Raney & Levine by J. A. Schneider

grimace. He was in his late forties, muscular and barrel-chested.
    “Any Jesse excitement brings them out of the woodwork,”
     David said; and Jill, looking back from the doorway, said, “You’ve got more
     monitors.”
    “Not enough.” An impatient gesture. “We’re expecting more.
     It’s slow, nothing gets done fast enough.” Sivak motioned them over to a large,
     open cardboard box a few feet from his desk.
    Jill peeked in, and jerked back cringing. Black snakes
     writhed and slithered, some trying to climb up the box’s sides, and flopping
     back. A shallow bowl of water was surrounded by bits of lettuce and bacon and
     what looked like broken up cheeseburgers.
    “We ordered out for ‘em,” Sivak said drily. “The cops said
     hold off giving them to Animal Control until they decide if they’re evidence.”
    “Of something worse than vandalism?” David asked.
    “Yeah. The vandalism thing was just from the responding
     uniforms. Detectives are en route, said it looks connected to that attack on
     the Walsh woman. Doctor Hutchins filled me in on the anatomy lab snake when it
     happened.” Sivak grimaced. “Seven heads … I’ve heard of that. It’s from the
     Bible, right? Hey! Get back down, mister!”
    He reached bare-handed and popped back down a snake who had
     reached the top of the carton. Jill cringed further back, and sank unsteadily
     into a chair. Sivak shot her a look and grinned thinly. David almost smiled
     too.
    “Garter snakes,” Sivak told her. “They’re harmless. I used
     to play with ‘em.” He hesitated, looked at David. “Oh damn, I should have used
     gloves. Those snakes might have prints on them.”
    “Nah,” David said. “More likely the guy wore gloves.” He was
     glancing around the office.
    In her chair Jill made an overdramatic shiver-shudder. ““I
     haaate snakes. Yech! Why did it have to be snakes?”
    David looked from a cabinet back to Sivak. “Carl Hutchins
     said one of them was shot?”
    “Oh, yeah, our Miguel was trying to chase ‘em and went nuts.
     Tough guy with people but also hates snakes. Feel better?” Another friendly
     glance to Jill, then Sivak went to a shelf and held up a big Ziplock bulging
     with … snake. Dead, black, coiled and bloodied.
    “Miguel blew his head off, poor thing. The snake, I mean.
     Miguel’s out in front there, still recovering.”
    Sivak leaned to his door, still holding the Ziploc. “Hey
     Miguel, feeling better? No more
culebras
!”
    Raucous laughter and one protesting male voice answered.
    Sivak turned back. David was eyeing the Ziploc.
    “The cops won’t need all the snakes, will they?” he asked.
     “I’d like to take that dead one.”
    Sivak frowned a little, unsure.
    “Same guy, they must all be from the same source,”
David pressed. “The cops’ll have the six in the box to examine.”
    Sivak shrugged, and gave him the stuffed Ziploc. “Sure. If
     they want ‘em all, I’ll tell them you have the seventh. What are you going to
     do with it?”
    David said autopsy it, holding up the bloody bag for a
     closer look.
    Jill squirmed and grimaced at the bag. “Argh, I don’t even
     want to
look
at that!”
    The two men traded looks. Sivak fished a big McDonald’s bag
     out of the wastebasket, and they stuffed the Ziploc into it.
    “Want a napkin?” Sivak asked. “Lemon-scented hand wipes?”

17
    T heir cell phones didn’t buzz and they didn’t get
     called in the dash up to Peter Gregson, in Pathology on the ninth floor. David
     had called him from the elevator.
    “You just caught me,” Peter said near the lab door, lightly
     hugging Jill and greeting David. “With you two, I know it’s never going to be
     boring.”
    Gregson was the pathology resident who had taught Jill how
     to grow out a tissue culture to further examine a cadaver’s cause of death.
     Now, bitching about examining boring benign skin moles and leading the way past
     counters and microscopes and residents working