Smoke and Mirrors (Goosey Larsen Book 2) Read online

  I watched her drive off. The Mitsubishi was weighted down to dangerous levels, and it nearly bottomed out while passing over the speed bumps. Just to be on the safe side I laid there motionless, counting to a hundred before getting up. My clothes were still lying in a pile on the closet floor so I kicked them apart, searching for an old uniform somewhere in the mix. I had absolutely no luck, and it looked as if running a couple loads of laundry had just made my list of weekend chores for the day.

  I managed to make it into the bathroom without vomiting, but only after stopping twice to lean against the wall. I was feeling a little better by that point, at least until I spotted the note on the mirror. It was written in lipstick, a bright shade of fire engine red. “I had a good time last night! Call me!” Katie’s name was scribbled at the bottom in big block letters, with a small heart as the dot over the “i”.

  Several minutes later, just as soon as the room had stopped spinning and I was able to lift my head up from the toilet, I made a mental note to strip the sheets off the bed. Running them through with a load of laundry just wasn’t going to cut it, though. No, those sheets would have to be burned.

  2.

  Later that afternoon, after I’d managed to find enough spare change in the sofa to run a single load of whites, darks, and colors, I squeezed my way into an old uniform and smoothed out the wrinkles. The only edible thing in my entire place was a can of Chef Boyardee, so I tossed it in the oven without a second thought. I’ve always found the gentle hum of a microwave to be a calming sound. The soft buzzing noise was punctuated only by the popping sound of tomato sauce as it splattered its way onto the previous layers of filth.

  I flipped through the News and Courier as I waited for my dinner to warm up. The N&C was strictly a local paper, which meant that it was pretty much worthless when it came to covering real news. Still, I made a regular habit of thumbing through both the headlines and the regional sections, if only for the amusement value. There was no mention of any visiting dignitaries, but you could never tell with some of those bigwigs. A lot of the VIP types try to make their every move seem like it’s some kind of a big national secret, as if anybody really cared what they were doing or where they spent the night. I’ve got to say that in all likelihood, the city of Charleston is probably not very high up on Al-Qaeda’s target list.

  I kicked my feet up in the recliner and settled in to dinner, not even stopping to dump the Beefaroni into a clean bowl. The kitchen sink was near full already, and I’ve never been the type to needlessly dirty up another dish. Waste not, want not, that’s my motto. I pulled the La Z Boy’s handle back for a full recline, but quickly wrenched it back down as a loud tearing sound developed from the seat of my pants. I risked a glance down at the beginnings of a small hole in the stitching around my crotch. Oh well, I thought. It could be worse. The work week hadn’t even begun, and already I had an irrefutable reason to disappear on a trip to the uniform shop. That excuse was usually good for at least half a day of hiding out beyond the city limits. I wasn’t too concerned with my appearance, though, since nobody of importance ever came in to work on the weekends. Come to think of it, it’d been a good long while since I’d been roped into working on a weekend myself. Being a Central detective meant that I had a firm stranglehold on a sweet dayshift gig, nine to three, Monday through lunchtime on Friday.

  I looked up at the clock and saw it was six-thirty already. I could’ve easily gone on relaxing in my recliner for the rest of the evening, and honestly that would’ve been the likely outcome if I’d only had the chance to get a couple of beers in me like usual, but the best move for my career was to just suck it up and head in to the station. It never hurts to show up early every so often, especially on one of these special details. They’re an opportunity to show off my ambitious side, although strangely enough that hasn’t helped me out much on promotions. Still, I’m playing a waiting game when it comes to advancement opportunities. Eventually the competition is bound to dwindle once all the competent people retire, die, or abandon hope and quit.

  I worked my way upright, pausing to grab the empty Beefaroni can up off the floor. I was fixing to keep my place tidy by throwing it away, but both my trash can and the kitchen sink were overflowing already. Without any hesitation I stepped outside, took a quick glance around to make sure none of my neighbors were watching, then pitched it into an azalea bush. Hopefully some stray raccoon would come along and take care of the problem for me, scoring himself a nice hearty meal in the process. What can I say, I’ve always had a soft spot for animals.

