Low Sided by A.J. Downey (best detective novels of all time txt) 📕

she took a third hit off her cigarette and plucking it from between her lips exhaled, she said, “Yeah. You didn’t talk about it?”

I turned my head and smiled a little sadly and said, “Some things you just don’t ask a girl, now do you?”

She eyed me speculatively with her brown eyes from behind her glasses, the expression on her round, face curious and calculating.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“How bad are we talking and who’s Max?” I asked low.

“You going to do something stupid?” she asked me.

“Nope,” I said honestly.

“Too bad,” she muttered, dropping her cigarette on the ground and grinding it out with the round toe of her state-issued tactical boot. “Sometimes, an ex-con is just what you need in the interest of justice.”

She jerked her head, and I followed her inside to her desk. She clacked some keys and swung the monitor on its arm in my direction then gave me a pointed look.

“Now, you stay right there while I get your paperwork for your piss test, and I don’t want to hear it,” she said.

I nodded and gave her a two-fingered half-assed salute as she got up and fucked off, turning my attention to the monitor and the complaint listed there.

Ms. Tanis McGowan said that she met WA State Parole Ofc. Massimiliano "Max" Bianchi on the dating app Tinder. She said after several days of interacting with Ofc. Bianchi that she agreed to a date. She states that in the course of the date, Ofc. Bianchi became aggressive, and when she tried to turn down his advances, he then raped her.

Fucking son of a bitch.

After interviewing Ms. McGowan at length, she wished to pursue charges, however, after some time to think about it, she phoned the district attorney’s office and requested those charges be dropped, stating she was mistaken, the sex was consensual but rough and that she just wanted to put it behind her.

Yeah.

I’ll just bet that’s how that fucking happened. Maybe after ol’ Max paid her another visit or had some of his boys in blue, do it for him. Fucking animals.

I sighed.

No wonder she was hiding out. Scanning through, it looked like Max lived in Seattle and the attack happened inside the city limits. I bet the city pigs had something to do with her recanting. It would damn sure explain why Sauley had texted me and let me know the Seattle police driving by had spooked the hell out of her.

I felt a cold anger grip me and I nodded, sitting back in my seat, the address listed for good ol’ Max firmly burned into my brain. The old address they had on file for Raven was somewhere in the Fremont or Phinney Ridge neighborhood, maybe even as far as Greenlake. I was betting there were roommates. She could barely afford the shithole she was in now. There was no fucking way she could afford those neighborhoods without a gang of fucking roommates.

I wondered if any of them knew. I wondered if any of them cared enough about her, missed her, was worried about her.

I would find out.

She’d saved my life. It was time to give her back hers.

I pissed in the cup and told Kim it would pop positive for opioid painkillers. She nodded and without breaking eye contact, ditched the cup and her rubber gloves in the trashcan under her desk.

“You quit doing what you’re doing, and I won’t have to keep hassling you like this,” she said with a wink.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said and stood, looking over the cubicle farm to the glass-fronted lobby.

“Go on, get out of here,” she said and back to the keys of her computer her fingers went. I got the fuck out of there. No sense overstaying my welcome. I’d gotten more than I’d bargained for, honestly.

I thought about Raven, her soft skin, her warm herbal scent, and her soothing rich teas on the walk back to the club.

I missed her already, but I was no good to her like this. She didn’t have a phone, but I knew just how I was going to keep in touch.

Call me the romantic type.

8

Raven…

I woke by myself, and when I had turned my head to Mace’s empty place in my bed, it was to a torn piece of paper bag on his pillow. Scrawled in thick black pen on its plain surface was I’ll be in touch. -Mace

I’d groaned and sighed out. That had been several days ago and as I wiped down the empty bar at Shoreman’s, I couldn’t tell you the soul-deep disappointment that took root in my chest at the prospect of going home to an empty apartment again tonight.

It’d only been like three days, but it had, for all its life-or-death drama in the beginning, been a nice three days of company. I had to admit, Mace was easy to talk to and even easier to listen to. I wondered if he would indeed be in touch as his hastily scrawled note had said, or if it was just an easy let down.

If I really would ever see or hear from him again.

The thought of not was surprisingly a painful one.

Was I really that starved for close personal contact? I wondered. Or was the experience something real?

I knew the answer, I was just afraid to admit it to myself.

There was just something about Mace.

“Hey, yeah, sorry, bro. Last call was a while ago. We’re closed. We just ain’t got the door.”

I looked up at Manuk’s voice. He was our cook. A big Hawaiian dude who was as easy going as they came – until he wasn’t. I’d seen him grab a belligerent drunk by the face and march him out the front door to toss him in the gutter. Manuk was slow to anger, but when you got him there, he was like King fucking Kong. All brute strength and scary as hell.

“Sorry, ah, Raven, I’m here to walk you home. Mace’s orders… I’ll wait outside.”

I blinked slowly