Seasons: PsyCop Briefs, Volume 2 by Jordan Castillo Price

Author:Jordan Castillo Price
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Publisher: JCP Books LLC
Published: 2021-12-21T05:00:00+00:00

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Winter

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Roadside Resistance

Set between Body & Soul and Secrets

Chicago is normally an easy enough city to find your way around, even if you didn’t happen to grow up here. The streets are based on a grid, the numbers are regular and cross-streets are generally where you expect them to be.

And then there’s the Southwest side, where a main diagonal artery screws up your sense of direction, and disused train tracks crop up where you least expect them. I blame Archer Avenue for my disorientation. But it was more likely half-formed memories of Camp Hell had hijacked my attention and caused me to run over the big rusted hunk of metal that blew out my left rear tire.

It was a gray day to begin with—a sleety, shitty winter afternoon—and the sun was going down fast. At least I was on a side street, so I wasn’t directly in the line of traffic. There was a vacant stretch of land off to one side that used to be something. No buildings, not anymore. But the remains of a crumbling parking lot were visible where snow had drifted to one side, and the frames of a few abandoned cars sat rusting at the far end. There’d been an old textile factory here once, Remington Loomwork. And this had been prime real estate. But that was decades ago.

Now, the neighborhood felt as abandoned as the lot. There was a row of brick two-flats across the street, but a few of them were boarded up and plastered with No Trespassing signs, and the ones that did look inhabited had bars on the windows. Not the sort of neighborhood most folks want to go wandering around in. But I was on my way home from work and my sidearm was a comforting presence against my ribs.

Plus, my dented economy sedan was not exactly a carjacker magnet.

I got out and checked my tire. Even through the slush, it was obvious I’d need more than just a patch. Hopefully I hadn’t screwed up the rim…again. Most people swerve to avoid potholes, but not me. I’m too busy dodging repeaters. Not that I think it would hurt anything if I drove through them, mind you. I just can’t risk plowing down a live pedestrian I’ve taken for a ghost.

Normally, car trouble wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but tonight I was supposed to meet Jacob… at Cottonwood Lounge. It was the location of our first official date, though that wasn’t what normally sprang to mind when I thought of it. No, what I remembered most was plowing through a basket of breadsticks waiting for him there while he took off with my doppelganger. Me, I’d just as soon forget the place even existed. But he’d been bringing it up lately—a lot. Stray remarks about their linguine or their house dressing that I was positive had nothing at all to do with the food.

Eventually, I realized that he wasn’t trying to get me to face my fears and go look at the place.

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