Fish on a Bicycle by Amy Lane

Author:Amy Lane [Lane, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-676-9
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2019-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

Jigsaw and Duct Tape

JACKSON’S PHONE was buzzing, but not with an alarm.

“What the… fucking… motherfucker. Ellery, did we oversleep?”

“No.” Ellery yawned delicately—like the cat. “We can’t oversleep. We’re the bosses. I turned off your alarm.”

“But I set that on purpose—fuck!” He said that last part right into the phone.

“Thank you, no,” Kryzynski said dryly. “You are not my type.”

Jackson’s head ached, and his fucking back felt like a big throbbing inflatable raft. “I wouldn’t bang you in the dark on Viagra. Why are you here in my bed at fuck-all in the morning?”

“It’s nine, Rivers. Must be nice to keep your own hours.”

Oh Jesus. The night before—Jackson looked at Ellery, who was arching a singularly unrepentant eyebrow. The night before had been an emotional meat grinder.

“It is when your boyfriend doesn’t keep them for you,” he muttered. “I’m sorry about that—my bad. Why are we talking again?”

“Because I know who your guy with the blade was. First name Ralph, last name—”

“Gordon,” Jackson said, and yes, a little bit smugly. “He works for Candy Cormier.”

“Jesus,” Kryzynski swore. “I did not know that last part. How did you?”

“Gnomes. What can you tell me about Cormier?”

Kryzynski gave a sigh. “Newcomer. Last few months or so—word is he’s up from down south. Meth, manufacture, distribution, and sales. He’s sort of….” Jackson could hear the gears turning and respected that. “He’s organized,” Kryzynski said thoughtfully. “Like, since February, he’s infiltrated all the mini-markets in the area and taken over. I think he even refined the product. I know we’ve had half the poisonings in the last six months.”

“Does he use?” Jackson asked, remembering Herbert’s claim that he was more meth than brains at this point.

“From what I’ve heard? No. But he is certifiable. We’ve got a couple of butchered bodies that were his errand boys who got greedy. Can’t pin it on him—can’t pin him down—but we’ve heard his name whispered often enough, you know?”

“February,” Jackson said, looking sideways at Ellery. Ellery paused from reading his phone long enough to raise his eyebrows.

“Interesting,” he mouthed, and Jackson nodded.

“Very.” Then he tuned back in to Kryzynski. “So, Candy Cormier—meth, militarized, douchebag. Sent Ralph Gordon in to erase the original footage. Did he succeed?”

“Yes and no,” Kryzynski said. “We’ve got a car and a partial plate driving up near the dumpster about twenty minutes before Henry Worrall did his chores, but nothing beyond that. Not even a shadow.”

Jackson grunted. “Did you run the partial?”

“Yeah—the car’s decent. A Buick Encore, big enough to hide the body, not big enough to be noticed. But our list is about two hundred possibilities long. Do you have any names you want me to run it against?”

Jackson sighed. It was time to put up or shut up. “Got three possibilities,” he said. “Summer Frasier, Ash Carver, or Robert Sampson.”

“The vic’s father?” Kryzynski said, obviously impressed. “On what evidence?”

“A hunch,” Jackson said. “We’re working on evidence.”

“Well, let me know when you get something. I mean, I know Martin wasn’t a model son, but his dad’s a—”

“Drug-dealing douchebag.

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