Free Unhinged by E. J. Findorff

slid her hand toward me on the table but stopped after only a few inches as if Richard might slap it away.
    â€œGreat. Couldn’t be better.”
    Jennifer came in with the first two steaming hot bowls and put them down in front of her parents. I was relieved knowing that she was going to be sitting with me now.
    Her parents eventually started to discuss the weather and the economy but never seemed completely comfortable. That was fine. They were here, and we were all making an effort. During the short silences, my thoughts turned to the investigation and the undercover sting set for tonight.

    That evening Agents Wayne and Tucker arrived at the Eighth in the same truck we had used the night before. I was pumped on the idea of Toliver being our guy. Bienvenue was sitting with Ron and me at our desks discussing just how far he should push the envelope. He had come to the station wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a Von Dutch T-shirt that was way too tight. Pictures for posterity were taken immediately.
    When Agent Wayne entered the room and saw Bienvenue’s ensemble, he gave a thumbs-up.
    â€œI don’t know, guys,” Bienvenue said. “Getting in with Toliver seems too easy. He barely asked any questions about me.”
    â€œHe’s a common whore,” Ron said. “He’s known for doing this shit, and you’re just another payoff. He has no reason to suspect you of anything.”
    I knew what Bienvenue was getting at and spoke up. “But if Toliver was our guy, wouldn’t he be a little cautious about who he dealt with? Considering the nature of the double homicide, I’d think he’d want to lay low if he was guilty.” I wanted Toliver to be the killer so bad that I hated having any doubts.
    â€œWhatever the case may be,” Wayne concluded, “we have to rule Toliver out as a suspect. Until there’s another murder, he’s our strongest, and basically only, lead. Besides, you never know what he might divulge to help the case. You need to bring up details of how the victims were treated. See how he responds.”
    â€œDon’t mention absinthe,” I said absently. “Ron and I already questioned him on it, and he might think it’s suspicious if you mention it.”
    We all nodded.
    I looked at my watch and saw that the time was drawing near. Agents Wayne and Tucker never sat down, indicating they were ready to get out on location. Ron rose and poured himself some coffee as I meandered toward the staircase with Bienvenue and the agents.
    â€œGood luck,” Ron said.
    â€œHave fun on your date,” I added, getting a show of dimples from our blonde bombshell.

    We sat in the truck, which was parked on Decatur Street, right in front of Jackson Brewery. Jackson Square and the St. Louis Cathedral were on the other side of us. We decided to park on this main street because it would be the quickest route to any of the side streets.
    As soon as Bienvenue left the Eighth, we kept our eyes on the monitor. He walked up Conti to Decatur, then turned left toward his destination, and within minutes he passed our truck. A moment later, he was standing in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. To his left was the historic museum called the Cabildo, and to his right was a strip of shops. Directly in front of the cathedral was a gated section of trees, bushes, and flowers.
    â€œNothing yet.” Bienvenue apparently bent down to tighten his shoestrings.
    We could see the various displays of paintings and palm readers set up around Jackson Square, inviting tourists to spend their money. Some raw jazz was playing in the background peppered with occasional hootin’ and hollerin’.
    â€œSam,” was suddenly heard over the speakers.
    â€œKenny, I’m glad you came.” Bienvenue turned to get a shot of two men walking up to him.
    â€œThis is Greg.” We could see his washboard abs through his V-neck. He was a bit smaller than