Phoenix Noir by Patrick Millikin

Author:Patrick Millikin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective - General, Detective, Detective and mystery stories, Crime & mystery, Phoenix (Ariz.), Anthologies (multiple authors), Mystery & Detective, Mystery, American - 21st century, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Fiction - Mystery, Fiction, Noir fiction, American, Mystery fiction, Mystery & Detective - Anthologies, Suspense, Crime & Thriller, General, Short stories, Mystery & Detective - Short Stories
ISBN: 9781933354859
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2009-11-01T09:09:36.861000+00:00

PART III

A TOWN WITHOUT PITY

OTHERS OF MY KIND

BY JAMES SALLIS

Glendale

As I turned into my apartment complex, sack of Chinese takeout from Hong Kong Garden in hand, Szechuan bean curd, Buddhist Delight, a man stood from where he’d been sitting on the low wall by the bank of flowers and ground out his cigarette underfoot. He wore a cheap navy-blue suit that nonetheless fit him perfectly, gray cotton shirt, maroon tie, oxblood loafers. He had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Miss Rowan? Jack Collins, violent crimes.” With an easy, practiced motion he flipped open his wallet to display a badge. “You give me a minute of your time?”

“Why not. Come on up.”

Without asking, I spooned food out onto two plates and handed one to him. For a moment he looked surprised, but only for a moment, then tucked in.

“So what can I do for you, Jack Collins?” I asked between bites. We stood around the kitchen island. Tiles chipped at the edge, grout stained by untold years of spills and seasoned by time to a light brown. The kitchen radio, as always, was on. After 6:00 the station switches from classical to jazz. Lots of tenor sax. California bebop beating its breast.

“Well, first, I guess, you could tell me why you handed me this plate.”

“You’re not wearing a wedding ring. Your shirt needs press-ing, and even with that suit and tie, you have on white socks. A wife or girlfriend would have called you on that. So I figure you live alone. People who live alone are usually up for a meal. Especially at 6:30 in the evening.”

“And here I thought I was the detective.” He forked in the last few mouthfuls of food. “Vegetarian?”

I admitted to it as he went to the sink, rinsed off utensils and plate, and set them in the rack.

“I know what happened to you,” he said.

“You mean how I spent my early years.”

“Danny and all the rest, yes.”

“Those records were sealed by the court.”

“Yeah, well …”

He came back to collect my dishes and utensils, took them to the sink and rinsed them, added them to the rack. Stood there looking out the window above the sink. Another tell that he’s a bachelor, used to living alone. Maybe just a little compulsive.

“Look, I’m just gonna say this. I spent the last few hours up at the county hospital, Maricopa. Young woman by the name of Cheryl got brought in there last night. Twenty years old going on twelve. Way it came about was, the neighbors got a new dog that wouldn’t stop barking. They didn’t have a clue, tried everything. Then, first chance the dog had, it shot out the door, parked itself outside the adjoining apartment, and wouldn’t be drawn away. Finally they called 911. Couple of officers responded, got no answer at the door, had the super key them in. Found Cheryl in a closet, bound and gagged, clothespins on her nipples, handmade dildos taped in place in her vagina and rectum. Guy

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