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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 177 из 213We could have been rich together."
"The only thing we're likely to do together is kill each other," I said.
"So be it. Let it be war between us."
"It always was," I said.
She nodded and smiled some more.
Zerbrowski came out of the kitchen. He was grinning from ear to ear. Something good was up.
"The grandson just spilled the beans."
Everyone in the room stared at him. Dolph said, "Spilled what?"
"Human sacrifice. How he was supposed to get the gris-gris back from Peter Burke after he killed him, on his grandmother's orders, but some joggers came by and he panicked. He's so afraid of her"-he motioned to Dominga-"he wants her behind bars. He's terrified of what she'll do to him for forgetting the charm."
The charm that we didn't have anymore. But we had the video and now we had Antonio's confession. The day was looking up.
I turned back to Dominga Salvador. She looked tall and proud and terrifying. Her black eyes blazed with some inner light. Standing this close to her, the power crawled over my skin, but a good bonfire would take care of that. They'd fry her in the electric chair, then burn the body and scatter the ashes at a crossroad.
I said softly, "Gotcha."
She spit at me. It landed on my hand and burned like acid. "Shit!"
"Do that again and we'll shoot you, and save the taxpayers some money," Dolph said. He had his gun out.
I went in search of the bathroom to wash her spit off my hand. A blister had formed where it had hit. Second fucking degree burns from her spit. Dear God.
I was glad Antonio had broken. I was glad she was going to be locked away. I was glad she was going to die. Better her than me.
32
Riverridge was a modern housing development. Which meant that there were three models to choose from. You could end up with four identical houses in a row, like cookies on a baking sheet. There was also no river within sight. No ridge either.
The house that was the center of the police search area was identical to its neighbor, except for color. The murder house, which is what the news was calling it, was grey with white shutters. The house that had been passed safely by was blue with white shutters. Neither's shutters worked. They were just for show. Modern architecture is full of perks that are just for show; balcony railings without a balcony, peaked roofs that make it look like you have an extra room that you don't have, porches so narrow that only Santa's elves could sit on them. It makes me nostalgic for Victorian architecture.
"The only thing we're likely to do together is kill each other," I said.
"So be it. Let it be war between us."
"It always was," I said.
She nodded and smiled some more.
Zerbrowski came out of the kitchen. He was grinning from ear to ear. Something good was up.
"The grandson just spilled the beans."
Everyone in the room stared at him. Dolph said, "Spilled what?"
"Human sacrifice. How he was supposed to get the gris-gris back from Peter Burke after he killed him, on his grandmother's orders, but some joggers came by and he panicked. He's so afraid of her"-he motioned to Dominga-"he wants her behind bars. He's terrified of what she'll do to him for forgetting the charm."
The charm that we didn't have anymore. But we had the video and now we had Antonio's confession. The day was looking up.
I turned back to Dominga Salvador. She looked tall and proud and terrifying. Her black eyes blazed with some inner light. Standing this close to her, the power crawled over my skin, but a good bonfire would take care of that. They'd fry her in the electric chair, then burn the body and scatter the ashes at a crossroad.
I said softly, "Gotcha."
She spit at me. It landed on my hand and burned like acid. "Shit!"
"Do that again and we'll shoot you, and save the taxpayers some money," Dolph said. He had his gun out.
I went in search of the bathroom to wash her spit off my hand. A blister had formed where it had hit. Second fucking degree burns from her spit. Dear God.
I was glad Antonio had broken. I was glad she was going to be locked away. I was glad she was going to die. Better her than me.
32
Riverridge was a modern housing development. Which meant that there were three models to choose from. You could end up with four identical houses in a row, like cookies on a baking sheet. There was also no river within sight. No ridge either.
The house that was the center of the police search area was identical to its neighbor, except for color. The murder house, which is what the news was calling it, was grey with white shutters. The house that had been passed safely by was blue with white shutters. Neither's shutters worked. They were just for show. Modern architecture is full of perks that are just for show; balcony railings without a balcony, peaked roofs that make it look like you have an extra room that you don't have, porches so narrow that only Santa's elves could sit on them. It makes me nostalgic for Victorian architecture.