Beautiful Sacrifice

Hunter offered.
    He pointed to the finger-wide gap between the barely open door and the frame.
    “Man, and I was hoping to get in another misdemeanor today,” Jase said.
    “Stay tight. A felony might be just around the corner.”
    Jase scratched at the spot where his reversed baseball hat met the back of his head. “Well, I’m concerned about the well-being of this citizen who may or may not have become involved in a crime. We really should check out the place. I mean, it’s for his own safety.”
    “You’re such a good citizen,” Hunter said. “How do you do it?”
    “Clean living.”
    “You forgot constant prayer.”
    “That’s Ali’s job.” Jase put the back of his hand on the door, pushed. It scraped open. “Oops. Look at that. Busted. We better check that Mr. Landry is okay.”
    Jase pushed the door wide open and stepped to the other side of the frame. Hunter was already at Jase’s blind side. They had both been trained the same way, by the same life.
    Nothing was behind the door. No one was within sight. Curtains shifted. They were dirty enough to have been used as napkins.
    Not one sound came from inside the apartment.
    The cramped room seemed to cringe at the afternoon sunlight flooding through the open door. A coffee table was littered with envelopes torn open carelessly. Empty bottles of malt liquor stood sentinel by crushed cigarette packs and overflowing ashtrays. Cigarette butts stuck out of the ashes like finger bones.
    “Guess he lives on nicotine and alcohol,” Jase said. “No fast-food trash.”
    “Lotto tickets,” Hunter said.
    The colorful stubs were ripped up, tossed everywhere in a kind of loser’s confetti.
    Jase walked a bit farther into the room. Hunter’s movements mirrored his partner’s.
    The television was off, and Hunter could see where the screen had been dusted with an open palm. The ring of grime at the edges clung. He moved the back of his hand close to the screen. Cold. Like the room, despite the cracked door. Air-conditioning hummed and rattled as it came on.
    “Looks like he hasn’t been here for a while,” Jase said. “But I’m not going to open that fridge to check expiration dates.”
    “How long?” Hunter asked.
    Jase understood the rest of the question. “Feels like days. Maybe more.”
    “It smells bad, but not dead-body bad. Back room?”
    Nodding, Jase headed farther into the apartment.
    “Unmade bed,” Jase said, looking into the tiny bedroom.
    “I’d be surprised if it was made.”
    Jase pushed the door wide open, flat against the wall. Nothing
    “No obvious signs of struggle.”
    “Just the everyday fight to keep in beer, cigarettes, and lotto tickets,” Hunter said. “No sign of any artifacts either.”
    “Man, I really don’t want to wreck this place to find them,” Jase muttered. “Just standing here makes me want to wash my hands.”
    He pulled a wad of exam gloves from his jacket pocket and handed a pair to Hunter. Both men snapped them on. Jase opened what he could of the closet’s sliding door before it jammed on the gritty rails.
    “A few shirts, pants, some of the clothes have DeWatt janitorial service logos,” Jase said quietly. “Ratty tennis shoes. Flip-flops. Dirty socks.”
    Hunter was glancing around the coffin-size bathroom. No cupboards. Drawers half open, empty of everything but used razors and crusty soap. The bathtub held the rest of the dirty laundry, but there wasn’t enough of it to hide anything interesting underneath.
    “Do we toss the place?” Hunter asked neutrally.
    “Son of a bitch,” Jase snarled, ripping off his hat and slamming it onto the dirty linoleum floor near the bed. A faint ring of dust rose and spread from the impact.
    “Take it easy,” Hunter said, approaching Jase. “We’ll find the artifacts. If not here, somewhere else.”
    He crouched down, reaching for Jase’s hat. As he grabbed it, he spotted something.
    “We need a warrant to take anything from under the bed?” Hunter asked.
    “You thought you saw a scorpion run across your shoe, stomped, and crouched down to make sure you nailed it,” Jase said instantly.
    “Oh, right. Huh, the bug got away. But lookee here.”
    Hunter hauled out a dark blue duffel bag.
    “He can’t have had it long,” Jase said. “It’s clean.”
    Manufactured by some company called Élite, the duffel was crisply cut from a thick, woven nylon that looked like it could stop a bullet. A cardboard sales tag still hung on one of the