Black

Chapter 27

"I just don't need the specter of a lawsuit hanging over my head, Black. You should know that people will sue over anything."

"Dog eat dog world, ain't it?"

"Sure 'nuff," Stan agreed.

"So what's your take?"

"I think if, and that's obviously a huge if, there was a shooter hiding in the bushes, we might have gotten lucky and a ricochet hit him. That's what I think."

"Or the gardener got careless with the trimmer."

"Nah. The distraught hottie gave us their number. I talked to the supervisor. Nobody gashed themselves here," Stan said.

"She is hot, isn't she?"

"No offense, my friend, but she's way out of your league. She'd eat you alive. High maintenance doesn't start to cover that."

"I know. I just wish she'd stop rubbing on me. I'm starting to chafe."

"You're not just a boy toy."

"I have feelings. I think things, and shit."

"But she was all over you like that when Hunter was alive too, right?"

"Yup. I mean, not in front of him, but when he wasn't there, she just about tore my pants off."

"I'm reconsidering the PI thing, you know. You need a partner?"

"When she was married, there was no way. But now..."

"Don't tell me you're even thinking about it."

"I'm not. What do you take me for?" Black insisted, the lie obvious in his voice.

"You look snappy today. You in a tango show or something?"

"Why does everyone F with me over my clothes?"

"Jealousy."

"That's what I thought."

"Dude. Just do me a favor. Cut the crime chat with the babe, all right? Ix-nay on the ead-day usband-hay."

"You got it. I wasn't thinking clearly. Her breasts cast some kind of a spell."

"Maybe she has mini-syringes in them and she drugged you."

"She tried that with a margarita the last time I was here."

"Second to last," Stan corrected. "Last time her husband played piñata on the front steps."

"Oh. That."

"So how was it?"

"What?"

"The margarita?"

"Kind of like her. Sweet, but high octane. Packed a wallop."

"I'm definitely reconsidering the PI thing."

"It's not all sex-starved temptresses and boozing and solving crimes."

"I'm okay with the no solving crimes part. Listen. Seriously. Can you keep your pie hole shut about something if I tell you?"

"Of course. My lips are sealed. What's up?"

"When you called me? I was just reading over the forensics report on our buddy Freddie."

"Mister Paparazzi. The punching bag."

"That's him. Turns out Hunter didn't kill him."

Black suddenly craved a cigarette more than he would have thought possible. "Come again?"

"He was poisoned. Somebody gave him a hot shot in the hospital."

"You're kidding."

"Right. I'm working on my comedy act. Which is why I want to know where you get your suits."

"But why?"

"Why would I want to dress like you?"

"No, why would someone knock Freddie off in the hospital?"

"My hunch is, because they could. Probably the same perp who's been whacking the photogs. It fits. Opportunistic."

"I'll say." Black cleared his throat. "You think this is related?"

"What do I know? I liked Hunter for the killings."

"But what's the motive? Why kill them both?"

"That, my friend, is the question of the day. Assuming that the same wing nut knocked them both off. We're still a long way from that."

They turned and meandered back to where Meagan was waiting. The evening was now almost upon them as the technicians continued their work, basking in the high-voltage glare of the portable work lights.

Black took Meagan's hands in his and faced her. "Meagan, I've got to get going. Detective Colt here is the best. He'll take good care of you."

Worry flickered across her face. "Do you have to?"

"I'm afraid so. I have another case I'm working." Black didn't want to tell her the real reason he thought it was a good idea to leave.

"Okay, then...thanks...I guess. For all of this..."

"No problem. The police can handle it from here."

She seemed about to say something, and then reconsidered and instead, nodded.

He could feel both her and Stan's eyes following him as he made his way back to the Cadillac, his head spinning at the ramifications of what he'd discovered.

Hunter had been murdered.

As had Freddie.

And none of it made the slightest sense.