'Malcolm stumbled back, and only my grip on his hand kept him on his feet. I squeezed him again, watched his spine bow, and his head throw back, sliding the long braid of his hair off the bed, like something escaping off the edge. It made me push harder against Jean-Claude's hands. Witnesses, I said, we have witnesses? Witnesses or suspects, he said.
We got a call from my friend Veronica Simms that the bartender at this club told her she was too drunk to drive and she needed a ride home. I guess I was bad cop for the day. Jean-Claude won't wake for awhile yet. om, until it crashed against the pulpit and the strangely empty altar area at the front of the church.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.