The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

hadn’t been issued
with one by the department, so seeing as the dead cop wouldn’t be needing his
any more it seemed logical to relieve him of it. He picked it up and secured it
on his belt next to his nightstick. Then he resumed his assessment of the crime
scene.
    ‘Jessica?’ he called out rather
tentatively. ‘Jessica? You in here? Hello? Anyone?’
    He received no answer, apart
from another billowing from the cream coloured curtains. On his right there was
a kitchen area and in the corner was an open door that led to a narrow
corridor. At the end of the corridor was a closed door. Gun in hand, Sanchez
decided to investigate. There could be more dead bodies behind that door, or
worse still, the killer could be hiding in there. But, on the off chance that
Jessica was in there, it was worth talking a look. And where was Beth Lansbury?
Maybe she had killed everyone? After all, she was mental. And this was
her apartment.
    As he stepped into the corridor,
he noticed another door in the wall on the left. A bathroom perhaps? He reached
for the doorknob and turned it slowly with his free hand, keeping his gun at
the ready just in case. The door creaked as it opened inwards. Directly in
front of him, he saw a white toilet. Using his newfound detective skills he
deduced that it was indeed a bathroom. And there were no signs of any violence
in it, not even so much as a skid mark down the back of the toilet. Peering
right around the door he was pleased to see that there was no one hiding
inside.
    He backed out of the bathroom
and tiptoed towards the door at the end of the corridor. By now he could feel
his heart pounding in his chest. His breathing was louder than he would have
liked too. Dreading what he might find, he took a deep breath and turned the
doorknob. He threw the door open and jumped back, pointing his gun into the
room, just in case. No noise came out. All he could see was a blue coloured
wall opposite and the end of a bed on the left. He edged forward and peered
around the doorway. There was nothing of any interest inside, just a perfectly
made bed, a dresser and a walk in wardrobe. The room seemed completely
untouched by the carnage that had gone on in the living room area. Breathing a
sigh of relief he tucked the gun into the back of his pants and stepped back
out, closing the bedroom door behind him.
    It looked as though the killer
had fled, possibly at the sight of Sanchez arriving to investigate, so he was
in the apartment on his own. This would be a good time to call for back up, he supposed.
He pulled the CB radio from his belt and radioed in to the police frequency.
    ‘This
is Detective Sanchez Garcia. Request for backup. I’m on the fourth floor at
Remington Tower on 54 th Street. I’ve got some unidentified dead
bodies here. And there’s blood everywhere. Reckon the killings have only just
occurred and the killer could still be in the vicinity. I’m on my own. Please
send backup otherwise I’m getting the fuck outta here.’ Sensing that no one
would come without a decent incentive, he added.   ‘I’ve got donuts.’
    But first things first, now that
the adrenaline rush brought on by checking the apartment for signs of the
Bourbon Kid was subsiding, he felt a desperate need for a piss.
    He walked back into the bathroom
and lifted the seat on the toilet. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants
and unzipped his fly. There was nothing quite like unleashing his special
homebrew on the world to relieve a tense situation. As he listened to the sound
of piss hitting water in the toilet below, he pondered what might have become
of Jessica. Maybe she had escaped through the open window in the living room?
That was a possibility. She was a resourceful young lady. In fact maybe she was
out there hanging off the window ledge waiting for him to come to her rescue?
It was definitely worth checking.
    He finished his piss and zipped
up his fly. As he reached forward to flush the toilet, the handgun that he had
tucked neatly into the back of his pants slid out. No, it was pulled out.
    Uh-oh.
    He heard a loud click. Someone
had released the safety clip on the gun.
    Fuck.
    As the toilet made a loud
flushing noise, Sanchez turned around slowly. Stood behind him, pointing the
gun at his face was a man he recognised. The man wore casual clothes, just a
pair of jeans and a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Not his usual
attire, but even so, Sanchez recognised him straight away. It was the