eyes. Nothing, not even the pockmarks or scabs, marred my skin. An amazing phenomenon, you bet, except I'd hotter priorities to occupy me, you know, like staying alive. I torched a Blue Castle and downed the coupé's window before I put on the rebroadcast of Kojo Nnamdi's NPR talk show, a favorite pastime of mine.
Surely, by now the tidings had reached Gwen's next of kin. Her older sister Rita was a level-headed, fair-minded lady, and by the time the Blue Castle was left as just a cherry ember, I decided to reach out to her. I flicked the hot butt out the window while sorting through my brain's Rolodex of the public phones. The city fathers had razed the nine-pins alley for luxury apartments, so I trashed that card.
Gas-N-Sips always yielded the best chances. So, I hit the nearest one and cursed at where the phone company had struck. A topless steel pedestal with a few stray wires marked where the coin phone had once stood mounted. My consolation on the next block was a phone still on its steel pedestal before a chiropractor's clinic. I thought of treating my old sciatica as I dialed up Rita. The street noise to the passing car engines in one ear counterpointed the tinny rings in my other. A lady's snobbish mewl answered.
"Rita? Rita Ogg?" I said.
"This is she. Who is this, may I ask?"
"Tommy Mack Zane."
"Oh. You ."
I winced at her snarky tone. She'd heard, and I was cast as the villain. Before she flew into a rant, my words clipped out. "Look, I'd nothing to do with Gwen's death. Somebody has framed me."
"Fat chance."
"What reason did I have? Tell me. What's my possible motive?"
"Motive?" Her icy laugh could freeze a flow of red molten lava into glacial ice. "Since when did your ilk ever need a motive to kill?"
"Your uncle ordered me to check into her problem, so I went to her townhouse. When I arrived, she lay dead on her brass bed."
"Why did you go off and leave her that way?"
"My shock understandably panicked me." I made my plea. "At least give me the decency to fully explain my side."
"Decency." Her same spine-tingling laugh pealed out. "What do you know about decency, Tommy Mack?"
This was breaking down as a quarrel I couldn't win, at least not with Rita. "You're making a big mistake. I did not kill your sister. You have to believe me, Rita. I've got no cause to lie to you."
"Methinks, you doth protest too much, asshole."
"Bear with me. Analyze it like the homicide cops will do. Did Gwen make any enemies? Did anybody stalk her? Did she cross anybody? Did she have a recent feud? Had she gotten death threats or obscene phone calls or emails? Those are the right questions to ask and smoke out the guilty culprit. It wasn’t me."
"You're just blowing sunshine up my ass."
"No I’m not. Others in my trade must use the two-behind-the-ear technique."
"Good bye and good luck. You're going to need every bit you can scrounge up, I expect."
I hated it when the other party got in the last word and hung up the phone in my ear. My callback got a busy signal. It didn't take an Einstein to dope out who she'd called. Pretending to be enraged, Mr. Ogg would seek his revenge. The irony of the hit now being contracted to make on the hit man prompted me to laugh.
Chapter 6
T he infamous killers fired bullets of various calibers to fell their prey. In ascending order, Malvo shot a .223, Chapman a .38, Cunanan a .40, Billy the Kid a .41, Son of Sam a .44, Guiteau a .442, and The Zodiac Killer a monster .45. My point was each size of caliber, small to large, killed mortals just as dead. I didn't equate any of those assassins to me, but I'd studied their MOs, usually on what errors not to repeat since most died young or went in stir. Zodiac, the exception, must've retired to a condo village in Boca Raton to paint his watercolors of sad clowns and fortunetellers.
A .22 cap had snuffed out Gwen's brief candle. If I had to choose a favorite caliber, I'd pick the deuce-deuce. A .22 with a silencer add-on performed the
Surely, by now the tidings had reached Gwen's next of kin. Her older sister Rita was a level-headed, fair-minded lady, and by the time the Blue Castle was left as just a cherry ember, I decided to reach out to her. I flicked the hot butt out the window while sorting through my brain's Rolodex of the public phones. The city fathers had razed the nine-pins alley for luxury apartments, so I trashed that card.
Gas-N-Sips always yielded the best chances. So, I hit the nearest one and cursed at where the phone company had struck. A topless steel pedestal with a few stray wires marked where the coin phone had once stood mounted. My consolation on the next block was a phone still on its steel pedestal before a chiropractor's clinic. I thought of treating my old sciatica as I dialed up Rita. The street noise to the passing car engines in one ear counterpointed the tinny rings in my other. A lady's snobbish mewl answered.
"Rita? Rita Ogg?" I said.
"This is she. Who is this, may I ask?"
"Tommy Mack Zane."
"Oh. You ."
I winced at her snarky tone. She'd heard, and I was cast as the villain. Before she flew into a rant, my words clipped out. "Look, I'd nothing to do with Gwen's death. Somebody has framed me."
"Fat chance."
"What reason did I have? Tell me. What's my possible motive?"
"Motive?" Her icy laugh could freeze a flow of red molten lava into glacial ice. "Since when did your ilk ever need a motive to kill?"
"Your uncle ordered me to check into her problem, so I went to her townhouse. When I arrived, she lay dead on her brass bed."
"Why did you go off and leave her that way?"
"My shock understandably panicked me." I made my plea. "At least give me the decency to fully explain my side."
"Decency." Her same spine-tingling laugh pealed out. "What do you know about decency, Tommy Mack?"
This was breaking down as a quarrel I couldn't win, at least not with Rita. "You're making a big mistake. I did not kill your sister. You have to believe me, Rita. I've got no cause to lie to you."
"Methinks, you doth protest too much, asshole."
"Bear with me. Analyze it like the homicide cops will do. Did Gwen make any enemies? Did anybody stalk her? Did she cross anybody? Did she have a recent feud? Had she gotten death threats or obscene phone calls or emails? Those are the right questions to ask and smoke out the guilty culprit. It wasn’t me."
"You're just blowing sunshine up my ass."
"No I’m not. Others in my trade must use the two-behind-the-ear technique."
"Good bye and good luck. You're going to need every bit you can scrounge up, I expect."
I hated it when the other party got in the last word and hung up the phone in my ear. My callback got a busy signal. It didn't take an Einstein to dope out who she'd called. Pretending to be enraged, Mr. Ogg would seek his revenge. The irony of the hit now being contracted to make on the hit man prompted me to laugh.
Chapter 6
T he infamous killers fired bullets of various calibers to fell their prey. In ascending order, Malvo shot a .223, Chapman a .38, Cunanan a .40, Billy the Kid a .41, Son of Sam a .44, Guiteau a .442, and The Zodiac Killer a monster .45. My point was each size of caliber, small to large, killed mortals just as dead. I didn't equate any of those assassins to me, but I'd studied their MOs, usually on what errors not to repeat since most died young or went in stir. Zodiac, the exception, must've retired to a condo village in Boca Raton to paint his watercolors of sad clowns and fortunetellers.
A .22 cap had snuffed out Gwen's brief candle. If I had to choose a favorite caliber, I'd pick the deuce-deuce. A .22 with a silencer add-on performed the
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