KOP Killer by Warren Hammond Page B

Maggie.”
    “You killed him?”
    “No, he’s in bed, sleeping. He’s with somebody. I couldn’t do it.”
    “Can he hear you?”
    “I don’t know. He’s snoring pretty loud.”
    “Get out of there. Now, Juno.”
    “I started something I can’t finish.”
    “Are you moving?”
    I stood up. “I am now.”
    “Good. Now keep moving.”
    “Did you hear me before? I started something I can’t finish. I really screwed up.”
    “No fucking kidding.”

nine
    I COULDN’T sleep. I lay in the dark. Blinking neon splashed the far wall. A loud groan came through the wall behind me. Somebody was getting their money’s worth. At this hour, he must’ve paid for an all-nighter.
    I’d managed to sneak in without waking Maria, who was crashed in the sex swing, her big hair catching every strobe of neon in its net and briefly lighting up firefly style before fading to black.
    Despite Maggie’s insistence, I’d refused to go to her place after leaving Mota and his girlfriend sleeping in their bed. It was the middle of the goddamn night. I couldn’t intrude like that. I’d intruded enough when I woke her.
    I’d meet her in the morning. I’d survive the night without doing something drastic. Starting early, she and I would talk it out. That was what she said. That was enough to keep me going.
    I watched the window light up with the crimson glow of neon, then blacken with the dark of night, on and off, back and forth, no telling which would eventually win my soul.
    I laughed at myself, at what a fuckup I was.
    Maria woke. “When did you get in?” She rubbed her eyes.
    “An hour ago.”
    She yawned and stretched her arms. “I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to warn you that a couple guys came looking for you earlier.”
    “Who?”
    “They didn’t say. I think they were from upriver.”
    “How do you know?”
    “One was wearing a panama hat, one of those cheap ones they make out of straw.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    She adjusted her position in the swing. I didn’t know how she could sleep on that thing. “I told them I hadn’t seen you.”
    “They say why they were looking for me?”
    “No.”
    Nice. Now a pair of strangers were after me. They’d have to take a fucking number. “Does Chicho know?”
    “I didn’t tell him.”
    We stayed quiet for a while. She dropped a foot to the floor and used it to rock herself, red light slashing across her face with every flash from the sign outside. “You know Chicho’s already bringing in protection money from the other snatch houses.”
    “I figured.”
    “If I were you, I’d ask to see his books. He’ll short you if you don’t keep on top of him.”
    “You think his books are accurate?”
    “Yeah. That man keeps track of things. He’s smart that way. I’ve been asking him lots of questions. I gotta know how to do numbers to run my own house. It’s actually…”
    I stopped listening and pulled Mota’s phone from my pocket. It still worked. He must not have noticed it was missing yet or he would’ve ordered it wiped. The bastard was probably still snoring away.
    I opened the pics folder, and the first shot materialized over the bed. I squinted at the bright light until I slipped on my shades. Mota stared at me with a pearly-toothed grin, hat square on his head, badge shined bright. It was his graduation photo. I moved to the next pic, and the next. Mota waving from the deck of a boat. Mota posing by a new car. I jumped from pic to pic: Mota, Mota, Mota.
    He liked to take pictures of himself, hundreds of them, the holo-slide show floating above the bed: Mota rubbing his chin, pensive-like; hands on hips with a faraway look; leaning on a door frame, looking oh so casual. He had all the poses down.
    Maria was still talking, going on about her plans for the future. I motored through Mota’s photos, tossing her an occasional “uh-huh” as if I were listening.
    What’s that? I stopped and moved back a pic.
    “Find something?” she asked.
    I