The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗
hesitation, I turned off the ignition.
A gust of wind sent a milk carton skittering along the asphalt. It was the only sound in
the alley, the only movement.
I got out of the SUV and went inside.
* * * * *
Things looked brighter in the morning, but that was due to sunshine slicing through
the leaden cloud cover, not any emotional epiphany on my part.
I had requested that the temp agency open another can of sales associates. They sent
me Mrs. Tum. Mrs. T was a diminutive and elderly lady with practically no English, which
provided insight into how the agency perceived my business.
Mrs. Tum also appeared to be rather excitable in nature, as I discovered when she tried
to explain to me about the graffiti on the front step.
Finally, when I was still no comprende-ing, Mrs. T grabbed my arm with her doll-sized
hands and hauled me outside, where I had an up close and personal view of what appeared to
be a pentagram drawn in blood on my threshold.
Chapter Four
“Still think it’s harmless fun?” Jake inquired, after I had finished filing my complaint
with the uniformed patrolman who answered my call.
“Refresh my memory. When did I ever say I didn’t take this crap seriously?”
“Quiet,” he muttered, as the officer returned after a brief conference with his
compadre.
“It’s not blood,” Officer Hinojosa informed me. “The color is a good match, but it’s
paint.”
Not blood was good. Very good. I let out the breath I seemed to have been holding for
the last hour.
“Not blood? Just…custom color, huh? Well, is it okay if I wash the evidence away? It’s
liable to wreck the Christmas vibe.” I had already used my digital camera to take several
photos of the artwork. Not that I had high hopes that they were going to be bringing anyone
to trial in the near future.
Hinojosa shook his head regretfully. “It’s enamel. Quick drying. I don’t think you can
wash it. I think you have to paint over it.”
“Nah, it’ll come off with paint solvent,” the other uniform said, joining us.
“Not if it’s dried.”
“Yeah, it’ll come off if you put some elbow grease into it.”
“No. But you might be able to cover it with that concrete resurfacing paint.”
“You could try that Goof Off stuff.”
It was like Home Improvement with guns. Jake gave it up after a minute or two and
stepped inside the shop. I waited it out. Eventually they called a draw, told me to have a nice
day, got back in their patrol car, and drove away.
I located Jake cornered by Mrs. T at the coffeemaker.
I wasn’t exactly sure why or how Jake had appeared on the scene of what, after all, was
merely a vandalism complaint, but I had been glad to see him. Mrs. T did not seem similarly
reassured. Her doll arms were flailing around like the button on her remote control was
stuck. I made out one word in ten of that rapid-fire exchange.
“What language is that?” Jake inquired, sotto voce, as I joined them.
“I thought it was Spanish, but I’m beginning to think she’s speaking in tongues.”
“It’s not Spanish.”
I nodded earnestly, smiled at Mrs. T like I’ve seen legions of immigrant workers do to
Lisa when they don’t have a clue what she’s requesting of them.
She shook her head at my obvious stupidity and stalked away. Jake took off his
sunglasses, picked up my camera. He studied the photos in the monitor.
“What did you plan on doing with these?”
I knew I was going to have to come clean sooner or later, so I said, “I’m not sure. I
thought I might show them to Angus’s professor at UCLA.”
His gaze narrowed on me like he was lining me in the crosshairs.
“What professor is that?”
“Van Helsing,” I said at random, hesitating (not sure why) to give up Snowden to the
long arm of the law. “Didn’t I mention –?”
He was not amused. “I don’t recall the name of the professor being mentioned. I wasn’t
aware you knew the guy’s name. Are you telling me you’ve talked to him?”
“Briefly.”
“Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you just give me his name and let me deal
with it? Seeing that it’s what I’m paid to do.”
He had a point, so I responded a little irritably. “I don’t know, Jake. Speaking from
personal experience, it’s not exactly a joy ride when the police show up at your place of
employment asking questions. I didn’t know that it was warranted.”
“Warranted?” His face tightened. “That’s not for you to decide. You’re not a cop. I told
you I wanted to talk to Angus, that I thought there was a chance he might be able to provide
a lead on these killings. You didn’t think I’d be interested in knowing the name of the
professor who started all this shit?”
“All what shit? You also said you realized that there probably wasn’t a connection
between your case and this.”
“That girl they dug up in the Hollywood Hills? Her name was Karen Holtzer. She was a
student at UCLA.”
“Yeah? She have any life or interests beyond being a student at UCLA?”
It occurred to me that what was really biting him was the fact that he hadn’t
considered tracking back to the original class Angus had attended or the professor who had
taught it – and I had.
But I didn’t want to fight with Jake; I saw little enough of him as it was. I said,
“Look…” and filled him in on exactly what had been said – and to whom.
When I’d finished Jake stared at me like he’d never seen the species before. “What the
hell are you doing butting in on this?” he asked. “You’re not the punk’s father. Or do you
have something going with him too?”
I admit that took me off guard. My stomach dropped a floor or two. I blinked at him, at
a loss for words. I had a sudden vision of myself lying in his arms, soaked and sticky with his
cum. Did he honest to God think –?
He glared back at me, but then his gaze swerved. He grimaced. “Forget it.” He sighed.
“Adrien, you’re trying to help the kid, but for all you know you made it worse, and now
you’ve set yourself up as a target too.”
“You don’t know that. Snowden may not have talked to anybody yet. This could be the
natural progression.”
He was silent. Too silent. When he could apparently trust himself to speak, he said
crisply, “I’m going to tell you nicely. Stay out of it.” He slid his sunglasses back on. I had twin
