Goddess of Justice by Dwayne Clayden (mobi ebook reader TXT) 📕

Annie was staring at him, blue eyes wide. “We need to talk about your manners. Living alone has not improved dinner etiquette.”

Brad shrugged. “Nasty habit. Eat and pee when you can.”

“You’ve said that before.” Annie leaned back and crossed her arms. “You aren’t in a patrol car. You’re not on the tactical support unit. It’s okay to take your time with a meal.”

Brad stabbed another piece of chicken. “How’s college?”

Annie leaned back and shook her head. “You’re deflecting.”

Brad grinned, then stuffed a chunk of chicken in his mouth.

“College is fine. The first year was hard getting into a routine, and then there were the distractions in the spring. Second year is flying by. I won’t be ready to stop learning in the spring. I don’t know enough.”

“Enough for what?” Brad asked.

“That’s the problem.” Annie took a long drink of milk. “I don’t know what I want to do. But I know what I don’t want to do—corrections. You’d have to be insane to do that.” Annie stroked Lobo’s head.

Brad set his fork down and sat back. He would let Annie work this out. This wasn’t the time to interrupt or give advice.

“I guess I worry about what you’ll think,” she added.

Brad cocked his head.

“I see what you do, and all the different opportunities in the police service. That gets me excited. But I also see the toll it has taken on you. Then I lean toward law, but that didn’t work out for you. I wonder why not? You’ve never talked about it. But some of it I can guess. You can’t be a defense lawyer, that would make you crazy. However, the legal system isn’t set up for success for a crown prosecutor. Jenni Blighe is an excellent example. You’ve talked about her frustrations. I enjoy being on the side of the good guys, but I don’t know where I fit. That’s why I don’t want college to end.” Annie stood, went to the fridge, and brought back two beers. “You going to sit there and say nothing?”

“Do you want advice, my thoughts?”

Annie frowned. “No, I just talked for ten minutes because I enjoy talking.”

“Another time we can talk about me and the law. Tonight, you’re missing a third option.”

Annie’s eyebrows scrunched.

“You need to talk to Sturgeon. There are some significant advances happening in crime scene analysis. The way we handle crime scenes is changing. The science behind analysis of evidence is at the edge of being revolutionary. I tune him out most of the time, but I know he’d love to talk about it. I can set that up if you’d like.”

Annie sipped her beer. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She nodded. “Yeah. I could get into that.”

Brad stood and collected the plates. “I’ll talk to Sturgeon. I’ll clean up and then I need a decent night’s sleep.”

When Brad had finished cleaning, Annie was still at the table sipping her beer. He left her with her thoughts as he headed to bed.

Chapter Thirty

Most of the lights were out as Dice drove past the Town and Country Hotel and Bar. Built in the 50s, it had rapidly declined as owner after owner paid scarce attention to upkeep. The bar and restaurant occupied the main level, with three floors of rooms above. The enormous florescent streetlight was in darkness. A single motorcycle was parked by the side door. Dice continued a block farther, parked in an alley, popped the trunk, and pulled out a crowbar. Keeping to the shadows, the dark clothes and black balaclava blended into the night. Dice headed toward the side door.

A quick check confirmed the door was locked. That was expected. Dice wedged the end of the crowbar between the door and the frame and pushed. The frame cracked, and the door popped open.

On the far side of the bar a lone biker played pool, illuminated by the light over the table, with his back to Dice. Evidently, he had not heard the door crack.

Dice snuck across the bar, grabbing a pool cue on the way. The biker sank a shot and stepped to the other side of the table.

“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get out. We’re closed.”

Dice pulled the balaclava down and leaned the pool cue against the table.

The biker laughed. “Oh, woo. I’m terrified.” He headed around the table toward Dice, who didn’t move. He swung a meaty fist toward Dice’s head, which was easily deflected. The biker grunted. This time the fist came from the left. Dice deflected that blow, then fired a series of punches at the biker’s gut with a final fist to the biker’s nose. Cartilage cracked, blood spurted, and he stepped back, grasping at his face.

Dice grabbed the pool cue and snapped it in two. Then Dice stepped toward the retreating biker and shoved the sharp, broken end deep into his gut and forced it up toward his heart.

The man gasped. Blood flowed from his mouth. His eyes widened, and his legs collapsed. His knees hit the floor first. He teetered there for a moment and then fell onto his face, which forced the broken pool cue deeper. Blood pooled around the biker’s gut and seeped into the cracks in the floor.

I hate bikers. Dice slipped out the side door.

Brad parked near the street, far away from the dozen cruisers, and headed across the snow-covered parking lot to the front door of the Town and Country Bar. He ducked under the police line tape, identified himself to the cop shivering outside the door, and stepped inside.

He’d been in this bar a few times. The memories weren’t all that pleasant. The odor of French fries, bacon, and beer mingled with a pine cleaning solution. Bar stools were in their place and chairs were positioned upside down on the wooden tables. All the lights were on, but the bar was vacant. Well, except for cops