Death is a Clingy Ex by Randall J. Funk

Author:Randall J. Funk [Funk, Randall J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“You were in the parking lot?” the cop asks.

“Yeah,” I say, slumped on the curb.

“You see anybody around? Anyone near the car?”

“No. It was totally clear.”

“You’re not supposed to be in the playground after dusk. What were you doing here?”

Yeah, that’s a good question, isn’t it? What in the blue hell have I been doing? Getting people killed? Or were they already doomed and I just get to witness it? How did coffee with an ex-girlfriend turn into this shit? These questions clam me up, forcing Mike to do the lying.

“We were going to Uptown,” he says, without missing a beat, “Trying to grab a drink before bar close. We wanted to make sure we were going to the right place, so we pulled in here to use the payphone.”

“Why not use your cell phone?”

“Low battery.”

“Looks fine to me.”

“That’s what I said: poor reception.”

The cop stares at Mike and makes a note of it on a little notepad. “This friend you were meeting in Uptown,” he says, “What’s their name?”

“His name?” Mike asks.

“Yes.”

“The name of my friend?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Gordon.”

“Gordon what?”

“Excuse me?”

“Gordon’s last name. What is it?”

“His last name. I’m sorry. Yeah, I was distracted by a thing. Anyway, his last name is Sumner.”

The cop scribbles it down. “Gordon Sumner?”

“That’s correct.”

I hang my head, wondering if either the cop or Mike realizes that Gordon Sumner is the real name of Sting; the lead singer of The Police. Oh well, Mike could have chosen Sting the wrestler or Sting the Shawnee Warrior or Gordon Shumway, the real name of TV’s ALF. Guess I should be thankful for the small things.

To Mike’s credit, he’s recovered nicely. Right after Nancy’s car blew up, all he could do for several minutes was scream, “Holy shit” at varying volumes. By the time he got it together, the people in the neighborhood were on their front lawns and the cops were on their way.

The cops do their best to screen off the smoldering remnant of the car. Not an easy task, given the level of damage. The cop dealing with us asks a few more routine questions and Mike provides a few more routine lies. But the interrogation’s just getting started. Sergeant Hara is on the scene and after consulting with the first responders, he’s directed over to us.

“Let’s chat,” he says, hoisting the crime scene tape.

We step away from the crowd, the cops and the flaming vehicle. Hara stands with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to one side. Even in the dark, the cop eyes bore into me.

“What happened here?” he asks.

I don’t bullshit him. He’d see through it and I’m still too shell-shocked to make up a decent story. I tell him about the meeting with Nancy and what we discussed, down to Fran Mahoney and the suspicions of Tess. Hara doesn’t so much as blink. He eyes Mike.

“All this true?” Hara asks.

Mike sticks his hands in his pockets and shrinks into himself. “Absolutely. Then again, I might be confused. I confuse easy.

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