Thursday, October 29, 2015

Walt Murphy – Part Two – 37

Lying again, but only by omission, I told the officer, "I think it has to do with a case I'm working on." I figured saying which case wouldn't be my brightest idea since Detective Sharp had warned me off of it.

"Well go in tomorrow morning and fill out a report. That way everything's on the record, just in case."

"In case the next time he does more than threaten? Yeah, probably a good idea."

With nothing much else to say—or do because the perp wouldn't have been stupid enough to leave fingerprints on the window—one of the officer's gave Ricky his card, telling him to call if he thought of anything else, and then they left.

As soon as they were gone, Ricky dropped down on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. "I was so damned scared, Walt."

I sat beside him, pulling him against my chest. "Of course you were. That's to be expected and undoubtedly just what he wanted. Hitting closer to home without actually hurting you."

"Yet," he muttered.

"Ever, if I have anything to say about it. When I get my hands on him…"

"First you have to figure out who he is." Ricky looked up at me. "Can you do that? Can the police do that?"

"Sure gonna try. Until then…"

"I am not moving out!"

"Did I say you were?"

He scowled. "No, but you were going to."

"No. What I was going to say is, I'll show you how to use a gun, and a few other tricks to defend yourself. Since he seems to be partial to knives, you'll have to learn what to do to avoid getting sliced and diced."

"Lovely image," he grumbled, but he looked a bit less afraid. "When?"

"Not tonight. I don't think you're up to it. What are the chances you can get tomorrow off?"

His lips turned up in a grin. "I think I've just gotten a deathly case of the twenty-four hour flu that's going around."

"That works."

"So who do you think the killer is?" he asked.

"How about we talk about that in the morning. Right now we both need to get some sleep. It's been a long, and for you a somewhat traumatic day."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. After all”—he grinned again and I knew he was feeling better—"us sickies need lots of bed-time."

"Sleep time," I cautioned as we got up, heading toward the stairs.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He winked, adding, "Don't forget the lights."

I turned them off and went upstairs, having the distinct feeling sleep would not be the first order of business. I was right.

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