“You’re going to Seattle.”
Dave took the news better than Moreen, who groaned loudly. “We’re taking her deal?” she asked.
“We’re taking her deal,” their supervisor, Walter, confirmed. They were sitting in front of his desk, which was a mess of overstuffed files, loose papers, and stapled reports. Walter Franke was a beefy, middle-aged former agent who’d had the misfortune of being excellent at his job. It led to his promotion, making him responsible for nearly the whole department instead of just his own cases. The stress left him permanently grouchy.
“You know we can’t trust her,” Dave said.
“No, I never would have guessed. Thanks so much for letting me know.” Walter rolled his eyes. “We don’t have a choice. The pressure’s coming down hard to solve this murder, and right now, the Black Valentine’s our only lead.”
“But there are so many better options we could try first,” Moreen muttered, “Like a magic 8-ball or a phone psychic.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Walter said. “But if you want to take out your frustrations on me, by all means, keep griping. I’ll wait.”
Moreen prudently opted not to say anything. Dave raised his hand.
“Jesus, Del Toro, this isn’t a classroom. What’s your question?”
“Why am I going?” Dave asked. “I know I’ve resisted the Black Valentine’s mind-control before, but she’ll be on exatrin the whole time, right?” Continue reading “Two Eyeballs and a Gun” – Part 2