Free Bubblegum Smoothie by Ryan Casey Page B

just wrote it off. As for the method kills, sure, but who’s to say it wasn’t just Gus’ ‘turn’ to die in this killer’s mind? I mean assuming he was stabbed by our perp—which we can safely assume he was, and the police will be crawling along with us on that theory in no time. But what if the perp didn’t need him anymore?”
    Martha crunched at another slice of pizza. “I guess it’s just working out what this guy wants.”
    “Mmhm,” I said.
    I thought back to the photographs of the first girl, then to the second girl sprawled across that squad car. Eyes gouged out. Fingers snipped. Breasts cut off. “I think it’s safe to assume we have a woman-hater on our hands. A misogynist.”
    “Or a jealous housewife.”
    “Or a jealous housewife, sure. Doesn’t match Gus’ description of a guy in a hoodie, but maybe he was even dumber than he looked. But it’s damned near impossible to form a clear M.O. without knowing who these girls are.”
    “Nothing from Missing Persons?” Martha asked, coughing up a stray piece of crispy pizza base.
    “Nah. Nothing likely until after forty-eight hours. Most parents, spouses, leave it a day before they face the reality that something might have happened to their precious. And then the police leave it a bit longer anyway. So it’ll be tomorrow at least before a missing person report is actually taken seriously.”
    I put my fork down. My stomach tensed. Couldn’t stand another bite of this God-awful pasta.
    “And your problem with waiting ‘til tomorrow is…?”
    I wasn’t expecting Martha to say this, but I could feel my cheeks were warm and my jaw was clenched so she’d obviously picked up on how I was feeling. “I just… we’ve lost two people already. Three people counting Gus. That’s in the first day. I just don’t want this bastard killing anybody else, not while we can do something about it.”
    Martha raised her thinly-applied eyebrows. “Very ‘loving citizen’ of you. Ever thought about applying to Neighbourhood Watch?”
    “Not really,” I said. “I’m just more worried that my cut of money might fall with every death.”
    Martha whistled. “Oh there he is. The lovey-dovey Blake I know. How’s life with such a cold heart these days? Nobody to warm it up?”
    I looked down at my pasta bowl and considered taking another bite until I remembered it tasted like shit. “No.”
    Martha tutted. Shook her head, and looked around at the other tables, at the customers all tucking into their meals. “You’ll have to settle down some day.”
    “Why’s it always me who ‘has to settle down?’ What about you?”
    “I’m an extenuating circumstance, Mr Dent.” She propped up her breasts, stuck her chest out. “Although I do think I’ve got it more as a woman than I ever did as a man.”
    “You’d scrape a 5/10 if I didn’t know you were a man. And your Mart self, well, he was pretty low on the scale. So it’s an improvement I suppose.”
    Martha puffed out her lips. Sipped at her water. “Charming as ever. Forget I asked why you don’t have anyone to warm that stony heart of yours at night.”
    I wanted to tell Martha to back off the relationship questions. I didn’t understand society’s obsession with “settling down,” with “finding the one.” It always seemed counter-productive to me, even when I was in my late teens. Sure, I’d had a few short-term relationships, and sure, I’d had my fair share of one-night stands. But the idea of settling down was never appealing to me. Settling down? More like unsettling down.
    And to this day, no couple had made me think otherwise. Not my parents—God bless them—not my old friends, nobody.
    “Settling down causes the problems that we’re trying to fix,” I said. To be honest, it came out a bit hammy, and sounded better in my head.
    “Jesus, Blake. Just let it go for ten minutes. I mean I’m interested in this case, but you’re just obsessing. Trust the police to do their bit.