Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass by Emily Kimelman

Author:Emily Kimelman [Kimelman, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Thriller - P.I. and Dog - India
ISBN: 1491068027
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2013-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

THE VIRTUES IN JUSTICE

I couldn’t let them knock on that door. Right now I already had two, I was assuming armed, men to deal with. The driver got out and I hit my accelerator, racing down the street at him. He started around the side of the van but when I was about ten feet away he turned back toward me, the sound of my engine catching his attention.

I took a deep breath and right as I pulled up even with him I pushed off the scooter’s floor, my arms out and launched myself. He fell hard and we skittered a couple of beats along the pavement. As we bounced I reached inside his open jacket and, finding what I thought would be there, pulled the man’s gun from his holster and pointed it into his face as we came to a stop. But the guy was out cold.

I dropped and rolled to the front of the van, staying low. The guy in the passenger seat had a couple of options. Get out and have his feet shot or call for backup. Which meant I needed to go in there and get him. I steadied my breathing, thinking hard. The driver stirred and sat up, a look of incomprehension on his face. I aimed his gun at him from where I sat crouched in front of the van, the headlights backlighting me and making him squint.

Blood seeped from the man’s hair, trickling past sunken brown eyes set in deep dark circles. He noticed me and stared blankly. “Hands up,” I said. He did as he was told, revealing forearms pulverized by road rash.

The door of the building opened and I heard a woman gasp and cry out softly. Looking under the van, I saw her bare feet step into the street. Her toes were painted pink and there were bruises circling her ankles. The ligature marks made me mad. A man’s dark dress shoes and burgundy cuffed pants followed closely behind the woman. I heard the van’s window roll down and the passenger said something in Gujarati I couldn’t understand. The man behind the bruised woman answered him and then laughed.

The driver yelled something then. I assumed something along the lines of “she has my gun and is pointing it at me.” The man at the door yelled something back and then laughed again. I had a feeling he wasn’t taking me seriously. Another example of sexism getting someone killed, I thought to myself, then rolled under the van until I was even with the laughing man, laying on my back. The driver yelled but I pushed off, propelling myself out from under the van between the woman’s legs, then the man’s. Then I shot his fucking balls off.

His scream came two beats after the loud crack of the gun piercing the night. The woman screeched and looked down at me with wide, black eyes. The man was looking down at his crotch. He dropped the gun he’d been holding and grabbed for his manhood then crumpled to the ground, his face white with anguish and shock.

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