Free Shoot to Thrill by P.J. Tracy Page B

Bacon, sausage, the occasional flat steak, sometimes pork – these were the aromas that filled his memory, reminding him of Grandma’s oak table and tin sink and the cast-iron pan spitting grease on an old wood-burning stove. Every time he showed up here in the morning he half-expected Harley to show up in an apron with yellow sunflowers and crinkly gray hair pulled back into a bun.
    Grace was waiting for them in the breakfast room, her eyes fixed on the cup of coffee that was cradled between her hands. Gino wanted desperately to hate this woman, because she messed with the mind of the best friend he would ever have in this life; but there was something about her that tugged at him.
    ‘You had food of the gods for breakfast,’ he said with a smile, and Grace nodded.
    ‘Harley cooked cholesterol. He knew you were coming. By the way, we checked the dates on the murders confirmed
    ‘Nope. We got an ID on the guy, a timeline that shows him leaving a club alone, and the last person who saw him alive is a pickled judge who can’t remember his own name half the time. How about you? Any luck tracing the film?’
    She shook her head. ‘Nobody’s been able to trace it. We think that tactic is a dead end – whoever did this is too good to leave tracks.
    ‘Did you bring our films?’
    Magozzi patted his sports-coat pocket. ‘Ten bodies, some fresh, some not so fresh, just like you asked. It was a pretty weird request, Grace.’
    ‘If Roadrunner’s idea works, these disks are going to teach our software program how to tell if a murder is real or staged. He can explain it better than I can. How long can we keep them?’
    ‘No real hurry, all the cases are cleared. But I signed for them, and they have to go back to the locker eventually, so don’t give them to your pet Fed.’
    She gifted him with her rarest of expressions – a tiny, one-sided smile. ‘You’re going to like Agent Smith. He reminds me a lot of you. Now, can I have the disks? We need to get started. Food’s still warm in the kitchen if you want to load a plate to bring upstairs.’
    Gino did a drill turn toward the kitchen, but Magozzi stopped him.
    ‘Maybe later. We’ll meet with Smith first.’
    Charlie was waiting for them at the top of the stairs,
    Grace grunted. ‘That dog assumes you always have food on your face.’
    Roadrunner covered the fifty feet from his workstation to the doorway in about ten strides. ‘You got my films, guys?’
    Magozzi and Gino just stared at him, speechless for a moment.
    ‘Jesus, Roadrunner,’ Gino finally managed to eke out. ‘You’re wearing jeans.’
    The tall man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in embarrassment.
    ‘Leave him alone,’ Harley bellowed across the room. ‘I’ve been trying to get him in real clothes for years and I don’t want you messing it up. Damn Lycra’s so hot we had to keep the air on arctic for him to survive up here while the rest of us got frostbite.’
    ‘Oh.’ But Gino couldn’t stop staring.
    ‘You know what, Roadrunner?’ Magozzi said. ‘That’s a really good look for you. Kind of Gary Cooper. Long, tall cowboy.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Yeah. Here are the films you asked for.’
    ‘Oh, gee, thanks, this is going to get things rolling.’ The long, tall cowboy hurried back to his desk, smiling.
    Harley gave Magozzi a thumbs-up from across the room, then tipped his black beard toward the table in the far corner by the window. John Smith was sitting alone, tapping away
    Smith stopped typing and stood up, and the three men took each other’s measure in an instant. Grace looked on in obvious bemusement. Men always measured themselves against each other, which wasn’t all that different from women, except that men did it so damn fast. There was an instant of locked eyes that apparently revealed everything they needed to know about each other. Women spent a lot longer with preliminary social chatter, while their real attention was focused on what Magozzi had told her was the