Rusty Nail

CHAPTER 14

“WHAT DO YOU want?” I said through the door.

“Can’t an old friend drop by and say hello?”

“An old friend, yes. You, no.”

“Come on, Jackie. Open the door.”

“No.”

He knocked again, harder.

“Hurry! Open up! It’s my heart! I feel a blockage in my pituitary artery! My left arm has gone numb! Jackie, for the love of God!”

I thought about going into my bedroom and watching TV, but I knew he’d just keep bugging me until I let him in.

“I’m dying, Jackie! Everything’s getting dark! So dark! I’m too young and too pretty to die like this!”

I wistfully eyed the.38 I’d set on my counter, then unlocked my door.

Harry McGlade, private investigator sub-par and namesake to the lead character in the TV series Fatal Autonomy, came into my apartment without being invited.

He wore the typical Harry outfit: a wrinkled brown suit, a stained tie, a chubby face in need of a shave, and enough cologne to make my nose hurt.

“Hiya, Jackie. What’s shaking?”

“I see you’re still allergic to ironing.”

McGlade tugged on his lapels like a wise guy. “This is Armani. Armani doesn’t wrinkle.”

“Then what are all of the crinkles and creases?”

“Those are style lines.”

He smiled at me, the smile becoming a wince as he took in my condition.

“Damn, what happened to you? Looks like you got into a fight with an ugly stick, and the ugly stick kicked your ass.”

I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “This is the amount of patience I have left, McGlade. What do you want?”

“I need a favor.”

“No.”

“It’s important.”

“No.”

“It’s not work-related. It’s personal.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m getting married.”

“My sympathies to your fiancée.”

“I’d like you to stand up.”

I was about to say no again, but I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

“What did you just ask me?”

McGlade spent a moment studying his shoes. Brown leather, Italian. Probably worth a fortune.

“I need a, uh, best man. I want you to be my best man.”

I considered all of the hurtful put-downs I could sling at him, and gave him my best.

“Let me guess. You don’t have any friends because you’re an obnoxious bottom-feeding creep, so I’m the only person you can ask.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. That pretty much covers it.”

I rubbed my eyes, a bad move because they hurt like hell. Millennia ago, McGlade worked for the CPD and was my partner. He screwed that up, and screwed me over, which should have been the end of our relationship. But Harry kept reappearing in my life, like an antibiotic-resistant rash. He was the reason why that stupid character on that stupid TV show was named after stupid me.

“Will you do it?”

“I’d rather eat a box of tacks.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll pay you. I’m rich.”

“Pay someone else.”

“I would, but my betrothed wants it to be you.”

“She knows me?”

“She loves the TV show.”

That damn show. “I’m close to losing my job because of that show.”

“Aren’t you knocking on retirement anyway, Jackie? Pretty soon you’ll be chasing bad guys with a walker.”

It was my fault. I let him in.

“You want me to be your best man?” I gave him a sharp poke in his chest, feeling my finger sink into pudge.

“I’m begging you, Jackie. I’ll do anything.”

“Kill me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“On the show. Kill my character. You’re the executive producer, right?”

“Yeah. But an executive producer doesn’t do anything, other than collect a fat paycheck.”

“Then find some other moron to stand up for you.”

McGlade chewed his lower lip, and I could practically see the two gears turning in his head. I was pretty sure there were only two.

“We haven’t filmed the season finale yet, and it has a big surprise in it.”

“Great. Gun me down.”

“Actually, your character professes love for me and we have sex in an alley.”

“There’s your surprise. After sex, I eat my gun. A perfectly natural reaction.”

“I have to talk to the producer. And the writers. And the network.”

“Yes or no, McGlade?”

He grinned. “It’s a deal. The network has always pushed to replace you with someone sexy. Here’s their chance.”

“Good. Now you can leave.”

Harry headed for the door.

“The rehearsal is in two days.”

“Two days?”

“Wedding is in four days. Why wait?”

“Indeed…”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. And you need to bring a date.”

“Why?”

“Holly doesn’t have anyone to stand up either.”

“Great.”

“Toodles, Jackie. And try to wear something nice, not any of that Home Shopping crap.”

I may have smacked him in the ass with the door as he left.

After regaining my composure, I hit the bathroom and took a few more aspirin – standard procedure after a visit from Harry – and then attempted to shower.

The water hurt, but I scrubbed until the last of the soot swirled down the drain. After the shower I rubbed some burn salve on my hand, bandaged it up, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging pants, and jogged into the kitchen to eat.

I microwaved a potato and stuffed it with cheddar cheese and some pan-seared broccoli. Swallowing brought tears to my eyes, and the tears in my eyes made them hurt. I was squirting myself in the face with Visine when the phone rang.

Latham? I hurried to answer.

“Hughes at county. Got some results.”

I sighed. If I couldn’t speak to my ex-boyfriend, I suppose the next best thing was speaking to an assistant medical examiner about a jar of severed toes.

“I’m all ears, Max.”

“My bone girl, Jess Coran, confirmed the toes are all about thirty years old. We also did some tests, found saliva.”

Yuck.

“Is it from a secretor?”

“It’ll take a few days to know. Sample is tiny, it will be tough to pull.”

“If anyone can do it, you can.”

“I wouldn’t need the flattery if I made more money.”

“Flattery costs the taxpayers less. What about those holes you found in the toes?”

“I’ve got a hypothesis. We dissected one, found minute fibers. Could be thread.”

“Meaning?”

Hughes clucked his tongue. “I arranged the toes in a circle. There were just enough to make an adult-sized necklace.”