The Eighth Day

Chapter 10

Clint Nelson took a long drag on his e-cig, savored it, and exhaled through the half-closed window on the passenger-side of the police cruiser.

Half-open, his wife's nagging voice rang in his ear. The window is half-open.

"Whatever," he said under his breath. The vapor curled up and away.

Mandy Nelson had been Mandy White when they first met, a waitress at a hole-in-the-wall diner where he and a couple of the boys happened to stop for coffee one morning, and when Clint saw her, he knew he wanted a piece of that action. She wore one of those pink and white striped aprons, a skirt that came about halfway down her thighs, and a pair of legs that wouldn't quit. He went back to the diner the next day, one thing led to another, and she'd wrapped those legs around him. Like a black widow spider, he later thought. But at the time, oh man, it had been bliss.

They got married two months later, and after they moved in together, Clint discovered his mistake. His blushing bride was a nagging bitch.

"Huh?" Leonard Devine asked.

Even a night spent cooped up in the cruiser with his partner, fat-ass Lenny the eating machine, was better than one spent at home listening to Mandy's endless nagging.

Clint, don't drink out of the carton.

Clint, take your shoes off, I just vacuumed.

Clint, don't leave your uniform lying all over the bedroom.

Clint, stop leaving your dirty dishes in the sink.

Clint, nag, nag, nag.

"Clint?"

"Nothing," Clint said and took another drag on his e-cig.

Leonard shrugged and bit into a donut.

Clint's lips curled back in contempt as the crumbs and white powder fell onto Leonard's uniform and cascaded over his ample gut. Mandy would have had his balls in a glass jar.

"You know what chaps my ass?" Leonard said. At least, that's what Clint thought he said. It was hard to make out when spoken through a mouthful of half-chewed donut.

Clint, tell Lenny to quit being such a worthless prick.

Clint smiled. On this, he and his wife agreed.

"It's when guys like—"

"Hold up," Clint said. Someone had come out of the building where Shawn Jaffe lived, head down and hands jammed into the pockets of a jacket. "What the hell's he doing?"

Leonard followed Clint's gaze. The man crossed the street and loped toward them with purposeful strides.

"Hey, pal," Leonard said.

He moved with the quickness of a rattlesnake strike. One second, he stood next to the open window of the cruiser. The next, he reached into the car, drew Leonard's piece, and pointed it at Leonard's fat head.

Leonard didn't have time to scream.

But Clint did, and when the pistol roared and the side of Leonard's head exploded and splattered him with brains and gore, Clint began screaming, crying, and laughing all at the same time. His smartphone rang, and he had the crazy idea it was Mandy, calling to tell him what a mess he was, and if he thought he'd come waltzing into the house with Leonard's brains dripping off his uniform, he had another thing coming, buster. This got him laughing harder.

Then the pistol roared again, and only the flat, dead bleat of Clint Nelson's smartphone followed.