  Overhead, the clouds were thickening and the sky looked almost black. It took all my willpower not to turn right around and head back inside, but I set my jaw and cranked up my unmarked cruiser before I could come to my senses. I pulled out of the complex onto Folly Road, and had made it more than halfway downtown before realizing that my bright yellow rain slicker was still hanging up in the closet. I sat at a traffic signal for a few minutes just grumbling at my forgetfulness, at least until some jerk a couple of cars back let me have it with a good long honk since the light had already turned green.

  I looked back and instinctively threw him the bird, then rooted around on the floorboard and tossed my blue bubble light up on the dash for good measure. Only when I was damned good and ready did I finally pull off, nice and slow, staring back at the guy in my rearview mirror as he slid down behind his steering wheel. I was still cursing myself, but ultimately decided against going back for my raincoat since it was probably better that I’d forgotten it. At least this way, I had a solid excuse to stay in my cruiser for the entire night. Downtown at the station, I pulled into the parking lot and gently nosed the car through the minefield of potholes. It was slow going, and the ride was far from gentle. My poor back wrenched with pain at each new bump and jolt, mostly because I’d gotten unaccustomed to wearing that stiff leather duty belt. I made a mental note to yank off some of the less-important gear after roll call, all the stuff I could do without like the handcuffs, flashlight and radio.

  The back parking lot was almost full, a rare sight for a weekend. There was one last open spot near the back door, and since it was marked “Reserved”, I took a sneak peek in all directions before throwing it into park and hustling inside. As I was scooting my way in, I felt a huge belch working its way up from below my gut. It was a real roller, no hope of holding it back, and it shot out before I could even think about swallowing it. The thunderous sound echoed in the narrow stairwell, and a couple of the younger cops turned their disgusted faces my way, but that didn’t bother me. I inhaled deeply, savoring the Beefaroni one last time as that sweet tomato taste lingered on my tongue and in my nostrils.

  I could tell that wearing the tight polyester uniform for an entire shift was going to wreak absolute havoc on my stomach. That little organ had a mind of its own sometimes, and it needed all the space it could get. I made a quick duck into the snack room, jammed my hands into my pants pockets and dug out a small pile of spare change. Eighty cents was all I had to my name after I’d been stupid enough to run my laundry through the washing machine instead of just fluffing it in the dryer like usual. There I was, two thin dimes short of a Coke with six whole days left until payday.

  Just then one of the younger Central detectives, Jeff Powers, walked into the room. He was wearing a pair of crisp, pleated-front khakis along with a light blue dress shirt and a CPD logo windbreaker. The kid’s outfit was freshly pressed and would’ve looked pretty sharp, at least in comparison to my own ensemble, if only the whole thing hadn’t been covered with a layer of gritty black soot. Powers actually looked like he’d come directly from working in the yard, and I couldn’t help but feel a newfound respect for the kid. He’d never impressed me much before, just an unremarkable worker bee who showed up on time and always sported a fresh haircut, but he’d definitely outdone me when it came to excuses for being slow on the pager. I mean, I’d told Captain Russell that I’d been helping out a neighbor, but in truth I had no re
al proof beyond my good word. Powers must’ve gone one step further, actually dirtying himself up to help sell the lie.

  Still, I didn’t want to praise the kid and have it go straight to his head, you know? I slapped him on the back instead, saying, “Damn, Powers, you look like hell!” He startled, dropping a few of the coins he’d been holding in his grubby fist. A puff of soot rose up off of his jacket where I’d smacked him. The rookie smelled of smoke, which made me suspect that he must have been barbecuing with his kids when the call went out.

  “Oh, hey Goosey. Yeah, rough day.” He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes as he tried to count up his change. “Hey, look down there for me, will you? I think I just dropped a quarter.”

  I spotted his money lying there on the floor, then gently eased my boot over and covered it up. “No dice. It probably rolled back against the wall.”

