Shark's Tooth

The man smiled and reached for something inside the house.  “You already did.  My name’s Chow, like it says on the card.  If you can read, you see it says ‘lawyer.’  Should also say ‘bodyguard’ and some other things.  But, since I’m his lawyer, talking to me is like talking to him.  And, since I’m his lawyer, I know you can’t just come in here and push him around.  Come back when you got a warrant.  Better, just don’t come back.”  He started to close the door and Terry blocked it.

“We’ll be back,” he said.

“We’ll be here.”  Then Chow paused and looked at Blackbeard.  “Your own damned fault.  Same everywhere we go: local talent wants to try its shot at the big star, wind up mad that Jeremy’s not the character from the TV, mad that he won’t put them in the movies, mad that there’s no happy-ever-after for them.  I got to clean it up, but it’s your fault.  Keep them away, we won’t have this.”  Then the door closed.

#

Terry ranted halfway back to town.  Blackbeard just drove.

“Easy morning, Connie?” said Blackbeard to the woman hosing down Panama City’s lone autopsy table when they walked into the morgue.  Dr. Connie Barnet looked at him tiredly.  “Yeah.  Cutting up a girl the age of my daughter makes me glad I took this job.  Sure it’s been a fun one for you, too.  At least mine’s done.  You want preliminary?”

“Oh yeah.”





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