Page 58 of Evil Bones
“Sorry?”
“I’ve got the sick sonofabitch.”
CHAPTER 13
“Forgive me. I’m not following.”
“I’ve got the bastard what’s been nailing up these freakshows.” Again, raising and waggling his phone.
I stared at Slidell.
He looked at me with what might or might not have been a smile.
“Jordan Allen Bright,” he said. “Goes by Jax.”
“Better than Jab.”
“What?”
“Forget it.” My mind had gone to Bright’s initials.
I waited for Slidell to elaborate.
“Bright has a nasty habit of wagging his weinee at kids.”
“So do dozens of other creeps. What makes you think—”
“Thiscreep lives smack in the center of our rainbow overlap. And—you ready for this?”
Hating Slidell’s guessing games, I circled a wrist.
“The guy’s a vet tech.”
“Which gives him access to animals.”
“Bingo.”
I considered the implications.
“You tell an owner that his dog or cat didn’t make it, or that the animal has to be put down, then offer humane disposal of the remains,” I said. “You return an urn full of ashes, keep the pet, and do what you want.”
“Pretty cold, eh?”
“Glacial.”
“You up for a surprise drop-in on this blight?”
I got to my feet and grabbed my purse.
Bright. Blight.
Not bad, Skinny.
The Cherry neighborhood, historically Black, lies about a mile southeast of Uptown. The area has caught on in recent years, like Elizabeth and Dilworth benefiting from its proximity to the city center.
Unfortunately, Bright’s street hadn’t hitched a ride on the gentrification train. Enormous elms lined both sides, keeping everything beneath them in perpetual shade. The homes were small and single-storied, some with detached garages, all fronted by tiny sun-challenged yards. Most were frame. A few were brick. All looked tired and discouraged.
Bright’s house was a yellow bungalow whose foundation hosted thriving colonies of algae and mold. Dingy white trim. Gray door. Tiny front porch surrounded by wrought-iron railing painted to match the door.
