Page 36 of Burn Falls
“I left my piece locked up at work.”
“What? Why?”
“Because we were going out drinking.”
I knocked again.
“Can I help you?” I heard a man ask through the door.
“Seattle PD. We need to speak with you about your son, Eugene.”
Martin huffed next to me, and I shrugged. It was partially true.
The door swung open, and before us stood a man with a gun at his side in his boxers and a wife beater tank top. “What about my son?”
“Are you home alone?”
“Yes.”
Perfect.
“Do you have a permit for that firearm?” Martin asked.
I turned my gaze to him, and he shrugged. It wasn’t the point of our visit.
“I do,” the man stated. “Let me see your badge.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the threshold of the door, the gun on his bicep, and stared directly into my eyes.
“My name’s Draven. Invite me in,” I compelled before Martin rummaged into his pocket for his badge.
“Draven, come in.”
Martin and I entered, and since this guy was still under my compulsion spell, I stuck with my questioning as we all stayed near the front door. “Do you remember where you were on the night of September 14, 1988?”
“No.”
“Have you ever killed a person before?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Why?”
“Got in my way.”
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Men or women?”
“Both.”
Before I thought better of it, my mouth attached to the guy’s neck and I sucked, needing to hurry this along and to see if I was correct. The moment his aromatic blood hit my tongue, I knew: blue cheese and nicotine.
