Free Bone Thief by Thomas O' Callaghan Page B

on how discreet the placement.”
    â€œI have a tattoo,” said Margaret, with the grin of a Cheshire cat.
    â€œLemme guess. The rose. And judging from the blush that colors your cheeks, you’ve picked one helluva place to hide it.”
    â€œDamn it. You really know how to take the fun out of flirting.”
    Silence returned to the pair. This time it was Margaret who broke it. Margaret, whose attempts at a love life always ended in disaster. So why was it she was suddenly attracted to her boss, of all people? Margaret was one tough cop, but when it came to relationships she felt totally inept. She thought of herself as a pre-adolescent neophyte. Relationships were to be avoided. But still, the attraction was there. That was unmistakable. She decided she’d have a go at it and hope for the best.
    â€œTell me. Would you ever consider seeing a woman again? I mean as a friend, that is.”
    â€œI thought that’s what we were. Friends.”
    â€œWe’re good friends.” Did she want more? The thought frightened her, yet filled her with exhilaration at the same time. Goddamn it! What the hell was going on in that psyche of hers? She couldn’t deny it. She was becoming attracted to all the little things he did and how he did them. He’s married, for God’s sake! As in taken . Still, the curious attraction continued. “I just thought we could go out. We don’t have to call it a date. Just two friends going out. That’s all.”
    â€œWhether you’re calling it a date or not, I thought it was the man who was supposed to ask the girl out.”
    â€œThat went out with Y2K. Besides, if I waited for you to ask we’d be nearing Y3K.”
    â€œOh, I get it. This is Relationships in the Twenty-first Century 101, and that makes it lady’s choice. Is that it?”
    â€œThat’s right. Whadya think?” There. She’d said it.
    â€œYou know my circumstances.”
    Land mine time again . “Say no more. I know the drill.” Time to lighten up a bit. Fluff it off . “Hey, you can’t fault a girl for trying. But, one of these days, John Driscoll—”
    â€œJust not today. Or anytime soon.”
    â€œThat’s fine. A girl can wait.” My God! Did she just say that?

Chapter 18
    The colorful mural that adorned the side of the trailer on Houston Street featured Saint Sebastian bound to a Corinthian column. Arrows pierced his flesh.
    The sign above the trailer’s door read:
    Â 
    BODY PIERCING. IT’S NOT FOR EVERYONE
PROPRIETOR: JACK THE RIPSTER
    Â 
    Driscoll followed Margaret up the two rickety steps that led into the trailer and opened its aluminum door. Pushing aside a beaded curtain, the pair emerged inside a narrow reception area. A teenage girl, her hair styled in a Mohawk, waited there anxiously, dragging on a joint. Driscoll put aside the impulse to handcuff her.
    â€œWant a hit?” the girl asked, offering the joint to Driscoll.
    â€œNo thank you,” he replied.
    The Lieutenant stared at the tapestries of torture that blanketed the trailer’s walls. One featured a tonsured monk, stripped of his habit, stretched across the rack. Tears welled, frozen in the cleric’s eyes, as the hooded executioner wielded the iron rod. A second depicted a medieval beheading in progress. A third displayed the body of a nubile young girl impaled on the lance of an armored knight.
    A seam down the center of that particular tapestry opened, and a huge man entered the reception area. A leather apron draped him like a breastplate.
    â€œLester Gallows?” Margaret asked.
    â€œI am. And you must be cops. Another license violation? I assure you—”
    The teenager scooted toward the exit and disappeared.
    â€œThis isn’t about a license,” Driscoll answered.
    â€œWhat, then?”
    â€œSuppose we ask the questions,” Margaret said. “It’s about this.” She showed him the