Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“We were at Club Basque,” the male confessed, like he was talking to his parent. “We saw him get into trouble and get booted. But we didn’t follow him, and we certainly didn’t kill him. We just happened to come here because…”
At this trail-off, the guy put two palms forward, all I’m-totally-innocent, like he was thinking Rehv was jumping to some kind of Colt .45 conclusion. Whatever. Mr. Slim-Cut Slacks with the European tailored jacket, Bally loafers, and rule-abider vibe was never going to be at the top of the list for hired-hand enforcers.
As a siren sounded out close by, Rehv turned the victim over. The instant he saw the face, he had to keep the cursing to himself.
“We figured, you know… oh, God…”
Strangled coughing cut off the civilian’s conversation, and wasn’t that nice.
“This is not my problem,” Rehv announced as he got to his feet.
The male’s eyes went back to the corpse’s face, like he was trying to nut up with the visual—and what do you know, he had to look away again and gag.
After a couple of swallows, he choked out, “B-b-but it’s one of us.”
“So. Why does this have anything to do with me?”
“I thought, well, maybe he hadn’t paid you or something. I was just trying to…”
“Protect me?” Rehv rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I promise you, if I have to issue a correction to one of my clients, the body isn’t going to be found by anyone.”
The civilian put his arm around his stomach like things were rolling in there. Then he glanced at his girlfriend. Sidepiece. Rando. Whatever she was to him, the female wasn’t sparing him or the dismembered dead guy a glance. She was locked on Rehv, her heavily lashed eyes low-lidded with intent like she was ready for a sexual upgrade.
Don’t hold your breath, sweetheart, Rehv thought.
“What if humans find it?” the male mumbled. “Isn’t that bad for the species?”
Rehv made a show of checking his Daytona Rollie with the rainbow dial. “Won’t be an issue in another seven hours—six and a half if there are no clouds. Daylight is the best cleaning service there is.”
As the male deflated, his good deed not as good as he’d thought it was, Rehv had to ask, “You said you were at the club and you saw him?”
The male nodded earnestly. “He got into some trouble with a human woman in the bathroom, and when he was kicked out by the bouncers, he was throwing punches. Big commotion, but it was handled. We stayed another forty-five minutes and then… found him here.”
Rehv shrugged. “Look, I have to go—”
“It’s the second one,” the female purred, and when he glanced across at her, she deliberately ran her fingertip over her lower lip. “That’s right, there was another.”
“Where?” Rehv demanded. “When.”
The male pulled some more head bobbing and took over the talking, clearly the hand-popper kid in the front of the class who had to get the A. “About three weeks ago. It was also close to dawn. Same thing, except it was a male who’d gotten in trouble at Blasphemy.”
Rehv closed his eyes briefly. “You left that body and let it burn?”
“Yes. I mean, what am I going to do—we, I mean.”
“Join the club.” Rehv waved off toward the electric car. “Just go, okay.”
“Thanks.” Like the guy was assuming that Rehv would handle things. “I’ve been feeling badly about just leaving the other one. Oh, and um… what’s the spread on the Eagles next week?”
“Call me later.”
The female lingered for a split sec as her BF headed off for the Tesla, as if she were giving Rehv a chance to ask for her driver’s license or something. Maybe her bra size. When there was no bait taken, she gave him a rear view and a half as she went over to the road Roomba.
When the happy couple were gone, he went back to ground, so to speak, even though the close-up didn’t change anything. The male was still dead, and under any other circumstances, Rehv wouldn’t have given a shit. He could imagine exactly the kind of “trouble” the bastard had gotten into with that woman in the loo, and assholes deserve what they got.
The problem was all in the eyes, as they say.
Or in this case, the no eyes.
Both peepers had been removed from their sockets, although not in a sloppy, messy way. There were no straggles of an optic nerve or parts of the sclera left behind; the meat had been scooped out cleanly, all melon-baller-tidy, like a spoon with a deep cup had been wielded with excellent skill.
“Damn it, Xhex. What are you doing.”
He knew the answer to that, and it was a devastating one.
Taking out his phone, he pulled her contact up and initiated a call. When it wasn’t answered, he wasn’t surprised.