Scavenger hunt

Chapter 16

The radio exploded in static, the crowd at the arena cheering so hard it must have felt like an earthquake inside the building. Laker girls bouncing, balloons and confetti drifting down from the rafters… the Butcher switched it off in the middle of the echoing victory chant. The Lakers had won in double overtime by eleven points, but it felt anticlimactic. Houston had just given up and played loser-ball, letting the Lakers run the court, destroying the poetry and ferocity of the game. The Butcher stared through the rain-spattered windshield, his long legs cramping in the tight confines of the Geo Metro. The Lakers might be champions, but he hadn't won anything.

He shifted in his seat. The lady was still up in Jimmy Gage's apartment. Some four-eyes had stumbled out about fifteen minutes ago, looking around before he scampered down the stairs like a rabbit. The lady though-she was probably making a night of it.

Must be nice writing for that fancy magazine, getting your pussy home-delivered, and fucking with people's lives for fun and profit. The Butcher had been shadowing Jimmy Gage off and on for a few weeks, still not sure what he was going to do when he cornered him. This morning the Butcher had waited near the exit of the SLAP security garage, waited for hours until Jimmy had driven past in his black Saab. The Butcher remembered the car from the first time they met, but of course big-shot Jimmy Gage didn't recognize the Geo Metro with the dented door. He didn't know what the Butcher drove. Didn't care either. The Butcher had followed the Saab, but lost it on the freeway. Fucking Geo.

The Butcher turned the key in the ignition, listening to the starter grind, cursing it, threatening it, until the engine finally turned over. It sounded like a coffee grinder, metal clanging against metal. Yeah, life was fair. The Butcher got to drive through the rain to his nowhere job on the graveyard shift, hoping that the Geo didn't throw a rod on the freeway or the bald tires didn't blow. Meanwhile, Jimmy Gage got to bone the lady with the nice calves.

The Butcher slipped it into first gear and pulled away from the curb. He turned on the wipers and bent forward, trying to see as the old rubber blades left streaks across the windshield. He wiped at the condensation on the inside of the glass. It was almost the last fucking straw.