downtown proper.

“That’s the rumor,” he said.

Mary laid her head back on the seat and watched L.A. fly past her window.

You never knew with rumors. Jake had said it was a one-night stand. Well, if it was more than that, good for Jake. Might help him get promoted faster. They made a nice couple.

A nice couple.

Kind of like Satan and Judas.

The cop allowed her to go to the bathroom, then brought her a cup of coffee in an actual coffee cup. The cup read “Death Valley National Park.” Nice.

“Thanks,” Mary said. She took a sip. It was awful. “Mmmm, Mountain Grown.”

They left her alone for an hour. Fucking Jake. How could he leave her in here this long, knowing she’d just killed someone? The depths of his treachery were deepening every day. He was probably picking up the Shark’s dry cleaning, trying to improve the scores on his performance review at the end of the year.

Or else they were just killing time to make her more willing to talk. Bastards.

After another fifteen minutes of waiting, the door opened and Jake walked in. He looked tired and frazzled. Mary had no sympathy for him.

“All done debriefing your boss?” Mary said.

Jake stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mary put a finger to her chin. “Hmm. What could that mean? What could the subtext possibly be?”

He let out a heavy sigh and dropped a file folder on the desk. “This isn’t the time,” Jake said.

“That’s what you said last time,” Mary said. “She’s really got you under control – did she put a dog collar on you and call you dirty names-”

“Mary,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re not doing yourself any good.” Jake’s eyes snaked over toward the mirror.

“I know she’s listening,” Mary said. “Probably watching your tough guy interrogation tactics and touching herself every time you-”

“Cut the shit and tell me what happened.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at his flaring temper.

“Oooh,” she said. “I think you just made her moan.”

Jake grinded his jaws together. “What. Happened.”

Mary sighed. “Okay. I actually do have a confession to make. Are you sure I shouldn’t have my lawyer here?”

“Come on, Mary,” he said, his voice softer and his body relaxing. “It’s me.”

“Okay,” Mary said, nodding as if she’d reached a decision. “My confession. Here it is.”

She let the pause hang for a moment.

“I’m a chubby chaser. I like fat guys.”

Jake’s eyes went half-mast.

“That fat guy I was with?” she said. “I planned to take his roly poly ass home and screw his brains out. There’s nothing I like more than grabbing a couple handfuls of Dubuque ham-”

The door banged open and the Shark walked in.

“Jake, I’ll take over.”

“Ooh,” Mary said. “I think you’ve just been bitch-slapped Jake. Jump to it, little lady.”

“Shut up,” Davies said.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Potty mouth,” she said.

“Jake,” the Shark said. “Out.”

Jake turned and headed for the door.

“I bet he likes it when you boss him around, doesn’t he?” Mary said. “I can tell you’re the Alpha Male in the relationship, that’s for sure. Does he have food bowls with his name on them?”

The door slammed shut and the sound reverberated in the small room. Davies said nothing. She just looked at Mary, gathering herself. Mary looked back at her. One eyebrow raised.

“What’s the problem?” Mary said. “I really do like fat guys.” The Shark nodded. “How about we help each other out?” she said.

“You mean…cooperate?”

“You give us some information, we’ll give you some information.”

“That sounds very Democratic,” Mary said. “Very American.”

“So tell me something. Anything. As long as it’s not about your fetish for the big boys.”

Mary nodded. “That makes sense. Perfect sense. Okay, here’s what I know-”

The door burst open and slammed against the opposite wall.

“That’s enough!” Whitney Braggs said as he walked into the room accompanied by a tall, regal woman with a pinched face and frizzy hair.

“I am Joan Hessburg,” the woman said. She handed a card to Davies. “I am an attorney and Mary Cooper is my client,” the woman said. “Are you charging her with a crime, Detective?”

The Shark looked like a pile of horse manure had just been dropped at her feet.

“The cavalry led by Bob Barker,” Mary said. “I love it!”

“Motherfuckers kept us waiting for a half hour,” Braggs said, glaring at Davies.

Mary shook her head. The guy looked like a walking advertisement for Nautica but beat people up and had the mouth of a Navy construction worker. If it weren’t for his racial epitaphs, she could actually like him.

“Let’s go, Miss Cooper,” her new attorney said. She gave the Shark her card. “Contact me if you wish to further question my client.”

The Shark took the card and threw it on the floor, then headed for the door.

“Take her and get out,” the Shark said. “Good riddance.”

Mary called out to her, “Cute blouse!”

She turned to Braggs and her new attorney.

“You got here just in time,” Mary said. She nodded toward the departing Davies. “She was going to do a full cavity search on me. But here’s the awful part, she said she was going to have me do one on her afterward.”

Mary shook her head, and looked toward the mirror. “Sicko.”

M
ary needed a drink, and she invited Braggs and the attorney. Of course, Ms. Hessberg begged off. Time is money was the unspoken excuse. She left Mary with a card and a lingering scent of Chanel. Or maybe J. Lo.

Mary had killed before. She’d shot an insane husband set on killing his ex-wife. She’d killed a drug dealer determined to kill her client’s son for some sort of supposed deal gone bad.

Each time, there was a delayed reaction. Initially, the justification was enough. Over time, however, it wasn’t easy. It was like a darkish cloud hanging over her for awhile. The immediate solution? Booze.

But Mary had to clean herself. So she had Braggs drive her home and sent him out for drinks. If the fucking guy was going to be around, he might as well be useful. By the time she had showered, Braggs showed back up with enough bottles of beer, booze and wine to satisfy a fraternity during Rush week.