Requiem For The Widowmaker by Noir Blackie

Author:Noir, Blackie [Noir, Blackie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-04-13T04:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Stalking a killer branded as the Widowmaker, hoping to locate a potential witness known only as Satana, Nadine felt as though she’d been deposited in the middle of a Batman comic book. Shit, even her new partner, Johnny Vance, seemed to fit the mode. Five hours on the case and already her head was spinning.

Well, there wasn’t anything comic about the three victims she’d spent the morning with. The best thing could be said about that terrible trio, they were all dead. Even in death the three men radiated menace. A menace so palpable, even acknowledging that her childhood background had painted her with the brush of bias, Nadine still felt the Widowmaker’s harsh justice was appropriate. Was Vance on the money? Was her history getting in the way? Or, worse yet, was she becoming a Widowmaker fan?

Ludicrous. She saw the situation exactly as it was. The Widowmaker was a murderer. It was her job to catch him. The fact that she couldn’t generate an iota of sympathy for his latest targets meant nothing. Wasn’t her fault those men were scum.

Grabbing the second half of her turkey sandwich Nadine leaned back in her chair, stared at Puddin. Unblinking, seated on the opposing kitchen chair, the cat returned her stare. “It’s not gonna work,” Nadine said, “you already had yours. No more. Stick to the deal.”

Puddin never broke the eye contact, Nadine took another bite, looked away. When the phone rang she left her sandwich, went to the counter and grabbed the cordless. Swallowing, expecting an update from Vance, she said, “Yeah.”

A guy, definitely not Vance, “Unreal. You actually answered. Three weeks, all I ever got was your machine. I’m flabbergasted, totally unprepared for this.”

Flabbergasted? Shit. Why hadn’t she let the machine pick it up. It was the movie guy, Todd Citron. Shit. Shit. Shit! Caught off guard she stalled, “Who is this?”

“This is the dude has been leaving you messages for weeks, if you’re Nadine Kozok. My voice must be familiar to you by now. Unless maybe you’re the cleaning service.”

Cleaning service, right. Getting her bearings back now, thinking maybe for a minute go with it, say she’s the maid, Nadine settles for her best cop-voice, “Either identify yourself, or I’m hanging up.”

“Todd Citron officer. Would you like me to fax you a copy of my drivers license?

“Yeah, that’d be good. I’ll be needing the full numbers of all your major credit cards too.”

“How disillusioning, my favorite hero cop, turns out to be a crooked cop.”

“Life in the big city, sonny. What is it you want?”

“Wow. This can’t be the real you. I mean, like you’re still in character, right. You’ve got your cop face on, that it?”

“In character? I’m not an actor. I’m a cop, it’s what I am. Now, answer the question. What do you want?”

“A date. A meeting. A get together. OK?”

“Which one? Date. Meeting. Which?”

Laughing, Citron says, “Any, either, all, take your pick. I don’t usually have this kind of difficulty, I’m Todd Citron.”

Smiling, Nadine

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