The Subtle Art of Brutality

“Okay,” I say.

“Also,” Clevenger says hesitantly, “Pinky Meyers got busted on a parole violation three weeks ago. Been in the pen ever since. He’s not our guy.”

“That was a big to-do about nothing.”

“Just thought narrowing your suspect list down would be good news.”

“It is. Riggens called with similar news less than an hour ago.”

“I heard he pulled in Abigail Bellview’s ex-boyfriend for questioning. He confess?”

“Riggens thinks it’s forthcoming. Now Volksman.”

“Well, you know Rudd likes Ben Boothe.”

“Yes. We spoke earlier. He’s so dirty one fire isn’t going to put any tarnish on his record.”

“Rapists,” Clevenger says. “As a species they are never going to get better, are they?”

“Sure,” I chuckle. “Alright, I gotta go for real this time.”

“No problem,” he says. I hang up.

A-bomb. What a fucking A-bomb.

The cashier hands me my change and I set the tip down on the table. I start to head out and veer off to the counter again.

The cashier is the diner type: middle-aged, overweight, pleasant-looking, chewing gum. Poofy hair, pencil behind her ear. Apron.

“Ma’am?” I ask.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s better here, the corned beef Reuben or the pastrami Reuben?”

“Oh my gracious, honey.” She seems shocked that I wouldn’t just know, let alone ask. “The corned beef. Everyone knows that.”

Fucking Volksman.

55

Juliette Marsden was married six years ago and became Juliette Franklin.

Delilah’s high school best friend is of average height, weight and pretty. Noticeable, but not stunning. I prefer noticeable as opposed to stunning because I am a man of limited charm and the stunning women expect a lot from suitors that my charm will not produce. Nor do I care to put out that much effort.

Juliette Franklin’s cleavage is just the way I like it: exposed, Grand Canyon deep and in my face. She and her husband let me in their door after I tell them who I am and what I am doing. He prepares drinks and Mrs. Franklin sits down next to me. Close enough I can count the freckles on her boobs.

Even if she doesn’t know anything this visit will be worth it.

If her husband has a problem with his wife’s conduct towards unannounced guests he either doesn’t say anything for fear I’ll fuck up his world or he doesn’t notice.

Or care.

“Yes, Delilah was here three days ago,” Mrs. Franklin says as if it weren’t a big thing.

Well, I’ll be damned. Mrs. Franklin, if you knew how many people I have killed in pursuit of this gal.

“What were you having again, Mr. Buckner?” the husband asks as he sets a fu-fu looking cocktail in front of his wife and her boobs.