Free Cicero's Dead by Patrick H. Moore Page A

western world. She combined artistry and passion and we would make
love ‘til we were exhausted. As the years passed, we discovered that we
actually liked each other. Having met so young, we’ve each had flings over the
years, but never anything serious enough to threaten our marriage. Since
adopting Maleah nine years ago, I’ve been monogamous and I believe Cassady has
too. We’ve never actually talked about it; it just seemed that once you’re a
parent, you forego extracurricular pleasures for the sake of the family. When
we were finished, Cassady lay her head on my chest and we talked. I described
the case and Jade’s breakdown and the 100K retainer.
    I felt Cassady tense up. “That’s too much money.”
    “Yeah, does seem a little excessive.”
    “Halladay’s dirty. He’s buying your cooperation,
just in case.”
    “Or maybe it’s just really important to him not to
be exposed. His incompetence in this instance is pretty shocking.”
    “I hate to say it, but maybe you should give the
money back.”
    “I thought about it, but it’s not that easy.”
    “Why the hell not?”
    “Jade and Richie. They’re in real danger.”
    “Can that danger reach us here?”
    “Maybe.”
    She raked her eyes across me and got out of bed.
Naked, she crossed to the closet and pulled something off the upper shelf. I felt
myself grow aroused again at the sight of her rippling dancer’s thighs and her
trim curved ass, which tightened as she stood on tiptoe. She came back carrying
two boxes. One held her 9 millimeter Beretta, double action, semi-automatic
handgun and the other, her cleaning kit. She sat down cross-legged, pulled the
sheet over her thighs and went to work, methodically disassembling the pistol.
She ran the bore brush carefully through the breech end of the barrel, pulling
it back with great care to avoid damaging the muzzle. After several passes, she
dripped solvent onto a clean patch, wrapped it around a jag, and ran that
through the barrel three times before extracting it. The gun hadn’t been
cleaned in a long time and the patch came out fouled and black. She repeated
the process with a clean patch. Better. Then a dry patch, which came out nearly
spotless. Her lips, usually full and pliant, were set in a hard line. She
cleaned the slide with a toothbrush and ran it along the frame grooves. Then
she lubricated each piece separately and reassembled it. Her model takes a
fourteen round clip, which she loaded with standard 9 millimeter, NATO shells.
She flicked the safety to the ‘on’ position, and placed the gun back in its box. She returned the boxes to the closet
and before getting into bed, very deliberately ran her oily fingers across her
breasts ‘til they glistened. We made love, silently, with a ferocity that was
frightening.
    After we were finished, she licked my throat and
whispered in my ear, “There’s one thing you can never forget.”
    “What’s that, Baby?”
    “My aim is true.” She chuckled, a throaty purr
that reminded me of a sleek jungle feline, eyes on her young, ready to kill at
the slightest sign of danger.

Chapter V – First Blood

 
    In the morning, the northwest
sky was almost black in contrast to the grey and brown to the south and east.
The fires had precedence over all other news, and we sat glued to the TV.
Maleah demanded to be driven to school so that she and her friends could have
breakfast in the cafeteria. When I dropped her off, I gave her an especially
big hug, which she accepted reluctantly. Friendly almost to a fault, she is not
a touchy-feely person and has no use for constant physical contact. Our most
intimate moments generally occur when watching horror flicks and children’s
comedies together. She curls up next to me in the den, and we dwell there
together in an almost perfect world.
    Today, as she was about to get out of Cassady’s
gold Altima, she stopped. “Dad, are we in danger from the fires?”
    “Not here. Our town’s very