The Burn by Kent Kathleen

Author:Kent, Kathleen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2020-02-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

January 12, 2014

The House

Suspension. Two weeks. No pay. That leaves me a lot of time to ponder the imponderable. I wake to aching muscles, tender bruises, and the remnants of a wicked headache. Which may or may not have something to do with downing a Saturday-night triple shot of Jameson right before bedtime. But it’s my conversation with Seth at Norma’s Café that pains me the most.

I pace around the house until Jackie stands in front of me, offering me my running shoes like a votive sacrifice. She dangles them by their laces, the disused, well-worn bodies swaying on her fingers, droopy as two dead rabbits.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she says.

“It’s cloudy and cold outside,” I say petulantly.

She sighs. “It’s Sunday. My day off. Either you leave the house, or I have to.”

I finally change into my running gear and walk out into the cold air, determined to cover a few miles even if I have to crawl or stagger along the way to finish. I have no clear plan where I’m going. I just need to cover some ground.

The murky sky is an inverted bowl sealing in all the prickly things: the dead grass on the lawns, the rain-starved bushes, the wilted cactus…me.

I pick up the pace to a slow jog. Amazingly—miraculously—both calf muscles feel supple and strong. Jogging feels good. It hasn’t felt this good since before the injury. The dry air feels necessary to my lungs, like the finest sandpaper used to buff a shine on rusty objects. I’m careful to pick my steps. A twisted ankle on top of a ruptured Achilles tendon would not be good. Easy does it.

I jog slowly for what must be close to a mile, the fine, powdery frost puffing gently after each footfall. Overhead, a vulture wheels restlessly in endless loops.

I think of the next few weeks, which will be torture without a plan for something productive to do. Besides the mandatory sessions with Dr. Theo, and gym time, I have basically zip, zero, nada to fill my days and keep the spiders out of the old mental attic. I have no departmental resources right now. But then again…I do have valuable street resources. The three things on my mind are determining how bad Seth’s drug problem is, uncovering the whereabouts of El Cuchillo, and finding out who, if not the Sinaloans, is killing the street dealers. If it’s a cop, as Tilton insinuated, I want to be the first one with a leg up on that information. I believe Seth’s CI Wayne, given enough financial incentive, will confide in me, as will Dusty Rose. Mary Grace is now staying with Dottie, and both of them have an ear to the streets. Maybe with a little covert spying I can find out what Pearla Simms knows about Chuffy—and, by extension, about my partner. I may be on suspension, but I’m not deaf, dumb, and blind.

With these rousing thoughts I’ve picked up the pace, a stupid grin plastered on my face.

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