The Righteous Cut by Robert E Skinner

Author:Robert E Skinner [Robert Skinner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
ISBN: 978-1-61595-302-8
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press, Inc.
Published: 2011-05-04T00:00:00+00:00

Farrell left police headquarters after sharing roast beef sandwiches with his father. The time with Casey had warmed him, and caused him to wonder if he would go back to Cuba after the first of the year. He didn’t know how many years his father had left, and that thought was sobering.

He paused at the corner newsstand as the headlines from the latest edition of the Times-Picayune caught his eye. Under Art Frizell’s byline, he read what little the reporter had learned about the murders of Jack Amsterdam and Butch Callahan. Art had dubbed the .22-wielding assassin “The Love-Tap Killer.” Grinning, Farrell left a nickel for the newsie and took the paper along with him.

He had left his car two blocks from Police Headquarters out of necessity, but walking down a sunlit street in his hometown seemed the purest form of recreation to him at that moment. He strolled with his hands in his pockets, his mind wandering. He was within sight of his car when the gleam of a lost coin on the sidewalk caught his eye. He slowed his pace, leaned a bit forward to get a better look. As his head moved, something like an angry bee hummed past his ear and swept the gray Stetson off his head. In a split second, Farrell’s subconscious recognized that bees didn’t knock a man’s hat off, knew a second bullet could be on its way, sent an order to Farrell’s muscles that flattened his body on the sidewalk. As he fell, the second bullet came, whining off the sidewalk at his shoulder. He rolled instinctively into the cover of a parked automobile.

He waited for a moment, then crawled to the rear of the pale green Oldsmobile that sheltered him. From his vantage point at the rear fender, Farrell had a good view of the street. Traffic flowed past him, but no single pedestrian was in sight across the broad avenue. Sweet shooting for a pistol. Too sweet, maybe. He scanned the area for a vantage point from which a man might use a rifle, and saw there were many. Most of the buildings across the street were one- and two-story flat-roofed commercial buildings. Easy to gain access to and easy to escape from. He saw his hat nearby and pulled it to him. Two very small holes in the crown—a .22 for certain. He looked again across the street, checking the parked cars. It was impossible to tell the direction from which the shot had come. The shooter might be gone already, or just waiting for another shot.

He clapped the hat back on his head, got to one knee. The sunlight still glinted off the quarter that had saved his life. He picked it up, polished it on his lapel. “You and I will never be parted, sweetheart, no matter how hungry I get.” He tucked it behind his show handkerchief.

Taking one last look over the trunk of the Oldsmobile, he got to his feet and sprinted down the street.

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