Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 11

“Yes, it’s my job,” Jessie answered sweetly. Her voice was arousing. I shamefully covered myself – I was starting to get hard. It felt like I was dreaming and about to finish in my sleep.

“I’ve seen them too. They’re like bears with a wolf’s muzzle. But, you know, skinny, unusual. A kind of bear-wolf mix… I think…” my arousal began to fade.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But I woke with a headache. The floor was dotted with droplets, and the air was heavy, as if filled with moisture. Apparently, they’d washed me. Yesterday, while I was chatting with Jessie, I’d studied my cell. It was a cube, two by two by two meters. Overhead burned four light fixtures, apparently under bulletproof glass. In the far right corner from the door, if you stood with your back to it, there was a drain. It seemed the floor had a slight slope toward it.

“Can I come out?” I asked.

The bolts slid back. I needed to get dressed and head to the department. On the couch I found five new suits.

“They’re from Agent Cocksucker. You can wear them if you wish,” Jessie’s voice came from somewhere in the wall.

Apparently, they’d installed speakers and microphones throughout the house, built right into the walls.

I put on a new suit, picked up my revolver, and froze.

“Where are the silver bullets? Why are there different ones here?” I exclaimed.

“We took them. You won’t need them during the day. And at night you’re in the cage,” Jessie said in a velvety voice that calmed me.

“I see – afraid I’ll off myself. But what if I shoot myself with regular bullets? Let’s find out,” I said, pulling the revolver from the holster.

I pressed the barrel to my temple and cocked the hammer.

“Jerry Harrison, there’s no need for that. We have everything under control,” Jessie’s voice stayed calm, but lost some of its friendliness.

“No, let’s see…” I pulled the trigger.

At that second, two agents burst into the room, their faces puzzled.

“Easy, boys. I always leave one chamber empty in the cylinder so I don’t blow my ass off, since I don’t always keep the revolver in its holster – sometimes I have to carry it concealed… Don’t freak out. Now I see you’ve loaded it with real rounds. At least thanks for that,” I said, slowly placing the revolver on the couch, looking into the dull faces of the black and white agents.

The revolver my partner had given me was an old model without a safety. So I always kept one chamber empty, just in case I accidentally put a bullet in myself.

The day was starting off cheerfully. I stepped outside and breathed in the fresh air. But I had to go to the department, do the routine, and wait for Crooked-Dick’s man to make a move on me. Well then – let’s get to work!

Chapter 3. Murder on the Beach

I got into my Ford F-150 pickup and sped down Blue Hill Avenue toward 40 Sudbury Street, where I worked. From Austin Street, where I lived, to my workplace was only ten miles. But in the morning there were terrible traffic jams, so it took me a full forty minutes to get there. The engine rattled as usual, and the truck kept pulling to the right. I’d been meaning to get it repaired for half a year, but there was never any time.

I had barely sat down at my desk when my boss, David Scott—nicknamed Goatface—called me in. I’d given him that nickname for his goat-like face and equally goat-like behavior. He was rude and constantly snapped at his subordinates.