Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

looked behind and saw that George and a few of the regulars were standing in the doorway. They were watching in total disbelief as I dragged a semiconscious man to whom I was handcuffed toward a man and a woman grappling inside a car parked at the curb.
    I turned and looked at Jean-Marc. I took a breath to prepare myself to sprint the rest of the way to the sidewalk. But it was a breath I don’t remember exhaling. Marie screamed loudly then, and I heard the condensed crack of a gun going off inside an enclosed space. It startled me, and I crouched low out of reflex and froze dead in my tracks.
    Then I saw the smoke rising out of the Saab and turned back to George and the other and said, “Call an ambulance.” George took a few tentative steps back before bolting into the Hansom House.
    I looked toward the Saab and saw that Jean-Marc was standing outside now, the gun in his right hand. I could not see his face, but by the way he stood, he seemed to be staring in disbelief at what was inside.
    I pulled myself together and yanked Searls the rest of the way down the pathway. Jean-Marc heard me coming and turned around fast. He raised the gun with one hand and leveled it at me. His hand was shaking, and his arm seemed loose, almost rubbery. But his narrow eyes—the eyes of a hunting bird, the eyes I had seen the night Augie had been beaten—remained sharp and quick.
    “She pulled a knife on me,” he said. He seemed almost offended by the audacity. “She tried to stab me in the chest.”
    “Give me the keys,” I said.
    “She just grabbed the gun,” he said without apology. “Then she tried to fucking stab me.”
    “Give me the fucking keys!”
    He didn’t move at first. Then he looked past me at the people standing in the doorway. He lowered the gun slowly, then dug into his pocket and pulled out the set of small keys. He tossed them to me. I let them land on the ground by my feet, then picked them up and unlocked the cuff, slipping my wrist free from it. I hurried past Jean-Marc to the Saab.
    I could see her from the edge of the curb. She was slumped over in the seat, her hands limp in her lap. The diver’s knife was on the floor by the pedals. I took a step off the curb and leaned in and saw that her head was turned sharply. There was a bullet hole just above her right temple and blood along that side of her body.
    I knew immediately that Jean-Marc hadn’t been struggling against a knife at the time he shot his sister. He would have needed his left hand to press against her face and twist her head around so the right side would be exposed to the gun in his own right hand.
    I leaned in for a closer look and saw that there were abrasions on Marie’s right jaw. They were the impressions left by his fingers.
    Even though I already knew she was dead, I felt her neck for a pulse. I found nothing but a fading warmth beneath the tips of my fingers.
    I closed my eyes. It didn’t matter anyway if they were opened or closed. Either way all I saw was black. I leaned out, turned, and stood face to face with Jean-Marc. The gun was still in his hand, the muzzle pointed toward the ground. I knew who he was and what he had done. I knew, too, that he was another creation of the Chief’s, that he was just like the Chief’s son, lofted by his own arrogance, unreachable, without conscience. But the actual son was nothing compared to Jean-Marc. Jean-Marc was the real beast. He had gotten away with murder. He had gotten away with worse. And he clearly had no doubts that he would get away with this, too.
    He had the connections and the money to pull it off—regardless of the witnesses, regardless of the evidence. No one knew better than I what the rich got away with in this town.
    I heard sirens coming from several different directions. They were in the distance still but closing fast. Jean-Marc casually tossed the gun past me and into the Saab. It landed on the floor by Marie’s feet. He peeled off his gloves and dropped them to the pavement.
    I could feel my anger mounting. I could feel my heart pumping its poison through me. I could feel it rushing in the place of my blood.
    Jean-Marc looked toward the sirens and listened without showing a hint of fear or concern. I realized then that there was nothing that I could do beyond the only thing there was for me to do.
    The sirens were almost upon us. But I could barely hear them over the buzzing in my ears. I could barely think of anything past the fact that I was here all