  “Hey, thanks man.” While Powers was down on all fours reaching back behind the snack machine, I used the opportunity to bend over, snap up the quarter and dispose of the evidence by dumping it into the soda machine along with my own change. Powers grunted away, straining to stretch his arm back to the wall as I lingered over my own selection. Once I finally mashed the button, a twenty-ounce bottle of Cherry Coke dropped down into the delivery slot. It was pleasantly cool to the touch so I cracked it open and took a good long swig, smacking my lips in satisfaction. It tasted delicious and in all honesty, I’d probably never had a more refreshing soda.

  Powers finally stood back up. “Damn, man, I couldn’t even see it. Figures, this kind of thing always happens at the worst times. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  I took another sip, but refrained from slurping in light of the kid’s predicament. My Coke tasted absolutely perfect, without that overly syrupy flavor you get from the restaurant fountain drinks. It was a light and sweet flavor, with a subtle hint of artificial cherry flavoring that provided an extra kick on top. Truly, the pause that refreshes.

  Still, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Jeff. I mean, missing lunch was no laughing matter. I was almost tempted to educate him on how a person could bend down in front of the snack machine, reach in at just the right angle and simply yank out the first packages of both the Fritos and the Sno-balls off the lower rungs. That generous concept faded away quickly, though, since I had my own needs to think of. I’d managed to get away with that trick for a couple years running, but the vendor might catch on if too much of the good stuff kept going missing.

  Instead, I offered him my last nickel. “Here, Powers, it’s all I’ve got. Don’t say I never gave you nothing.”

  The kid smiled as he took it. “Thanks, Goosey, that’s all right of you. Let me tell you, it’s been one hell of a day. I’ve been tied up downtown all morning…”

  I held back a groan of disgust. See, that’s why I usually avoid going out of my way to give people a helping hand. Once you do, folks will always have you pegged as some kind of bleeding heart. Powers looked as if he could’ve easily gone on jawing away all day with whatever sob story he had up his grimy sleeve, so it was up to me to break contact. “I don’t mean to cut you off, Jeff, but I don’t want to be late tonight. Big special assignment, you know.”

  He smiled and nodded. “You’re on that too? Yeah, we’d better get in there.” The kid actually held the Squad Room door open for me as we walked inside, and the gesture was so polite that I tried to ignore the way his arm smelled like a mixture of ashtray and forest fire. The room was nearly full of uniformed cops, with only a couple of empty chairs left up front. I ducked down and pretended to lace up my boot, all in the hopes that Powers would walk on ahead and take a seat by himself. No wait in hell was I going to last through an entire briefing if I had to sit next to some jerk who reeked like a crematorium.

  I took my sweet time down there, fiddling around with the worn black laces, only peeking up once to steal a quick glance around the room. Captain Russell was standing at the head of the class, looking back and forth between the assembled cops and the clock hanging on the back wall. Knowing that clown, he was probably hoping for some poor sap to show up late in order to make an example out of them. The Captain was perched up on the raised speaker’s platform, bringing him almost up to eye level with everybody else. I risked a look back at the clock myself and saw that I was almost a full minute early for a change. I stood up straight, clenching my fist in victory.

  Sergeant Chuck Johnson had pulled a chair to the back wall, sitting just about as far from Captain Russell as he could get. He spotted me and gave a quick head nod, then hissed a warning to the patrol rookie seated beside him. The kid packed up his notebook and shoved off, giving me a mean little glare as I brushed past and stole his seat, although I wasn’t particularly concerned about pissing off some slicksleeve. The way those college boys come and go at CPD, chances are he’d be leaving soon for some high-paying federal job at either the FBI or the DEA. I stole a second glance back at the kid, who’d moved over to a standing post right beside the door. His shoulders were rolled back in this ridiculously perfect posture, almost like he was at a position of attention. I shook my head in disgust, since the little weasel clearly had all the makings of a future Secret Service agent.

  Johnson gave me a sideways smile as I settled in. “How’s it hanging, Goosey?”

  “Low and to the left, Slipper. What’s new with you?”

  He cringed at the nickname, but tried to grin and bear it since we were in a public setting. Sweeping an arm across the crowd of cops, he said, “Same old bullshit, man. Can you believe they dragged us in on the weekend for this garbage?”

