Karin Slaughter - Skin Privilege

'Yeah, I'll be sure to make note of that when I'm filling out my scene of crime report,' Valentine interrupted. 'One pair of police issue handcuffs.'

'What about the compound?' He glanced nervously at Lena. 'Did you clear this?'

'It's all clear,' Valentine told him. 'They took the leash off as soon as she showed up with those pictures.'

Clint said, 'We're ready here,' indicating the ceramic mugs on the counter. Thin plumes of smoke already drifted out of the mugs as the chemicals combined.

Valentine asked, 'How long will it take?'

Clint shrugged. 'The ceramic is pretty thin. I'd say it'll take ten, maybe twenty minutes tops for the heat to crack them. Once the liquid touches the flame, it'll go up like a fucking a-bomb. I'd get the hell out of here as soon as you put them on the heat, though. You never know with these things. The chemicals ain't exactly stable.'

Valentine patted him on the back for a job well done. 'I hear you, boy.'

Bart said, I am so sick of this shit. You think her husband's going to just let this go?' He waved the gun toward the hallway. 'At least shoot her so she doesn't have to suffer through it.' He glanced at Lena, though with less compassion. 'Shoot them both. What harm will it do to show a little kindness?'

Valentine splashed acetone around the room. 'Because that'll leave bullets in the body, Fred. I can pocket a pair of handcuffs but I can't hide a bullet in an X-ray. Even if you dig it out, you can tell when a bullet hits bone. Knives leave marks, too, so don't even think about it, Clint.' He shook his head, telling Bart, 'I thought you'd done enough autopsies by now to know how this shit works. We'll just cuff her to the drainpipe and get the hell out of here.'

Lena finally spoke. 'What are you going to tell Jeffrey?'

He smiled at Lena. 'That Deacon Simms was cooking meth in Hank's kitchen and you and Sara came along at the wrong time.'

She didn't even bother to act surprised that Deacon's body would be found in the ruins. It made perfect sense. 'Jeffrey knows you were here.'

'He'll know that I dropped y'all off,' Valentine countered, splashing ammonia on top of the lye.

'Then he'll know that I went home and had lunch with my wife before she had to go back to school.'

'He'll put it together that you handed in your badge on the same day that his wife died.'

Bart had been following the conversation closely. Lena could feel his body tense. He asked, 'You resigned?'

'Yes,' Lena said, gripping the handcuff in her hand, willing him to come closer. 'Don Cook told me that Jake resigned this morning. Jake got a threatening letter and said he was leaving town before he ended up like Al Pfeiffer.'

'She's lying,' Valentine said. 'I resigned, but I-'

'He said he was leaving town,' Lena repeated. 'Look at this stuff, Fred.' She indicated the beakers, the chemicals. 'They had all of this ready to go. Why do you think that is?'

'Don't listen to her,' Valentine told Bart, a warning in his tone.

Lena pressed on, putting together the pieces. Valentine must have been pretty fucking pleased with himself. Lena had handed him surveillance photos. The right ones shown to the right people would paint Fred Bart as the mastermind to the whole operation. 'They were going to set you up, Fred. They've been planning this all along, just waiting for the right time to bang you up.' He shook his head, and she insisted, 'Think about it, Fred. Look at what's going on here. Jeffrey would've needed an explanation, somebody to blame for his wife dying. Can't you see Jake is setting you up for the fall? You are the explanation.'

'Don't listen to that crap,' Valentine said, but even Lena could tell she'd struck close to home. The man was visibly nervous. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the gun. 'Come on, Fred. Things were just getting a little hot and I-'

Both Lena and Valentine ducked as Bart squeezed the trigger. Instinctively, Lena put her hands over her head and the loose cuff slapped her in the face. She looked up, expecting to see Jake Valentine lying dead, but it was Clint who had been shot. Bart was an excellent marksman. The bullet had gone straight between the man's eyes.

For his part, Clint seemed the last one to realize he'd been shot. He stood there, his eyes staring blankly, body swaying to the side, at least two full seconds ticked by before he collapsed back against the door. It swung open as he fell, the chain looping his wallet to his belt clanging against the wood.

'What the fuck did you do that for?' Valentine demanded. 'For the love of Christ, Fred. He was Jerry's man.' He stamped his foot on the floor. 'You're going to have to explain this, you stupid asshole.'

Bart had the gun trained squarely at Valentine's chest. 'You think I don't know what you're doing?'

'What?'

'She's right,' he said. 'You've never cooked meth in your life, and Clint was too far up the ladder to fool with this shit.'

'That's not-'

'What were you doing with all this stuff?' he asked, indicating the chemicals, the beakers. 'You were planning on leaving me holding the bag while you skipped town with that fat wife of yours.'

Valentine's fists clenched. 'Don't you dare bring Myra into this.'

Bart said, 'Al and I kept this town in line, kept the good people away from the bad, for thirty years. You didn't give a shit about right and wrong. You just offered it around like candy.'

'Money is money, man.'

'At what cost?'

'Them fistfuls of cash I was giving you every week didn't seem to bother you none.'

'Like I had a choice,' he snapped back. 'You were nothing but a little pissant before you married into that family. Then all of a sudden you're the big man in town, waving your dick around like you're somebody special. All you ever were was a fuck-up.'

'Like it was my bright idea to throw Boyd through the fucking hotel window!' he yelled. 'What about that, Fred? Another one of your grand gestures, just like the schoolteacher you torched on the football field. She's what started this shitstorm in the first place.' Valentine looked pleased with his point. 'You and your foolish ways, thinking you'll scare people off like in the old days, and all it ends up doing is throwing gasoline on the fire. And here I am, trying to clean up your mess. Who's the fuck-up now?'

'You know why they kept me around?' Bart demanded. 'You ever ask yourself why they didn't give me a one-way ticket to the swamp? It was because they didn't trust your skinny little ass as far as they could throw you.'

Valentine chuckled. 'If you know them so well, then you know how they feel about family.'

'I think they'll be glad to get rid of you, is what I think.'

I think that I'm the only one standing between you and death right now.'

'Get over by the sink,' Bart ordered. 'Both of you.'

Valentine started, 'Hold on now-'

Bart shot him in the leg.

'Shit!' Valentine screamed. 'Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?'

Bart reached down and picked up the shell from the bullet. 'I said both of you get over by the sink.' When Lena didn't move, he kicked her chair. 'There are worse ways to hurt you than with a bullet, darlin'.'

She got up, moved toward the sink.

Valentine held his bleeding leg, fuming, 'You think you can get away with this?'

'I think I'm gonna have an awful lot more bullets to dig out of your body down at the morgue if you don't get down in front of that sink and cuff your hand through that pipe.'

'You think you can go back to the good old ways? There's too much money now, Fred. They're gonna put you in the ground.'

'Shut up,' Bart ordered, kicking Valentine in the leg right where he'd just been shot.

'Fuck!' Valentine screamed, his knees buckling as he fell down.