Читать книгу Visiting Darkness - Celeste Prater - Страница 7

Chapter 2

With nothing but a gurgling sound spewing between Daryl’s pale lips and boring her silly, Mary swiveled, extended the gun, and aimed at the back of Ms. Prissy, blasting her in the shoulder while the moron stood frozen to the sparkling tile—still cringing from the loud boom announcing Daryl’s quick demise.

The skinny body swung about in a perfect one-eighty, a gift from the physics gods. She thanked them for giving ample time to pop the bitch in the left boob. Blondie dropped like a stone. She wondered if the coroner would find silicone mixed with the bright-red splash flowering out on the front of the white Niemen Marcus capped-sleeve blouse.

Glock swinging to the right and up forty-five degrees, she nailed the bubble camera attached to the ceiling and enjoyed a surge of pride as she annihilated the one on the far left without stopping to aim. She basked in the sounds of blood-curdling screams ripping through the air, displays falling over, and cans striking the pale green tile as people fled her vicinity.

That’s right, you fucking sheep. Run.

Mary shoved Daryl off the register, smirking as he slid down the half wall, leaving an ironic trail of red to mar a shiny poster of the pretty tomatoes he so inadequately tempted her to buy. She reached out and gathered the cash from each slot, unperturbed by the sticky fluids clinging to the smaller bills while stuffing them inside her bag.

On a calm, casual stroll around the counter, Mary brandished the gun at the next register, cluing the freaked-out emo chick with thick, kohl-lined eyes the quick squat down next to it hadn’t improved her situation in the least. She stuffed the pristine cash into her Louise while leveling the Glock’s sights on the girl’s silver brow piercing, betting this was the most animated emotion those big, blue orbs had displayed since hitting puberty.

Blam!

Sweet. Split her like a grape.

Pleased to find the other cashiers kind enough to leave their register drawers open as they fled like cowards to the back of the store, Mary gathered her hard-earned cash, pausing long enough to bust a cap into several people lying prone on the main aisle.

Did acting like part of the tile save your sorry asses? Nope. Idiots.

Two Almond Joys sticking out from the last candy rack begged for a ride in the side pouch of her purse and got their wish. Satisfied with the prolific haul, she stood center on the black plastic door runner, tilted her head back, and enjoyed the breeze rushing through the parting glass panels to tease her hair.

Glock stuffed under an armpit, she reached inside the bag and pulled out a cigarette and her trusty lighter, cupping a hand to keep the newly struck flame burning bright. This had always been her favorite part—seeing the tip glow a bright orange and hearing the distinctive hissing sound followed by a familiar, comforting scent of prime tobacco striking her nostrils.

A deep drag of the only vice she kept since high school filled her lungs. She let the plume of smoke snake from her nostrils for a bit and then clicked her jaw to release a perfect ring into the air.

Oh yeah, I still got it. Beautiful.

Firm grip back on the weapon and cigarette dangling with ease from her lips, Mary popped loose the empty magazine and shoved in another. Turned to the left, she smirked at the Bagwell store manager. He remained plastered against the pantyhose display with hands lifted from the moment the first round spun out of the chamber and got to know Daryl up close and personal. Rivulets of sweat ran from under the cheap toupee and patterned his light-purple dress shirt.

Head shaking in disgust, Mary wondered why some always froze like this. Freedom lay five feet away, yet he stayed glued to the floor, as if his inaction made him invisible.

Well, thank you for sticking around, mister.

She lifted the gun, reveling in the whimpering sounds issuing from between mustached quivering lips. Seven, well-placed rounds struck his upper torso, bounced him off the display, and sat him on his ass below the exit sign.

“So long, buddy.”

Without a backward glance, Mary strolled out of the store and across the lot. The sun felt good against her uplifted face, the sound of trilling birds soothing to her ears, and a sense of freedom owning her soul.

After an easy hop up into the minivan, she latched the seat belt, caught the cigarette filter between her front teeth, and enjoyed the sound of her long-forgotten laughter while squealing tires out of the parking lot. Mary flipped the channels on the radio until finding a blast of hard rock to drown out the distant sound of sirens filling the morning air.