  I still had no idea what was going on, but I certainly wasn’t dumb enough to admit that to Slipper. I snorted and did my best to play along. “No, man, it’s a load of trash all right. But what can you do, you know? The CPD circus rolls on.”

  I wasn’t really worried about getting up to speed on the assignment, however. Normally if I hung around Slipper long enough, I’d find out everything I wanted to know plus a whole lot more I didn’t. The rookies called him Sergeant Johnson, but he was Chuck to his friends and Slipper to a select few. Slipper was the undisputed gossip king of CPD, and he constantly kept his ear to the ground for juicy rumors. Every once in a while he’d even start a whopper of his own, just for fun. Way back when he was just a Corporal up for promotion, Johnson had managed to slip a couple of rat notes under the Chief’s office door, looking to air out his competition’s dirty laundry. Once he’d managed to rise above the crowd and get promoted, I called him Slipper for the first time and his bright red face showed me that all the rumors were true. He still couldn’t stand the nickname, so naturally I dropped it every chance I got.

  “Damn right” he said. Slipper laughed and nodded towards Captain Russell. “Let me tell you, I just about lost it when that bastard called me this morning. Can you believe it? The one weekend a year when my old lady goes away to her parents, taking the brats with her, and I’m stuck here at this dump! I should still be resting up, conserving my energy for a second round of bar crawls.”

  I laughed at Slipper’s misery, probably a little louder than I should have. He’s got these two bad little anklebiters at home and to make matters worse, his wife is constantly nagging. That guy was always trying to pick up extra security jobs just to get some peace and quiet. I could imagine how pissed he was, although I couldn’t help questioning his priorities. I mean, it was always nice to go out and tie one on, but if I was in his shoes I’d be more inclined to sleep the whole weekend away.

  He went on. “Maybe it’s for the best, though. That was one wild time last night, man! I’m still recovering! Honestly, I don’t know how much more of that shit I could take!” He shifted in his seat, turning to look directly at me. “Hey, by the way, I never got a chance to thank you for buying all those rounds.”

  My mind flashed back to an image of a crowded bar, and I cursed under my breath as I realized where all my cash had gone. With my teeth clenched, I managed to grunt, “Don’t
mention it.”

  Slipper leaned a little further back in his chair, enjoying a good long chuckle at my wallet’s expense. “Man, you were really wasted! I’m glad that Maslow chick was there to give you a ride home.” He looked my way again, more thoughtfully this time. “Hey, man…you didn’t…”

  Up at the front of the room, Captain Russell cleared his throat a few times, just loudly enough so that everyone had to stop pretending to ignore him. I hissed at Slipper, “Shut up, I want to hear this,” then leaned forward with false interest as my face went hot.

  3.

  The crowd of cops settled down to a quiet hush, though more out of fear than from actual respect. Captain Russell hitched up his duty belt, which sat rather loosely around his flat belly, and I curled my lip in scorn. I mean, what kind of a cop spends nearly thirty years on the job, but can’t manage to grow himself a respectable beer gut?

  “Good evening everyone” he began. “I’m so glad y’all could take time out of your busy schedules to be here tonight.” The Captain had this particular way of standing where he leaned back and puffed his chest out, so when he looked around the room he had to almost peek down over his nose in order to make eye contact. This smug grin was pasted across his face, which only made matters worse. It actually made it seem as if there was nothing that guy would rather do on a Saturday night than hold roll call at the station, and especially since there was no one else in the room who wanted to be there.

  I stifled a yawn as I took a good long look around. A large portion of the crowd seemed pretty uncomfortable in their blue polyester uniform suits, mostly because the congregation was made up of other detectives and investigators. We were the only cops who had regular weekends off, which meant that we were the easiest to round up on short notice. As I gazed over the faces, I saw the same old sea of losers for the most part, but I absolutely froze when I spotted fat Katie Maslow perched on a stool in the front row. She was still dressed in a pair of light pink hospital scrubs, size XXXL, and she was staring directly at me. I tried to turn away, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid a smile and a wink. Slipper must have caught that too, because I saw him give me a mean, cold smile. I covered my burning cheeks with my hands, trying my best to act like I was hanging on the Captain’s every word.