Free Titanoboa by Victor Methos

I’ll seem like a dick for calling, so I’d rather get this outta the way now.”
    “Dick?”
    “Yeah, it means, like, a rude person.”
    “Ah. I’ll keep that in mind.” He raised his beer. “Well, good hunting.”
     
     
    Mark wanted to make the call from somewhere quiet, but he also didn’t want to go home yet. He parked his car in the beach parking lot near his home. Without a cloud in the sky, the moon painted the black water a dim white. He sat down in the sand and pulled out his cell phone. After dialing a long-distance number, he waited until someone picked up before placing the phone to his ear.
    “Hello?” the man said. His voice was groggy.
    “Davis?”
    “ Who the hell is this?”
    “It’s Mark Whittaker.”
    “No shit? Mark, what the hell you doin’ calling over here? You know what time it is?”
    “Sorry, but if I called any later , it would’ve been worse. I just need a quick favor.”
    Davis grumbled something. This wasn’t unusual, and the fact that he had left his cell phone on, though it was early morning over there, told Mark that Davis was used to doing favors. As the clerk in the LAPD Records Division, he could do a skip trace on anyone in the world. He had access to files even the subjects of the search didn’t know existed.
    “You know, you’re not a cop anymore,” Davis said.
    “I know. That’s why it’s a favor.”
    He sighed. “Hold on, lemme grab a pen.” After a few moments, Davis got back on the line. “Who is it?”
    “She says her name’s Riki Gilmore with a brother named William Thomas Gilmore. I don’t think that’s her real name, and I don’t think William Gilmore has a sister.”
    “That all you got?”
    “No, I got a birthday on William for May 5, 1981.”
    “Fine. I’ll see what I can come up with.”
    “I’m sending you an island gift basket today.”
    “Better have some good rum in it.”
    “The best. Thanks again, bud.”
    Mark drove back home. As he stepped out of the car, he noticed immediately that his front door was open. The door had a problem with its lock and if he didn’t shut it in just the right way, it would open. Not far, just an inch or two. But Mark distinctly remembered closing the door before he left today. He pulled out his firearm and held it low.
    Pressing his back to the wall, he slid just underneath a window and poked his head up. He didn’t see any lights or movement inside. He’d have to go in.
    With no backdoor or other entryway, the front door was it. So he calmly slipped over and peeked in through the door’s crack. Opening it a little with his left hand gave him a decent view of his living room. No one there. Nothing disturbed from what he could tell. He opened the door all the way to allow in as much moonlight as possible then stepped inside.
    Mark stood still and listened. He always wondered if he could hear somebody else’s breathing if he was quiet enough. He didn’t hear anything but the waves behind him against the shore.
    Only three more rooms —a bedroom, a bathroom, and the kitchen, were in the house. No basement or attic. Mark quietly stepped into the kitchen and turned the lights on. Empty. He poked his head into the nearby bathroom. The shower curtain was pulled all the way closed, but he didn’t remember leaving it that way.
    Pointing the gun in front of him, he slid the curtain back.
    He saw only the tile and a crack that had been there when he’d bought the place. He snuck out of the bathroom and into the bedroom gun first. The closet had no doors, so there was nothing to check. He knelt down and checked underneath the bed. Nothing there. There was nowhere else large enough for a person to hide. He holstered his firearm.
    It was possible the wind blew the door open, or that maybe he didn’t shut it all the way. He’d been preoccupied with this Riki mess and could’ve just not paid attention. But as he left the bedroom, he noticed two clear plastic containers on the top shelf. One contained