* * * * *

“Oh, crap! Will you look at this shit?”

Officer Cory Winston glanced over at Sargent Brian Douglas’s wide, green eyes and realized they both headed deep into some serious top-level law enforcement activity if whatever was going down had this seasoned dude freaking.

Hell, yeah!

Three weeks on the Oklahoma City police force and finally his heart thumped as it had when stepping on the high school football field as fans chanted his name. This is what he’d been missing—massive adrenaline dumps and chills zipping across his flesh. He scrubbed the top of his new buzz cut, muscles quivering with anticipation.

“Damn, Cory. We need to take control of this shit. Quick.”

“For sure.” Eyes tearing away from the thin line of sweat forming on Brian’s upper lip, he tried to assess the scene. Body after body continued spilling through Bagwell’s front doors. There had to be at least sixty of them. Shrill screams blasted his ears even though the patrol car’s windows were still up. None hazarded a glance back, so he didn’t think anything chased them. They just wanted the hell out of the building.

Brian grabbed the radio and flipped a switch to turn it into a high-powered megaphone.

“Calm down, everyone. Move to your left and gather on the other side of the ice machines. Flat against the wall. Do not. I repeat. Do not enter your vehicles and leave the premises, or you’ll be arrested.”

Mesmerized, Cory observed the scattering bodies merge into a tight pile and shift to the left as if a big dog herded them toward a warm barn.

Damn, that was some righteous shit.

“Watch their hands,” Brian barked. “Scan for weapons while I try to straighten this mess out.”

“Got it.”

The car swerved at an angle in front of the trembling mass, and Brian threw it into park. “Round the rear of the unit and stay on my left, five feet back.”

“Yes, sir.” It felt good to crawl out of the vehicle and pull his weapon. He trained for this, craved the opportunity. Cory wasn’t looking forward to blasting a hole in anyone, but hesitation be damned if any of the freaked-out bunch made a hostile move.

“Where’s the shooter?” Brian shouted in a voice so beastly even his own flesh pebbled.

Every head shifted in the sergeant’s direction. Despite his tall, lanky build, the deep rumble combined with a gun drawn and lowered in their collective direction commanded immediate attention.

Numerous arms pointed out toward the far, right side of the parking lot.

“How many?”

“One,” they all screamed, or whimpered, in unison.

Cory eyeballed everyone’s hands yet kept his peripheral on the door, overlooked accomplices trying to fire their way to freedom the last thing on his wish list.

After a round of head swiveling to assess the surroundings, Brian gestured for a sturdy older man in a camouflage T-shirt and work-worn jeans to step forward. He appeared to be the only one with his shit somewhat together. Brian frisked him down. Satisfied, he motioned for the calm man to stand at the front of the patrol car.

“You see anything?”

“Sure did. Slight, heavyset build with short brown hair, green T-shirt, and black shorts falling right above the knees. White, early thirties, maybe. Tell you the color of her eyes or what type shoes she wore, but my mind keeps jumping back to the handgun she was rocking like a pro. Glock. Not sure of the model.”

Cory’s gut clenched. She? As soon as the call came for shots fired, the perp formed in his mind as a drunk male shooting a few cans in his backyard and scaring the patrons. Brian appeared just as disturbed, yet his voice remained even and steady.

“A female?”

“Yep. Calm. Like she done it a thousand times. First shot and my ass skedaddled through the side door of the meat market. Locked myself inside the manager’s office and saw the whole goddamn thing through the two-way mirror.”

“Did she take off on foot?” Brian pressed.

“No, blue minivan. Dark. Took the far exit and hauled ass up the I-40 ramp. A Dodge, I think. Didn’t run outside in time for the license, but there was a Garfield stuffed animal with those little suction cups holding his paws to the back window. You see those before?”

“Yes, got it.”

Despite the nuttiness of what they’d learned, Brian’s voice remained steady as he lifted the radio to his lips and called out to all open channels with the latest.

Hard glare focused on the busy highway filled with morning traffic, Cory wished they’d rolled into the parking lot right as the crazy bitch hauled ass. He’d give anything to be part of the fucking chase. Involvement in a pit maneuver would highlight his day—a proud back slapping retelling over dinner with Pops tonight his ultimate goal.

