5 Bad Moon by Anthony Bruno

lot of different women; and he was basically paranoid. He was barely worth the air he breathed.
    Gibbons assumed Cummings felt he was just as bad as Tozzi. He preferred baseball to opera, after all. Cummings just wasn’t saying it in so many words because she was a guest in his house. Of course, Lorraine didn’t help matters. She lapped this psychology shit right up, and that just encouraged Cummings to spout out more of it. According to the good doctor’s latest assessment, which Lorraine related to him with more than a few giggles before they turned out the lights last night, he and Tozzi had the egos of Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble with the ids of Frank and Jesse James. Very insightful.
    Lorraine started pouring out that glop from the pot into two bowls. She was humming, probably some tune from that opera video. Gibbons dropped two slices of rye bread into the toaster. Lorraine was really being weird about this whole situation. He and Cummings had been sniping at each other since she got here, but Lorraine was determined not to get involved. The odd thing was that the bickering didn’t seem to upset her very much. It was like she was quietly enjoying having her Barnard buddy on the premises throwing digs at him all the time and generally making his life miserable. Sort of like having a surrogate witch around the house to do the dirty wife business.
    Lorraine put the empty pot in the sink and brought the steaming bowls of glop to the table. Gibbons grabbed the edge of the table and braced himself.
    Cummings clasped her hands together. “Oh, my God! Cream of wheat. Lorraine, you are a sweetheart.”
    Lorraine shrugged and smiled. “A little treat. For both of us.”
    Cummings sniffed the rising steam and savored the experience, carefully stirring in a pat of butter and sprinkling cinnamon on top. Gibbons waited for her to spoon up her first taste.
    He stared down into her bowl. “You really like that stuff?”
    “Ummm.” She nodded and spooned up some more. “I love it.”
    “Aren’t you worried, though?”
    “What about?”
    “What your colleagues might think.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He nodded at the spoon as she put it in her mouth. “Looks like a bad case of semen envy to me.”
    Cummings gagged on her glop.
    Lorraine slammed down her spoon.
    The toast popped.
    Gibbons smiled like a crocodile.
    Lorraine was bound and determined not to yell at him. Barnard girls are above that. You could see in her crimson face how hard she was trying to be unaffected. Gibbons started buttering his toast.
    “Why are you going down to the state hospital today?” Lorraine asked, changing the subject. “I thought Ivers had you two on the Sabatini Mistretta case.”
    “Gonna go talk to Sal Immordino.” Gibbons spread butter on the second piece of toast. “He might know something about who killed Mistretta. He might also know something about who plugged Tozzi.”
    Cummings looked up from her glop. “It would be more helpful if he knew something about Donald Emerick.”
    “You still pushing that theory, huh? It’s a little too Twilight Zone, if you ask me. More than a little.”
    “Who’s Donald Emerick?” Lorraine asked.
    Cummings adjusted her glasses. “He was a patient on Sal Immordino’s ward who was reported missing the day before Sabatini Mistretta was murdered. I believe Mr. Emerick could be our killer.”
    Gibbons rolled his eyes and bit into a piece of toast.
    Lorraine leaned toward her buddy. “Why do you think this Emerick person is the killer?”
    “He’s killed before. Two women, both in the same week. One was a prostitute. The other was a housewife whom he happened to see parking in a handicapped space at the supermarket. He stalked them both and cornered them where they lived.”
    “So naturally he’d whack a mob boss next time he had a chance to kill. The pattern is obvious, right?”
    Cummings ignored his sarcasm and continued her explanation to Lorraine. “He nailed the prostitute to