I wipe the phone down after calling the local precinct. Caution is more useful than bullets. Hopefully, they’ll get the girl buried. Bring a little peace to her parents.
The bartender slips me a ounce of weed. It’s nice to see commerce is alive and well. It’s not for me, too mild a high, but now he’s complicit in a crime and less likely to describe the guy who used the phone.
I swing out of the parking lot and drive down the road, lots of medical clinics in this area. I drop the weed off at a friend’s shop, she is provides hospice to cancer patients. While I idle in the parking lot waiting for her to send someone to collect, I clear out the clingers and remora. Bottom feeders of the spirit world. The look like mouths with razor sharp teeth and long eel bodies. She’s paid up to the end of the month, it’s all part of the service.
Most successful recovery rate in the area, you’d think they’d be pounding on my door but I’m not theatrical enough, not enough chanting and sage smudging. That shit is either window dressing or a focus for a lazy mind.
Maybe I’ve just been doing this too long, or maybe I don’t want to think about the next dead kid.
Pelgris 