Jump by Tim Maleeny Page B

eyeballs taken this time. Carlos regretted the missed opportunity, but he admired Zorro’s restraint. Maybe they would steal the eyeballs from the morgue.
    Carlos checked the action on the gun, savoring the sound as the bolt slid into place. He felt himself stir, aroused by the sensuality of the metal, the deadly precision of the rifle. Taking a deep breath, he carefully set the gun back in the box and checked his watch.
    It was almost time.

Chapter Twenty-four
    “Young man, get your ass in here.”
    Gail gave Sam the come-hither motion with her hand, then disappeared inside her apartment. He’d barely made it halfway down the hall before her door had snapped open.
    He stepped across the threshold, shut the door, and made his way to the living room, taking the seat he’d occupied the day before.
    “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asked. “It’s late.”
    “Sleep is for babies and drunks.”
    “How’d you know I was coming?” asked Sam, wondering if maybe the girls down the hall were right, and Gail really was a witch.
    “These walls are tissue paper.” Gail gestured vaguely toward the front door, the age spots on her hand making Sam think of a leopard. Fortunately her claws seemed to be retracted. “Besides, you have a very distinctive walk.”
    Sam unconsciously rubbed his left leg where the bullet fragments had lodged so many years ago. He’d walked with a limp so long, he was the only one who didn’t notice it.
    “What’s on your mind, Gail?” Sam tried to fight a yawn, lost, and gave into it.
    “I figured you’d need some coffee.” She gestured at the service on the coffee table, surrounded by carefully arranged cookies and chocolates.
    “Martha Stewart’s got nothing on you,” said Sam as he poured himself a cup.
    “You want an almond cookie?” asked Gail, gesturing at a cluster of pale ovals to her right. “They’re to die for.”
    Sam shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
    “Are you?” Gail leaned forward, her eyes bright.
    “Am I what?”
    “Good,” said Gail. “Are you good, Sam?”
    “I try to be.”
    “Good answer, young man.” Gail nodded, satisfied for the moment. “Most people would say yes, of course . Me, absolutely . I always do the right thing . Let me tell you something—no one always does the right thing.”
    “You going somewhere with this, Gail?” Sam leaned forward and refilled his cup.
    “I don’t like bullshitters.”
    “Me neither,” said Sam. “Who knew we had so much in common?”
    Gail barked a laugh. “You’re waking up—I can tell from that smart mouth of yours.”
    “The coffee is working.”
    “That’s not what I meant,” replied Gail. “I can see it in your eyes. This case has you hooked.”
    Sam put his cup down. “I’m not a cop anymore, Gail. There is no case.”
    “Now who’s bullshitting?”
    “You want to know if I talked to our neighbors.” Sam smiled despite himself.
    “I’m not stupid, young man. I know you talked to our neighbors. I want to know what they said.”
    “Shayla and Tamara, the “sexy young things,” think you’re a witch.”
    Gail cackled. “I do like them,” she said. “But I called them pretty, not—”
    Sam held up a hand. “Trust me, Gail, they’re sexy…and dangerous.”
    Gail’s eyes were backlit. “How dangerous?”
    “That’s not what I meant,” said Sam. “Dangerous to unsuspecting young men. But they didn’t kill our landlord.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    “Let’s just say they had him on a short leash.”
    “He killed their dog,” said Gail.
    “What?”
    “I just remembered that,” said Gail, “when you said leash. They had a cute little thing, white and fluffy. A Coton, at least I think that’s the breed.”
    “And Ed killed it?”
    Gail nodded. “He told them to get rid of the dog, even though our rental agreements clearly state pets are permitted. So naturally they refused.”
    Sam thought of Shayla and Tamara, their fuck authority attitude.