An Exaggerated Murder: A Novel by Josh Cook

Author:Josh Cook [Cook, Josh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61219-428-8
Publisher: Melville House
Published: 2015-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

CLASS WAR

Calling the bad part of town the underbelly suggests it’s been fed. It ain’t been fed. If some hack making a word count needs something from the body, liver would be better. But that’s wrong too. Waste leaves the liver. Even the colon gets rid of what it doesn’t want. What ends up in the bad part of town usually stays there. Colostomy bag is more like it.

Medical terms don’t make good pulp.

Trike and Max drove through the bad part of town to visit Lydia Kennedy. They smelled a con. Her mother was a criminal, but she was good at it. If she could set up the Martha Clifford estate, she could make sure her daughter didn’t end up in the bedpan of town. Even if Lydia only saw the Joyce House dough, that would be enough for a nice little place in the suburbs.

Trike had been phantom-smoking for a minute.

“Thoughts, boss?” Max said.

Trike snapped his fingers out of their gesture. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, Max, I’ve been thinking that Lydia Kennedy might not be out of the family business.”

“It’s possible.”

“Seems like if that were the case, and she’s half as savvy as her mom was, she’d stay light-years away from whatever Joyce is up to.”

“Likely.”

“And another thing troubles me.”

“What’s that?”

“These streets are never empty.”

“Yeah,” Max said with a lilt of concern.

The corners were vacant. No one was on any of the stoops. Windows closed. No kids on the sidewalk. Neither gang in its alley. No bums in the gutters. Empty streets. The bad part of town don’t got much going for it, but it’s never lonely.

Max unbuttoned his holster. Trike hopped into the backseat. A Dumpster rolled into the street in front of them. Max hit the brakes. Put the car in park. Another Dumpster rolled into the street behind them.

“This should be interesting,” Trike said.

With a nod, they threw both driver’s-side doors open. Then both passenger’s-side doors. Trike rolled back into the front seat. They ducked out of the car, Trike covering the front, Max covering the back. Assailants spilled from the alleys ahead and behind. Trike and Max convinced them to retreat with a persuasive spray of gunfire.

It got quiet once the bullets stopped flying. You could’ve heard a page turn in a third-floor bathtub.

Trike stood up.

“Christ … a speech,” Max said.

“Feel your pulse. Fill your lungs. Touch the pavement. Smell the filth. These are the components of life. They are yours to experience because my partner and I decided we’d rather converse with you …” A head poked out of an alley. Trike put a bullet nearby. The head dove back. “… than with coroners. I do not know who hired you for this folly. I do not know why he, she, it, or they are so careless with your lives. I do not know what you were told. I do not know the punch lines to the nervous jokes you shared before the ambush. But I do know that my partner and I have more pressing matters to attend to.

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