He saw him hooking them on smack so that he could keep them in line. Robby all but ran out of the bar. He picked up the load and then he waited in the shadows. The guy had to come out sooner or later, and when he did Robby would be waiting.
The "crime" scene was like all the others. This time it was Houston Jenkins, a big time pimp with a history of assault charges. None of his "girls" seemed to be too terribly upset. Their only concern seemed to be that they weren't sure who was going to get them their horse now. The man was sitting in the big middle of his own bed with his eyes cooked and bulging out and slime running out his ears.
Spider covered the corpse back up then looked at Tommy and smiled. "It's shake and bake, and I he'ped."
Tommy sighed and shook his head. Having a weekend off had done nothing for Spider's attitude. Neither had a one-hour meeting with IAD, which while it hadn't caused her any real trouble, was a drag under the best of circumstances.
Tommy pulled her to one side. "Could you maybe try to at least act repulsed?" Tommy hissed.
Spider shrugged. "There's a reason I ain't an actress. This bastard was a hell of a lot more repulsive alive than he is with his cooked eyeballs bulging."
"What's up with you?" Tommy asked, momentarily losing his cool.
Spider shrugged. How could she explain to him what she really didn't understand herself? "I'm not getting much sleep. For some reason I keep looking at my life. Since it mostly sucks, always has sucked, and is always going to suck, I'm kindah in a blue funk."
She was talking in her best idiot voice and making faces, and that could mean only one thing—that she wasn't comfortable with the subject matter and was making a joke about something that really wasn't a joke at all.
Tommy's brow creased in thought. "You really think your life sucks?"
"Yep. Shit just keeps raining on my head," Spider said with a smile. She walked away and started checking out the crime scene. Houston had been a big man, and unlike all the other victims he had apparently had a chance to thrash around a bit. Before he died he fell back onto the bed, and the impact had broken two legs off of it. She pointed it out to the photographer who took pictures of the broken things in the room and the bed.
Tommy joined her.
"The weapon must take longer when there is more mass," Tommy said. Spider shrugged noncommittally.
"OK, Spider . . . What do you think it is?"
She smiled at him. "If I told you my theory, you'd be calling the men in the white coats to come and take me away to the Ha Ha Hilton."
They had spent the better part of the day pretending to follow up leads in the case. It wasn't very hard to make sure that everything they found lead to yet another dead end. This guy didn't leave many tracks, and no fingerprints or DNA. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing.
Now they were heading towards the courthouse to testify against Justin Kent, and Spider was acting weird. Weird even for Spider. Tommy was glad he was driving. Spider's color looked bad, almost pasty-white, and she was jerking at the collar of her shirt and mumbling something under her breath that was inaudible.
"You OK, Spider?" Tommy asked.
"Trying to remember all the details, except the ones I want to leave out, of course. Trying to sort those from the others. Trying to think of every screwy question those fuck lawyers are going to throw at us so I don't trip up." She looked at him and sighed. "The usual shit. I'm a little more spent than usual because, like I said, I haven't really slept in days. I don't want to trip up."
Tommy nodded, and said nothing. Now he was nervous. If she fucked up, heads would roll—theirs. "You can do this. We did the right thing even if we did it the wrong way . . . "
"I'm not having an episode of guilty conscience here, Tommy. I have no problem with anything I've done. I just know
The "crime" scene was like all the others. This time it was Houston Jenkins, a big time pimp with a history of assault charges. None of his "girls" seemed to be too terribly upset. Their only concern seemed to be that they weren't sure who was going to get them their horse now. The man was sitting in the big middle of his own bed with his eyes cooked and bulging out and slime running out his ears.
Spider covered the corpse back up then looked at Tommy and smiled. "It's shake and bake, and I he'ped."
Tommy sighed and shook his head. Having a weekend off had done nothing for Spider's attitude. Neither had a one-hour meeting with IAD, which while it hadn't caused her any real trouble, was a drag under the best of circumstances.
Tommy pulled her to one side. "Could you maybe try to at least act repulsed?" Tommy hissed.
Spider shrugged. "There's a reason I ain't an actress. This bastard was a hell of a lot more repulsive alive than he is with his cooked eyeballs bulging."
"What's up with you?" Tommy asked, momentarily losing his cool.
Spider shrugged. How could she explain to him what she really didn't understand herself? "I'm not getting much sleep. For some reason I keep looking at my life. Since it mostly sucks, always has sucked, and is always going to suck, I'm kindah in a blue funk."
She was talking in her best idiot voice and making faces, and that could mean only one thing—that she wasn't comfortable with the subject matter and was making a joke about something that really wasn't a joke at all.
Tommy's brow creased in thought. "You really think your life sucks?"
"Yep. Shit just keeps raining on my head," Spider said with a smile. She walked away and started checking out the crime scene. Houston had been a big man, and unlike all the other victims he had apparently had a chance to thrash around a bit. Before he died he fell back onto the bed, and the impact had broken two legs off of it. She pointed it out to the photographer who took pictures of the broken things in the room and the bed.
Tommy joined her.
"The weapon must take longer when there is more mass," Tommy said. Spider shrugged noncommittally.
"OK, Spider . . . What do you think it is?"
She smiled at him. "If I told you my theory, you'd be calling the men in the white coats to come and take me away to the Ha Ha Hilton."
They had spent the better part of the day pretending to follow up leads in the case. It wasn't very hard to make sure that everything they found lead to yet another dead end. This guy didn't leave many tracks, and no fingerprints or DNA. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing.
Now they were heading towards the courthouse to testify against Justin Kent, and Spider was acting weird. Weird even for Spider. Tommy was glad he was driving. Spider's color looked bad, almost pasty-white, and she was jerking at the collar of her shirt and mumbling something under her breath that was inaudible.
"You OK, Spider?" Tommy asked.
"Trying to remember all the details, except the ones I want to leave out, of course. Trying to sort those from the others. Trying to think of every screwy question those fuck lawyers are going to throw at us so I don't trip up." She looked at him and sighed. "The usual shit. I'm a little more spent than usual because, like I said, I haven't really slept in days. I don't want to trip up."
Tommy nodded, and said nothing. Now he was nervous. If she fucked up, heads would roll—theirs. "You can do this. We did the right thing even if we did it the wrong way . . . "
"I'm not having an episode of guilty conscience here, Tommy. I have no problem with anything I've done. I just know
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