Free Jack Daniels Six Pack by J. A. Konrath Page A

mouth?”
    “It hurts, but I’ve got my taste back. You up for a bite?”
    “I’ve got more reports to go through, then I was going to call it a day.”
    “Since I’m going out, I’ll check the 7-Eleven on Lincoln. If memory serves, it’s right next to a great Mexican place.”
    Herb’s stomach rumbled, seconding the motion.
    “See you tomorrow, Herb.”
    “Bye, Jack.”
    Benedict left. I attacked the pile of paperwork in front of me, including typing up the results of our hospital visit and our trip to Melissa Booster’s. This was the computer age, but I still used a standard electric typewriter, aware that fellow officers regarded me as a dinosaur in that aspect. Even if I did go high tech, I don’t see what good a computer would do me. Ten words a minute is ten words a minute, no matter what I’m typing on.
    When I was done I remained sitting there, staring at the page.
    There wasn’t anything else I could do at work, but I had no compelling reason to go home. I had no family there, no boyfriend waiting for me. It was just a place where I kept my meager possessions, ate, and tried in vain to rest.
    “All I’ve got is you,” I told the report.
    The report didn’t answer.
    I sighed, then got up and left, resigning myself to yet another sleepless night.

Chapter 12
    H IS CELLMATE HAD SPOKEN OF THIS place, during the long, boring night hours when rambling was the only way to kill time.
    “Just go to the bartender, bald guy named Floyd. Tell him you need a TV repaired.”
    The Gingerbread Man had taken it with the same grain of salt he took all prison bullshitting. Besides, if he ever needed someone taken care of, he was more than happy to take care of them himself. If doing time taught him anything, it was self-reliance.
    But this situation is different. He doesn’t want to be connected with the act in the slightest way. Doing the job personally, though rewarding, is too risky. Besides, it feels godlike to be pulling the strings while staying safely behind the scenes. It adds more awe to his persona.
    The idea came to him after violating the whore. He really hurt her. Brought her so close to death so many times. Payback for the humiliation, for the defiance, for picking on the wrong guy.
    After he had finished, when he was lying naked with the body, he thought of his adversary, Jack Daniels.
    Had Jack gotten the candy yet? Had she eaten it? Maybe she shared it with her squad, and fifteen or twenty pigs all got deadly little surprises. He had to know.
    So he placed another call from the pay phone.
    “This is Peters from the Herald. I’m following up on an anonymous tip. Were any police officers injured at work today?”
    “We’re not disclosing any details at this time.”
    “So you’re confirming the rumor?”
    “Sorry, this is part of an ongoing investigation.”
    “How about off the record?”
    “Off the record, we got a detective with eleven stitches in his mouth.”
    “A detective? My source said it was a lieutenant.”
    “Your source is wrong.”
    So Jack hadn’t eaten any. All that work for nothing.
    The Gingerbread Man seethed. He’d imagined her with needles in her tongue, and this was a giant letdown.
    There had to be another way to get her attention. To show he was taking their rivalry seriously. To put her in the hospital without exposing himself to unnecessary risk.
    And then he remembered this place.
    The tavern is dark and smells like cigarette smoke, even though it’s empty this time of day. Behind the bar is a skinny guy named Floyd, the man his cellmate told him about.
    The Gingerbread Man hands Floyd a photograph of Jack, the one he’d taken during the crime scene visit on Monroe. He also gives him Jack’s address, license plate number, the calling card, and five hundred bucks.
    The normal price to beat someone senseless was four hundred, but Jack is a cop, so it’s higher.
    Leaving the calling card is risky, but there’s been no mention of it in the papers yet. He wants