Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel by E.J. Findorff

Author:E.J. Findorff [Findorff, E.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2015-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

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The couple entered Sal’s dark, stale apartment in silence. Voices moved in a low bubble, but Cozy realized from the vibrating glow that it was the television. Sal didn’t percolate, so he must have been in the middle of his two hours of sleep.

She was careful not to bump anything as she collected her possessions. Not a significant sound was made, but Sal’s radar was on. He stirred.

“That you, Cozy?”

“Cozy?” Vince asked, “Where do I know that name?”

Shit, another stupid mistake. “I gave him a fake name. Just go with it.”

“I swear I’ve heard that name before. Wait a friggin’ second. Haley’s sister was named Cozy!” Vince grabbed her by both arms, almost pulling her off the floor. Her biceps screamed with pain.

Her knee shot into his groin. “Let me go.”

“I’m getting my gun, you bastard.” Sal’s body shook with urgency.

Vince pushed Cozy down. She landed on her knees on the floor while Vince checked to see what Sal was doing. “I came with the lying bitch, old man. I didn’t force my way in.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Sal pointed a shaky gun at him. “I used to be a cop.”

Vince laughed as he rushed Sal, knocking him to the ground. He slurred while sweeping his foot across the old man’s butt. “Don’t ever point a gun at me.”

“Cozy, what’s going on?” Sal questioned.

“What’r you doing with her, old man?” Vince knelt down and grabbed the collar of the pajamas. His fist reared back, but paused when Sal raised the gun to Vince’s nose and pulled the trigger.

Vince’s head exploded and his limbs went stiff as he fell sideways off of Sal. She expected some kind of animated recoil from Sal, but like Vince, he wasn’t moving. With a gasp as if she had come back to life, she jumped to Sal’s side, but his mouth was open and his eyes were glassy. Did he have a heart attack or an aneurism? A stroke? She knew those blue pills fucked with blood pressure.

“Oh, Sal. I’m sorry.” She inhaled until her lungs filled and ached.

Her time as a free woman grew short, but she balled her fists hard, remembering that the situation was still hers to control. His neighbors had to have heard the shot, but hopefully just rolled over, thinking it a dream. The burner cell Sal had mentioned sat near the lamp on the end table. She pocketed it, already having the number, and then ran a rag over the bathroom faucets, reminding her of the Titus clean up. Her analytical approached scared her. All the death she had experienced in her life had left her desensitized. She couldn’t worry about her prints anywhere else, as an immediate exit was mandatory.

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