Death by Sarcasm - By Dani Amore Page 0,29

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.

Sixteen

LAPD’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