Free Rigged by Jon Grilz Page A

best guess on this one?” Perez asked as he approached the trailer door.
    Nikki looked to see Perez in one of the only three suits he owned, none of which fit him very well. His blue striped tie—and what remained of his thinning hair—twitched in the breeze, his white shirt looked wrinkled from sitting too long in the dryer without being ironed. Even though he’d lost about fifteen pounds in the six months they’d worked together, likely due to depression in dealing with his wife’s illness—not that he ever talked about it—he still had a little belly around the middle, but it didn’t look bad on him. Why did men always seem to age better than women? Nikki scowled at the realization that if she had a spare tire or muffin top like that, it’d look awful and she’d hear all kinds of jokes, but on him it looked almost distinguished.Perez scratched the side of his head with his pen, right on the salt-and-pepper streak just above his right ear. Even though he was always clean shaven, and as handsome a man as he was, he never really looked put together, and the trend was progressing in a downward spiral. Nikki wished Perez would talk about it, but he wasn’t one for wearing his heart on his ill-fitting sleeve.
    “Someone had an issue with these two,” Nikki said. “Whoever it was tied the two down and set the tumbler going.”
    “Grisly way to make a statement,” Perez said. “Any idea who might have done it? Maybe a pissed-off neighbor, some vigilante who got tired of drugs in the park?”
    Nikki smiled; she knew Perez was fond of hyperbole on investigations. He liked to make things sound more dramatic than they really were. She was pretty sure he did it on her behalf, making a mockery of her enthusiasm as some sort of repayment for her teasing way of calling him “Boss.” Regardless of their banter and good-natured ribbing—or maybe, in part, because of it—she liked Perez. They had been partners for six months, and he was the only guy on the force, married or not, who didn’t try to hit on her or give her shit about being a woman with a badge and a gun, especially since she’d traded in her patrol blues for a sergeant’s badge.  “That or maybe a fallout with an employer or buyer. You think Damon could have had anything to do with this?” Nikki asked.
    “Let’s hope not. He hasn’t been seen around town for a while, small miracles, and I think he’s been pushing his stuff closer to the drills—not that we can ever get anything to stick to that slippery piece of shit,” Perez said, spitting on the ground.
    Nikki wondered if it bothered her partner more that Damon was a dealer or that he was good at getting away with it. Ever since Damon had first shown up two years earlier, the meth possession rates had skyrocketed in their little slice of heaven. They’d only managed to snag a couple dealers, and most of what they’d seized came from other busts like drunk driving or assaults. Damon had a knack for covering his tracks and was clearly looking to revolutionize the business. There hadn’t been a meth lab explosion in months, and any that had happened previously had been linked to independent tweekers looking for a fast score. Damon played things too smart for Nikki’s and Perez’s taste; few things short of an airstrike or Navy SEALs Team Six would have been enough to get rid of Damon and his slimy influence in their community. He was a piece of shit, just like Perez had said, and anything that even came close to his person carried with it an unmistakable stench.
    “I checked with the park manager,” Nikki said.
    “And?” Perez asked.
    “And she said somebody was over here asking about Dick and Clarence yesterday.”
    “Dick and Clarence are the, ahem, victims, I take it.”
    “Yeah, but she couldn’t give a description.”
    “Didn’t have her glasses?” Perez asked.
    “Uh, I think maybe one too many glasses would be more appropriate,” Nikki said, making a drinking motion with