Free Heart of the Witch by Alicia Dean Page A

television screen.
    Junior swung the bat. He made contact, the crack like the shot of a pistol. Nick tipped the whiskey bottle directly to his mouth this time, not bothering with a glass. It wasn't as if he was sharing with anyone. He closed his eyes and savored the feel and taste of the liquor.
    There was another crack, then another; in rapid succession they came, over and over. Why did Griffey keep swinging, when the ball was already sailing over the wall… ?
    Something wet on Nick's hand made him jump. He opened his eyes. Morning sun streamed through the windows. Dog stood at the foot of the recliner, staring at him and wagging his tail. Nick looked at the television. The ESPN baseball show was over. A fishing program was on. The cracking sound still rang in Nick's ears, except it wasn't a bat. It was the front door. Someone wanted in, badly.
    Nick set the bottle upright, mourning for a moment the loss of the Jack Daniel's that had spilled over his hand when he'd fallen asleep. He rose from the recliner and unsteadily made his way to the door. Phil Bodinsky stood there, his face scrunched up and dark like a thundercloud.
    "I called in for my messages and heard yours. What the hell?" Phil pushed past without waiting for an invitation, and turned to confront Nick as Nick closed the door.
    Nick scrubbed a hand over his whiskers, trying to erase the throbbing in the back of his head. He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. God, he needed coffee. And a smoke. "How did you find out where I live?"
    "I guess I'm a better detective than you are."
    Nick let the shot roll off him. He'd heard worse. "Yeah, you are," he agreed. "So why the fuck are you here? You know as well as I do you're wasting your money."
    Phil began to pace, and Nick looked away. His stomach was queasy enough without adding motion sickness.
    "Speaking of money." Phil slammed a fist into his palm to emphasize his point. "I paid you well to do this job, and now you're pulling out on me?"
    "I'll be right back." Nick turned to go into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?" he yelled over his shoulder into the living room. But Phil had followed, and stared as Nick fiddled with the coffeepot.
    "What I want is some answers."
    Nick filled the pot with water and measured four scoops into the filter, then leaned his palms on the countertop while he waited for the coffee to brew. He needed a jolt of caffeine, and he needed a big one. "I told you I'd give you a refund."
    "I don't want a goddamned refund. I want this bastard stopped."
    "If the police can't do it, why the hell do you think I can?" The smell of coffee filled the kitchen, making Nick feel marginally better. He took a mug from the dishwasher and before the pot finished brewing, filled his cup. Coffee dripped onto the burner, sizzling briefly before Nick returned the carafe. He rested one hip on the counter and gulped the hot liquid.
    Phil began to pace. "The cops have hundreds of cases. This one's just a number to them," he ranted. "You have more time. Joe said you were good, a bulldog. Besides, of all people, I thought you'd understand."
    "Why me?" Nick picked up a bottle of aspirin from the counter and shook out three, swallowing them with his coffee.
    For the first time since he arrived, Phil's voice was quiet, almost sounding sympathetic. "Joe told me about your wife. You know how it feels to lose someone you love."
    Reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, Phil pulled out a manila envelope. He withdrew a small stack of photos and shoved them under Nick's nose. The top picture was of a blonde woman. She sat on a porch swing, laughing. Her hair blew across her face, obscuring most of her features, but the joy in her eyes was evident.
    "That's my wife Lindsey before that motherfucker took her from me. She was the sweetest, most beautiful woman in the world. We were going to have children. We were going to grow old together. Now I'll grow old alone." Phil's eyes misted, and he glared at Nick. "What would