Page 28 of Junior Has a Secret
“Yes.Yes.Yes,” he says, and the look on his face is pure orgasm, his fingers curled into the fist pumps he’s now initiated.“I’m going to make-up for what happened at the diner.I’m going to prove myself.”
I shake my head in disbelief at how empty-headed a smart guy can be.“Do you really think bringing up the pie you used as a weapon that I then slipped on while I tried to kill a killer is smart?”
Jack holds up his hands.“Forget I said that.I got this.I promise.”
“I don’t want to see the body in case you think I’m on Team Dead Body,” Jay interjects, making his presence known again.“Actually, I don’t even need to hear the details.”
“And for that, Jay,” I say, “you get two hands, but not mine.Go find the two hands.”
His face goes slack.“Wait.What?”
“The body has no hands,” Jack supplies, figuring it out on his own, or trying to, at least.“Mob?”he queries but he doesn’t wait for an answer.“No.No.That makes no sense.The mob wouldn’t go to the trouble of cutting off the hands, only to leave a body we might otherwise identify.Does the victim have teeth we can use to identify him or her?”
“That’s up to you to find out when the team gets here.“
He’s moved on or rather circled back.“Why cut off the hands if you don’t ditch the body?”His brow knits.“Michael fromHalloween—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Jack,” I warn.“Every time I try to take you seriously, you go down that rabbit hole.This isn’t fiction, but it is a horror story.Focus onthisstory.Thisvictim who may well have had his hands chopped off while he was still alive.”
“I do not want to hear this,” Jay grinds out.
He’s not acting like he works for Kane Mendez, let alone, Lilah Love-Mendez.Is he traumatized, too?And if so, what the fuck is going on?Whatever it is, this isn’t the time or place for me to figure that out.I ignore him and his wussy behavior and charge onward, “If the hands aren’t here,” I say, “they could have been taken as trophies.If theyarehere, they may well be posed somewhere, a part of a killer’s game he’s playing with law enforcement.Find the hands.”I start walking toward the stairs and as I reach the bottom step, I turn and add, “And bootie up.”I reach in my bag and pull a pair out.“Do either of you need these?”
“I have booties,” Jack offers, reaching for his bag, only to have an action figure fall out.
He scrambles to grab it.I don’t wait for the explanation which will be a lot of words that end up meaning he’s a geek and I don’t even care.If the motto becomes geeks have more fun and geeks catch more killers, I’ll live with it.If he will juststoptalking.I walk up the stairs, the area around me already contaminated, but better to cover up, than not.Once I’m on the top step, I find far too many people walking everywhere, and meandering about a cluster of desks and sitting areas both left and right.What fuckery is this?
A tall man with a bulldog face and sporting a decently expensive black jacket stands directly in my path, hands on his hips, his weapon on display.“A big guy with a big gun,” I say.“Pocher does like his playthings.”
He scowls at me.“I’m not—”
“Do you work for Pocher?That was the question you clearly didn’t understand.”
To this, he keeps the same scowl, but the lines in his forehead dip a little deeper.“You didn’t ask a question.”
“Just because you didn’t hear it, does not mean I didn’t ask it.”I hold up my badge.“Do you work for Pocher?”
“Yes.”
“Good.We made progress.Before I go on, do I need to speak slowly for you to answer some questions?”
His eyes glint.“You’re a bitch.”
“True, but the badge does keep most people from telling me.Those who work for Pocher seem to think they can do anything and more though.Even cut off someone’s hands.”
He folds his hands in front of him, allowing his weapon to slide out of sight.“It wasn’t me.”
“Is ‘me’ your name or did your parents like you more than that?”
“Mickey Smalls.”
“In other words, your parents hate you.Were they mouse fans?”
He grits his teeth loud enough that I think he might crack one.“Funny.Ha Ha.”
“You don’t sound like you think it’s funny.You get it, right?Mickey—”
“Whatis your question?”Impatience tinges his voice.