PsyCop 6.1 - In the Dark by Jordan Castillo Price

Author:Jordan Castillo Price [Price, Jordan Castillo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A PsyCop Halloween short
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Luckily the guy at the door remembered me from the first time around,

so I didn’t need to come off like a party crasher by explaining I’d

already been crossed off the guest list as Jacob’s “+1.” The party vibe

had intensified while I was outside and the alcohol had been doing its

work. People were standing closer, laughing louder. Their gregariousness

didn’t rub off on me at all. No matter how hard I tried to get back in

the swing of the party, I found I had no appetite for spicy meat rolls

anymore. The champagne wasn’t calling to me either. I couldn’t even

think of a smartass song to request from the DJ.

The business of death leaves a sour taste your mouth. There’s no

expiration date on it, either. A crime doesn’t need to be fresh to leave

you wishing you’d never known about it, and then wondering what

kind of world you live in that things like that can happen.

When I sought out Jacob, it wasn’t exactly for comfort. Him and me,

we’re not the type to kiss each other’s boo-boos, cradle each other’s

heads, or murmur “there, there” in each other’s ears. Despite that, he

did manage to exude reassurance in a subtle but very concrete way.

His posture. His direct gaze. His utter certainty, which usually made me

want to scream. At times, though, that certainty washed over me as

persistent and soothing as a Seconal on a Friday night.

He spotted me feeling my way through the crowd and disengaged from

his conversation by the time I caught up with him, and zeroed in close

to me in a way we couldn’t usually do out in public, given our jobs.

Our thighs brushed. He rested his hand on my hip. “There you are. I

thought one of your admirers made off with you.”

“Uh huh,” I said blandly. Because either I’d heard him wrong, or I’d

16

heard him perfectly fine…and simply had no idea what he was talking

about. Most likely he was just yanking my chain.

“Do you need a drink?”

I shook my head, then angled my mouth to his ear to ask him a

question over the club beats du jour. “When did Keith retire?”

Jacob gave me a once-over and narrowed his eyes. It was a simple

enough question, but that look must’ve meant the answer was nowhere

near as easy. He thought about it, chose his words to be concise enough

to penetrate the music, then leaned into me and said, “He didn’t. He

quit.”

“Really?” Yeah, I’d pegged him for a guy who’d seen a lot of things that

rubbed him wrong. But also as someone who’d managed to build up a

callus against them. “He doesn’t…strike me that way. As a quitter.”

The music chose that particular moment to end, and my last word

seemed to reverberate in the brief silence. …itter, itter, itter, itter. But

before I could figure out who’d heard me and how embarrassed I

needed to be, a big blat of disco nearly knocked me on my ass, and

the crowd of fifty-something queers and their glittery underfed female

friends all whooped and started to bump or hustle or whatever John

Travolta move they were attempting.

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