Another unit arriving with full sirens and flashing lights caught Cory’s attention. He recognized their faces from roll call but couldn’t remember the names. An ambulance and a firetruck weren’t far behind. Both held back until Brian motioned them toward the stiff, wide-eyed crowd.

Maneuvered to the side of the sliding glass doors, Cory trembled in readiness for Brian to hurry his ass over before someone else got the pleasure of clearing the crime scene. His partner gave the approaching duo the skinny, directed them to start interviewing the group, and ordered camo-guy to stay put. The detectives would salivate to learn what he had to say, that was for sure.

Cory tried to keep his face passive, hiding the jubilation upon seeing Brian line up on the other side and take a quick peek inside. It was time to go in. He got the nod to take the right quadrant as Brian’s shoe pressed the black runner. The doors parted, and Cory shot forward.

No matter the extensive number of hours spent on the academy’s video study, simulated breaches, or shootouts in a controlled environment he conducted, Cory came ill prepared for a slippery slide through a puddle of dark liquid and bringing him down to one knee. A furtive glance to the right, and he found himself staring into dull, fixed eyes of the first dead person ever encountered. The dude looked right at him. More like through him.

Time seemed to crawl to a stop. His mind screamed nonsensical crap as he gapped at the bullet-riddled chest. It was nothing but a wet stain of bright red blood from stem to stern.

What the fuck?

No amount of reasoning could explain why the guy’s hair hung off his ear.

A pungent blast of copper and acrid stench of loose bowels struck Cory’s nostrils as he ripped his eyes away, just so they could collide with one body after the other scattered around the registers and along the front aisle, their own individual growing puddles adding to the nauseous smell and horrid images burning into his retinas. His gag reflex kicked in with a vengeance.

Gut erupting like a pissed off volcano, Cory’s teeth clacked together upon a tight yank on his collar, instantly cutting off the oxygen supply and trapping the burning cesspool at the hollow of his throat. Arms flapping, he stared at a length of blood-spattered tiles strewn with shell casings and then the pristine whitewashed sidewalk as Brian hustled him to the opposite end of the building and away from the grownups.

Hands and knees smashing against the green grass still covered in silky dew, Cory hurled everything he remembered eating this morning, and probably some from last night, until all he could do was live through the dry heaves and inwardly curse from watching half of the gross shit splashing across the weapon he failed to re-holster. Fuuuck me.

Through a veil of liquid leaking from his eyes, he saw Brian retrieve several bottles of water and a rag out of the patrol car while motioning for the other two officers to enter the store. Determined not to keep looking like a rank puss of the highest order, Cory two-fingered the butt of his gun, jumped to his feet, and shoulder rolled around the building’s edge. Back smacking against the hot brick to keep from ass planting, he held the weapon out as far as his arm could reach and observed a calm hand pouring water from trigger to barrel before draping it with the cloth.

“You need to clean it good tonight. Lots of oil. Lift your right shoe.”

On autopilot, Cory obeyed, thankful he had nothing left to offer the grass as Bryan splashed the sole to rid it of the blood he carried from the scene. He chugged half the offered bottle to chase away the rank taste of his failure. Somewhat recovered, he nodded and managed to find his words. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Attempts to explain his insanity were futile, so he focused on dabbing up the water clinging to the gun. There was nothing to say. He choked in a career defining moment. Plain and simple. Cory’s massive pride backed up into a far corner of his brain, and he figured it might never come out again from pure shame.

“He’s here.”

Cory caught Brian staring at a dull-gray, Ford Crown Vic making an unhurried jaunt across the parking lot. He knew it had to be police by the black ramming bar attached to the front grill and an alley light fixed over the driver side mirror. The heavily tinted windows and no insignia perked his interest.

“Is it a detective’s car?” he managed to croak out.

“Yep.”

The vehicle performed a perfect half-circle and came to a halt two slots over from the store’s cart receptacle. “Old piece of shit,” he said under his breath. Brian caught it anyway.

