Tag Archives: chapter sixteen part one

Duck, Duck, Dead Duck; chapter sixteen, part one

“You found it.”  I looked up, startled by the sound of a voice.  To my chagrin, Antoinette was standing in front of me with a gun in her hand.  She was about six feet away from me, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t miss.  She had an angry look in her eyes which was so unlike her usual vapid stare.  She also looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.  It made me wonder how much self-control it had taken her to get through the days while worrying about this hidden evidence at night.  I remembered the pepper spray my dad had bought me which was sitting at the bottom of my purse as we spoke.  I should have taken it as it would have come in handy, but too late for that now.  “You couldn’t just let it go, could you?  Fucking bitch.”  Antoinette kept the gun trained on me, and there wasn’t a tremor to her hand.  “Where did that asshole hide the shit?”

“In the filing cabinet,” I said numbly, my mind starting to shut down.  I fought off the sense of terror, desperately trying to remain cognizant.  It would do me no good to freak the hell out even though that’s what I felt like doing.

“Do you know how fucking gross it was to sleep with him?”  Antoinette demanded, her eyes hard.  “That tub of lard rubbing all over my body.”  She shivered in remembered disgust, but didn’t move the gun.

“Why did you date him?”  I asked, risking a question.  I got the sense that she wanted to talk, and I wasn’t about to stop her.  Hell, I’d encourage her to tell me her life story if it would keep me alive a few minutes longer.

“He said he’d promote me if I slept with him,” Antoinette replied.  “I needed the extra money.  It costs tons to go to school these days, even the U.”

“How did you meet Phillip?”  I asked, throwing caution to the wind.  I had a hunch that she would rather talk about Phillip than Eddie, and boy was I right.

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Trip on This: Chapter Sixteen (Part One)

Chapter Sixteen (Part One)

“The cop on the case is clean,” Mowgli informs Trip late Monday morning.  “I managed to finagle a meeting with him, and he’s not one of the assholes.”

“You sure about that?”  Trip asks, rubbing her eyes.  She hasn’t slept well all week, and it’s beginning to catch up to her.

“As sure as I can be,” Mowgli says with a sigh.  He’s not as certain as he’d like to be, but he doesn’t let Trip know that.  “He wanted the evidence right away, but grudgingly agreed to wait until this afternoon.  He said if he doesn’t hear from me by four o’clock, though, he’s tracking me down.”

“Did he suspect who you were?”  Trip asks, standing up to stretch her back.  Suddenly, she feels ten years older than her actual age, and she’s itching to do something to change that.

“I’m sure he did,” Mowgli says dryly.  “I’m not easy to disguise.  When I first walked into the station, he had his hand on his gun but as we continued talking, he eased up.  The photos I showed him of his chief helped.  He hates the prick.”  Showing the detective pictures of the chief raping little girls was a calculated risk, but one that both Mowgli and Trip had felt would reveal pretty quickly where Detective Beauregard stood.  After all, if the cop had been bent, he still would need Mowgli free to get his hands on all the evidence.  That was what they had been banking on, anyway.

“So he’ll play it our way?”  Trip asks, looking out the window.  The sun is shining, but she still feels cold.  She rubs her arms to perk up her circulation.

“Reluctantly.  He wanted me to go in with a wire, but I told him I had it covered.  He really doesn’t like not knowing where the meeting will be going down, but I made like a clam.”  Here, Mowgli presses his lips together to show his crustacean imitation.

“Does he know I’m involved?”

“Not explicitly, but he’s a smart boy.  I’m sure he figured it out.”  Mowgli pauses and breaks out into a smile.  “He’s cute, too.”

“Mowgli, this is not the time to be thinking about your love life,” Trip scolds, picking up the ‘room service’ menu and scanning it.

“I’m not,” Mowgli retorts, sliding an arm around Trip’s shoulders.  “I’m thinking about yours.  The detective bats for your team, not mine.”

“Even less relevant,” Trip blazes, sliding out from under Mowgli’s arm.  “We don’t have time for that nonsense.  Besides, I’m a fugitive from justice, remember?  And in my day job, I’m a repo man.  Cops and robbers do not mix.  What do you want to eat?”  They drop the topic of cops as they wait for their food to be delivered.  Neither particularly feels like venturing into the cafeteria or, God forbid, out of the hotel for something to eat.  They are focused on the job at hand and if everything goes right, it should all be over this afternoon.

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