Last Dance in Phoenix by Kurt Reichenbaugh

Author:Kurt Reichenbaugh [Reichenbaugh, Kurt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Noir Fiction, Crime
ISBN: 9780986059490
Google: qfnlsgEACAAJ
Publisher: Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing
Published: 2015-05-21T12:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

The interview with the two cops only slightly rattled Kent. His subtle fascination with Detective Shelly Davies was the most he took from it. He didn’t think they had had any undue suspicion toward him, but cops were tricky bastards, they could have just been toying with him. There was no telling what they really thought. Still, they had to question the people Valerie worked with, that only made sense. Otherwise they wouldn’t be doing their job.

He didn’t envy them. They’d have to run through a lot of people for little result. And they’d have to sit and listen to a lot of nutty conjecture, hair-brained theorizing and judgments from some of the cows employed here.

Jackson still hadn’t shown.

Rowley wasn’t in, either.

Kent wondered what the hell was going on with them. They both had been cagey bastards lately.

He might as well take advantage of their absence. He decided he could use a drink and now was a good time to get one.

He logged off his workstation and left the suite, nodding once again at the old bat manning the reception desk, Valerie’s former post. Seeing the old ginch sitting there like that, the overhead light glinting off her glasses as she tapped on her keyboard, barely acknowledging him as he left, drew a pang of sadness from him. Valerie may have had her issues, but she had gotten a hell of a raw deal. He wished there was something he could have done. If he’d only gotten there sooner, maybe he could have seen something, stopped it somehow. Granted, he couldn’t have been with her twenty-four-seven, but at least he might have saved her that night.

He rode the elevator alone down to the parking garage, grateful that he didn’t have to share the ride with any of the trolls from the call center on the floor below his company. They always smelled of cigarette smoke and never had a problem barking into their cell phones while standing next to you, blathering on about shit that any prudent person would have kept private. Any few moments of his workday he could get alone seemed a treat. Not having to nod or smile, respond to some trite witticism, or step around anyone as they shambled about the building.

He needed a vacation.

He got into his car and aimed it for Shepard’s Pub, located just south of Scottsdale and just far enough away from the tourists and snowbirds. It was a quiet, low-key joint, unlike most of the other pubs closer to work. And the best thing about it was no one from the office was likely to pop in and see him there. He could down a couple beers with lunch if he wanted to without having to worry about someone from the company—like Tyler, for example—finking on him.

Cecilia greeted him from the bar as he entered.

“Hi Kentlando,” she smiled, “Usual?”

“That would be great, Cecilia. Thanks.”

He sat down at a table near the window, where he had a good view of the strip mall across the street.

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