“It may look ancient but outruns whatever you throw at it. Max won’t drive anything else.”

“Max?”

“Detective Maxwell Browning. It’s Senior Detective, but you’ll never hear him say it. Good cop. Tough. How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Still holds the record. He came in at twenty-two right out of the Marine Corps. By twenty-six he made vice. Moved to homicide seventeen years ago. Knows his stuff.”

Cory knew Brian wasn’t full of shit as Detective Browning exited the vehicle. There wasn’t an ounce of newness anywhere on the man. He caught sight of calm features some might even call handsome, strong jawline, thick slashing brows, and a nose experiencing a break at one time. Browning appeared to be in his early fifties since only the sides of his short black hair were doing a little of the salt-n-pepper thing. He reckoned the guy close to six-two, if not already there.

“Damn, he’s big,” Cory whispered.

“For sure. Keeps in shape too. If he’s not pulling a long case, you can catch him at the precinct gym at five every morning. I think he’s ran a groove into the track.”

The athletic build became clear when he removed the dark suitcoat matching the pants and hung it up in the back. A time worn leather gun holster cinched over thick shoulders conformed to his wide back. The black dress shoes were clean, but not too shiny. He couldn’t imagine a brute like this wearing anything but combat boots. He nudged Brian on the arm.

“Don’t they usually roll in pairs? I don’t see anyone else inside.”

“Just Max. Lost his partner, Fergus McLellan. Died on the job eight years ago. Won’t take on another one. Tried. Doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

Browning rolled the sleeves on the white dress shirt, revealing thick forearms. He stuffed a small notepad and a couple of blue surgical gloves into his back pants pocket. After a quick adjustment to a thin black and grey tie, he glanced up. Piercing blue eyes zeroed in on the two of them. His chin raised in time to Brian’s respectful nod. The man’s walk was slow and purposeful, as if strolling up to a bowling alley for a relaxing game and a bucket of beers with his homies. If anything, the dude was comfortable in his own skin.

“Hey, Max,” Brian called out.

“Brian. Long time. You first on scene?”

The deep, rugged voice didn’t surprise Cory in the least. It fit him.

“Yeah, but Martinez and Higgins are inside clearing the premises. Butch just arrived. He’s keeping the witnesses on the other side of the building by the ice machines. It’s beyond fucked in there. You’ll want to talk to the guy in camo leaning against my unit. You catch the call out?”

“Yep. One perp. Female. Blue minivan. Heading east on I-40. How many down?”

“Don’t know, yet.”

Belly cramping as intelligent, all-knowing eyes arrowed his way, he sensed Browning drilling a tunnel into his skull and figuring out quick what a goddamn pansy he was. As soon as the calm gaze drifted down to the obvious puke marring the once pretty grass, Cory felt his neck and face ignite. He fought everything inside to look up and face the music.

“You new, kid?”

He knows damn well I am. “Yes, sir.”

“Everyone gets some form of tarnish in the beginning. Rite of passage. They’ll dog your ass over this until the next new boot fucks up. Laugh and take it or they’ll eat you alive.”

He snorted while stuffing the bottom half of his tie between two buttons and securing it inside his shirt.

“At least you didn’t fuck up my scene. I’ll make sure they give you points for gut control. Might shave off at least a week of torture.” On a deep grunt, he bumped knuckles with Brian, turned, and walked away.

Cory felt like he’d popped out of a vacuum as the seasoned detective moved further down the walkway. “Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for pulling me out before I hurled in there. He’s the last man I ever want to piss off.”

Brian nudged him on the shoulder and chuckled. “You’ll be fine, kid. He’s stingy on handing out advice to someone he doesn’t know. Consider yourself privileged. Come on. Let’s help with the interviews. The faster you dive back into the thick of things the sooner the guys bore of razzing you. Ready?”

Gun shoved back into the holster, Cory inhaled a deep breath and straightened his spine.

“Sure. Why not. At least I didn’t piss my pants. Think they’ll give up a few more points?”

He shook his head and followed in the wake of Brian’s soft laughter. They both knew it was just the respite before the evil shit waiting for them at the end of the building dug its claws back into their hearts.