The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,47
to get shot by some trigger-happy rookie because some old lady in the Irish Channel called the cops on a black guy popping the lock of a car that’s been here two days.”
“Oh, but you’ll let me do it?”
“They won’t you shoot you. Pretty white ladies make very good human shields.”
“Nice to be needed. Ready?” she asked as she reached for the trunk latch by the steering wheel.
“I’ll do it,” Cyrus said. “You man the trunk.”
“What if there’s a monster in there?” she asked.
“You’re scarier than I am,” Cyrus said.
“This is probably true. Hit it.”
Nora waited at the trunk as Cyrus pulled the lever. The latch released and the trunk opened.
“No monsters,” Nora said. “I think.”
“Uh-oh.” Cyrus walked around to the trunk, kind of wincing as he went to stand by her. “What does ‘I think’ mean? Blanket.”
“Yup, that’s a blanket. And there’s something under the blanket.”
There was definitely something under that blanket. Nora stared long and hard at the bulge, which could have been anything from a flat tire kit to a dead animal in a garbage bag.
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Good sign,” Cyrus said. “I’m gonna do it. Stand back.”
She stood by and waited. Cyrus pulled the blanket back.
“That’s not much better,” Nora said.
“That’s a suspicious-looking duffel bag.”
She pointed at the bag in the trunk.
“Not big enough for a body,” Cyrus said.
“Not a whole body, you mean.”
“Don’t do this to me.” Cyrus shook his head.
“My turn,” Nora said. “Stand back. I’m going in.”
God bless Cyrus Tremont, the man actually stood back instead of doing any macho posturing. She took latex gloves out of her purse, pulled them on, and unzipped the duffle.
“Houston, we have a pervert,” she said.
“What is it?” Cyrus stepped forward again.
“Let’s see…” Nora started pulling items out of the bag. “We’ve got handcuffs. We’ve got ankle restraints. We’ve got rope, bondage tape, blindfolds, and three different gags.”
She spilled the cuffs, rope, tape, and gags into the trunk to give Cyrus a look at them.
“Either he was kinky, or Father Ike was going to kidnap somebody.”
“He was definitely stocking up on Aisle 15 in Home Depot.” She picked up the two lengths of rope.
“You get this shit at the Depot? I’ve been shopping the wrong aisles.”
“Not really,” she said. “This is called love rope. It’s much softer than real rope. Used for bondage. I mean, it can tie you the fuck up and you won’t be able to get out, but it also won’t tear your skin apart like hemp rope.”
She pointed at a roll of something. “And that’s bondage tape, not duct tape. It sticks to itself but not to the skin. Same thing. Ties you up but doesn’t leave marks. You have to either go to a kink shop—and there aren’t many of those in this town—or you order it online. Kidnappers don’t usually care about not leaving bruises.”
“So, he’s kinky or the world’s nicest kidnapper,” Cyrus said. “I prefer kinky.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
Cyrus started to reply when an older white woman stepped out of the front door of a pale pink shotgun house.
“That your car?” the woman asked.
“Lord,” Cyrus muttered before turning around and smiling at the woman. “No, ma’am. I’m a detective trying to find someone who might be missing. This is their car.”
“Who are you?” the woman asked Nora. She didn’t seem too satisfied with Cyrus’s answer.
“I’m the cocksmith,” Nora called back.
“What?”
“Locksmith,” Cyrus said, giving Nora the look she deserved. “Did you happen to see someone park this car here a few nights ago?”
“No, but it’s been there three days now. I was about to get it towed.”
“We’ll move it,” Nora said.
“You allowed to do that?”
“Is it your car?” Nora asked.
“What? No, it’s not mine.” The woman sounded more irritated than ever.
“Then don’t worry about it. We got this.” Nora raised her hand and made a “shooing” gesture. It appeared the woman was about to say something, so Nora shooed her away again. With a disgusted shake of her head, the women retreated back into her home.
“I got to try that someday,” he said. “You just…” He made the ‘shooing’ gesture. “And nosy old ladies go away.”
“I’m not sure it would work for you. And she’s probably calling the cops on us right now anyway.”
Cyrus laughed and pointed at the car. “What do you think? Hotwire it?”
“Hotwire it,” she said. “I need to dig through the bag a little more. Better not do it here if she is ratting us out. Where’s your place?”