Death to Blonds Ch. 08

How is he going to clean that up? Get rid of his DNA? Clint nonsensically wondered. The detective in him had his eyes scanning the room. There was a metal trough and a metal hose on a spigot over in the corner of the room. But could he get it all clean. Maybe he wore condoms with the others. Maybe I'm the last. Maybe he plans to move on now.

God he can fuck. God he can fuck.

This was what, in fact, would send him to heaven, he realized, as Pietr started working a plastic bag over his head.

He was gasping for air, the bag firmly covering his face. Then when he was about ready to give up, having come a second time—and so wanted to wait until he could come again—the bag was being jerked off his head, Pietr was screaming in some foreign language, others were screaming in English, and the weight of Pietr was being pulled off of him.

* * * *

"How did you find me? Were you following me?"

Clint had been unbound but still was on the cot, on his side, his legs across Danny's lap, as Danny held him and rocked him.

"No, jackass. We were following this guy—and the Russian too. From the interviews, we were honing in on one or the other. Quite a performance you put on in that bar."

"Then what took you so long to find me. I was choking here." He'd meant it to take the heaviness off the air, to keep from crying himself. But Danny took him seriously.

"Damn freighter's a warren of hallways and ladders. Even though we'd been here before, this cabin was hard to find."

"You weren't there. You weren't there when I returned from Trenton, Danny. I needed it, Danny. I needed it bad. And you weren't there."

"I've told you this is going to get you killed, Clint. You're a damn fine cop and an even better lay. But you keep looking for it like this and it's going to get you killed."

"I . . . I . . . can't help it, Danny."

"I know, I know. I'll just have to put bells on those balls from now on so that I know where you are—and who you're getting done by."

"But we caught him, didn't we, Danny? And it wasn't Brunelli, was it?"

"Yes we caught him. Thanks to you, this case will be iron clad. And no, it wasn't Brunelli. But I don't regret that he was put down."

"Neither do I, Danny. But it was a stolen judgment. It just isn't as sweet if it's stolen."

But enough of that, Clint thought. There was nothing he could do about anyone's justice now. He needed to think more pleasant thoughts. If the Russian wasn't the serial killer, Clint wondered if he was still waiting for him back at The Dugout.

FINIS