The Secrets of Newberry by Victor McGlothin

Author:Victor McGlothin [MCGLOTHIN, VICTOR]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC048000
ISBN: 9780446569842
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2010-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

At eleven-fifty, Mouton blew out a dense stream of cigarette smoke as he stared out over the Mississippi River. Several barges glided down the watery canal. Two prominent riverboats went past, upper and lower decks littered with passengers counting the stars among the money they’d lost gambling. The detective eyed his rectangular wristwatch, wondering if he’d wasted his time by asking Hampton to turn on his accomplice. There were so many holes in the evidence Mouton gathered. City politicians, federal agencies, and local departmental brass were climbing up his neck, all wanting the same thing, for the reign of terror to end.

After he’d smoked his third cigarette down to the nub, Detective Mouton flicked it into the water. Before he decided to call it a night and head home for a decent block of much needed sleep, footsteps paced toward him in a slow, deliberate manner. “I was beginning to think you got a kick out of hiding in the shadows while I huffed through a pack of Chesterfields,” Mouton said jokingly. “I hope you don’t mind me turning around to see who’s been keeping me up nights.” He hesitated then drew in a heap of apprehension. “Should I be looking to catch a bullet when I do?”

“Not from me,” Bones answered, sure and steady. He’d put on his best suit, a black houndstooth number with wide lapels, and shiny two-toned shoes. “I’ve seen you in the papers plenty, Archie, and I’ve been anxious to see how the real thing stacks up. You’re quite a bit taller than I imagined.” Bones held his pistol waist high, with the hammer back, and held a three- by four-inch wooden box while Mouton turned with both hands raised.

“I’d hate to have a misunderstanding,” Mouton called out, loud enough to be heard clearly by the man behind him. His eyes narrowed as soon as he laid eyes on Bones, noting his natty attire and the fresh cigar wedged in the corner of his mouth. That was the clincher. A chewed cigar had been left at the scene of each homicide, like a calling card. “It’s funny how I spent all day trying to get a line on if you’d actually show. Interesting thought, how you’re more and less than I figured.”

“Should I take offense, Detective? That didn’t nearly resemble any compliment I ever heard.” Bones kept his gun pointed, sizing up the detective and any ideas he may have been cooking up to take his prime suspect in, dead or alive. “You came alone. I checked when you got here. An honest man and a desperate man often wear the same clothes when their neck is on the line. Whichever you happen to be isn’t of any consequence, unless of course you intend to use your desperation to snare me. Then, I’d just as soon blast you right here and sharpen my teeth for the goon they’ll sit at your desk once you’re in the ground.”

Mouton was glad he’d decided to ride solo. Overzealous patrolmen with itchy trigger fingers had ruined more cases than he cared to remember.

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