James Moore - Blood Red

One look at the corpse and he knew he had to get her out of there. He also knew her car well enough by sight and knew a few other things that most people wouldn’t have known, like where her spare key was. She had a little magnetic box that was hidden in the well of her front bumper. Watching her dig for it one time had kept him focused on the shape of her derriere for almost a week. She was definitely as lovely from the back as she was from the front.

Ben shook that thought away. He was here to get his car.

She’d been quiet on the way back home, exhausted by whatever had overcome her. He’d been quiet, too, while his mind tried to take in the sight of her covered in blood and the fact that he’d come only inches away from running down two men who were too close to where she stood when he arrived.

Boyd and Holdstedter were decent enough guys, and he knew they had no love for Tom Pardue. But he still didn’t think they’d have let her walk away from the murder scene, and Ben knew he couldn’t allow them to arrest her. If they came after anyone, he preferred they come after him.

He was at least as guilty as Maggie: he’d killed Pardue a hundred times in his mind.

So far there had been no knock at his door. They seemed to have gotten away without incident.

Now he just had to get his car back where it belonged and avoid getting himself caught this late in the game.

Even from a block away, he could see the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles that surrounded the man’s house. That could be a problem, too. There might be an investigation into Pardue’s past. That investigation might bring up Maggie’s name.

He’d have to do something about that.

Ben was still thinking about how to handle the situation when he arrived back at his apartment. He entered quietly and crept back to his bedroom to find that she was still under the covers, only her thick curly hair in sight. He was closing the door when she spoke to him.

“Ben?”

“Hi, Maggie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Ben, I’m cold. Come sleep with me.”

He climbed into the bed fully clothed. At first he lay on his back next to her and tried not to move. Eventually, she reached behind her own body and caught his arm. She pulled him closer until he was spooned against her back.

The feel of her body against his was an agony he willingly endured. Eventually, he managed to join her in her slumber.

O’Neill was in a mood. Boyd wasn’t in the right mood to put up with it. He stood with his arms crossed and scowled throughout the entire peppy conversation about how he and Danny needed to get their acts in gear.

“The thing is, Boyd, that you two are good cops. I know that. But if this situation doesn’t get any better, I might have to look into outside help. I have to say I’m disappointed.” O’Neill was one of those bastards that was aging gracefully. Boyd wanted to slap him on general principles but he was normally okay as captains went.

“All due respect, Captain. Fuck off.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said fuck off.” He uncrossed his arms and moved toward O’Neill’s desk. “We normally deal with maybe ten cases. Right now we got over thirty. You want to go ahead and bring on a few extra people, you go right ahead. But don’t you dare accuse me of sloppy work. I’ll turn in my notice and take the time in jail for kicking your ass.”

“That is uncalled for, Rich.”

“The hell it is. You just said you’re ‘disappointed.’” He snorted. “What? You think I’m having orgasms over the way my week has been? Get a fucken clue. I got thirty fucken cases to handle here and not all of them are easily solved. You want my badge? Go for it. Wanna write me up? Do your shit. But you can shove your disappointment straight up your ass, you stupid bitch.”

He left the captain’s office and headed for the door, his expression murderous enough that everyone but Danny decided to look elsewhere in case his gaze might turn them into stone.

Danny took it in stride. He’d been there for the reaming. “So, what’re we doing first, Richie?”

“First I’m keying the fucker’s car.”

“He’ll know you did it.”

“Not if I write ‘Freemont was here.’”

“Maybe later. Right now I think you hurt him enough when you called him a bitch.” He paused. “I thought only women could be bitches.”

“Did you see balls anywhere on that piece of shit? ’Cause I sure as shit didn’t.”

“You’re being a baby.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Nothing. Just an observation.”

“Any news on the ballbuster?”

“Alan Tripp? No. He vanished.”

“I don’t think so. He’s just really good at not looking like a maniac in a hospital nightie.”

“Think he’s still hanging around?”

“According to him, his dead son kidnapped his dead wife. My guess is he’s looking for dead people.”

“Maybe we should let him know about the Red Lady.”

“We aren’t letting anyone know about her.”

“Oh, come on. They might give us vacation time.”

“No. But be on the lookout for red ladies with nice racks.”

“I’m always on the lookout for nice racks.”

“Do we have anything at all on the girls working for Tom?”

“No. Besides, you dropped this case.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did. Just last night you handed it over to Whalen and Longwood.”

“Only on paper.”

“What? We’re gonna bust her now?”

“Shit no. I wanna thank her for the public service.”

“Seriously, Richie.”

“Seriously? Anyone could do that, maybe they know something about the Falcone car accident. Maybe they know a lot and they got caught before they could get rid of another body.”

“Shit.”

“Covering our bases is all. Far as I’m concerned, Tommy being dead is just a plus.”

“You heard about the fire?”

“Yeah. Fucken tragedy.”

“They didn’t find any bodies.”

“Yeah, that’s the tragedy. O’Neill is gonna shit a house when he hears.”

“Fuck the bitch, Richie. I ain’t wiping his ass.”

“That’s what I like about you, Danny Boy. You learn fast.”

“So, we’re going to the frat house?”

“’Course we are.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I just love to hear your voice, Richie.”

“You need help.”

“I need that vacation. Sure we can’t mention the Red Lady?”

“Very sure.”

“Bitch.”

Alan Tripp crawled out of his cubbyhole and shivered. The woods were not a good place for sleeping, especially without any shelter aside from a few trees. His body felt feverish. The bandages on his hand were soaked again. He didn’t have any more pads or even cloth, and he decided he’d have to risk a trip to his house.

Besides, he was tired of freezing his balls off. He had perfectly good clothes waiting for him at the house, and he had other things, like money.

And he wanted to go home. Screw everything else; he wanted to go home for a while. Even if home was empty of everything good but a few stale memories.

Alan winced and realized that he’d been clenching his fists. A steady stream of crimson ran from the web between his thumb and forefinger. The physical wound hurt, but the memory of how he’d been injured was a thousand times worse.

“That wasn’t my boy. They don’t understand that. But I know my son, and Avery would never…” He couldn’t finish the words. They stuck in his throat like barbed hooks and he gagged on them.

Alan Tripp started for his house, ignoring the worst of the scrapes and cuts that adorned his bare feet. The ground was rough, covered with a thick layer of autumn leaves that hid a hundred different traps. His feet were suffering for every move he made.