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Slice     【John Culjak의 지식창고】 2018.04.22. 14:19 (2018.04.21. 18:45)

Chapter 8

 
John Culjak' Novel 'Slice' - Chap 8
Jean was practically comatose when she arrived home from the police station. She sat almost lifeless before deciding that she would not sit idly by. Giving herself a boot in the ass, she became angry; decided not to bury her head in the sand. She owed it to Geoff. It was time to take action. She began pacing through the living room and hall, her arms flailing and muttering to herself. The pacing gave back an impetus that had previously abandoned her. Jean felt a burning need for a weapon. If she were to take steps to find Geoff’s killer, she would definitely have to obtain a gun, just in case. She hastily considered other options; she hated guns; she knew they were deadly. There were other ways to deal with the situation; she could seek a more intelligent approach; one that was weaponless. A lota good that would do, she thought. Just as quickly, she dismissed all other options. Yes, a gun, but where, and from whom? Jean knew that she had no knowledge of guns. I’m not even sure what they are called, guns, pistols, revolvers? What a strange position to be in, she thought. The most logical place to look for a weapon would be on the Internet. Perhaps there she would find the information she needed. So she sat at the computer, started it up and googled guns, Halifax, Nova Scotia. Among the results that came up were the Army Navy Store on Agricola Street, not good, and Nova Scotia business listings for second hand dealers and another, and the most important one; Nova Scotia Business Listings for Guns. Jean clicked on it and scrolled down the list, interested only in those gun shops located in Halifax. She scrolled past the firearms repair shop. It was Freedom Ventures on Kempt road that caught her interest. She clicked on the name, expecting to go to a website, but instead, the link only took her to another listing with the same information, address and phone. Jean called the phone number only to find that the store was closed for two weeks. The recorded voice offered a website address to go to for contact and email information. Jean immediately punched in the address and went to the site, which contained a number of logo links to various weapons. The first one she clicked on, firearms from STI International delivered her to another site that consisted of a catalogue and several specific handguns. Jean clicked on a GP6 logo that took her to a page with specifications for the 9-mm luger. The luger was an ideal lightweight weapon for civilian use. The GP6 weighed only 26 ounces. How heavy is that she wondered? Almost two pounds, she answered herself. Is that a good size for a woman? The GP6 came with two magazines and a magazine release that was user friendly for either left or right hand. Although she had no idea how much guns cost, Jean thought the price of $750 was reasonable. God! What am I doing? The description stated that long term durability testing had fired the weapon more than 110,000 times without any change in internal geometry. Jean doubted that that would be a factor. She checked one more pistol, the Rogue. It too was a 9-mm gun that measured six and a half inches in overall length and weighed only 21 oz. That’s a better weight. It was touted as being the lightest pistol that the company sold. Although the price was almost double the GP6, the Rogue appealed to her the most. It seemed to be more suited to a woman than the GP6 and it came with all the necessary accouterments. Tomorrow she would call and find out what the necessary requirements were to buy a gun.
 
.. .. .
 
Donna parked her nine-year old Toyota Tercel in the parking lot behind the Jazz East offices on Hollis Street, just one building up from the Wired Monk café. She had been there once or twice and liked the spot. She walked to the main entrance from the parking lot, looked in to see if Stenson had gotten there yet. She didn’t see him; she looked around, checking both sides of the street to see if he was parked nearby. He was not. Donna went in and found the coffee aroma to be irresistible. A young woman, casually dressed, sat at a two-seater table directly across from the counter. A student, she wondered? She was working at her laptop and drinking what looked like a latte. Perhaps she is writing a school paper or making an entry on Facebook. She wondered if anyone could tell that she was a police detective. What does a policewoman look like anyway? Donna immediately placed an order at the counter for a large Costa Rican coffee and almond biscotti, and retreated to a table in the back where it offered more privacy. The back area held two tables and several well-used easy chairs that you might find in a family room. Behind her on the wall was a painting of a jazz saxophonist. She sat and waited for Stenson to arrive. Her order was brought to the table only a minute prior to Stenson walking through the door. He stopped inside to see where Copp was sitting, saw her and went directly to the table. He sat down across from Donna.
 
“You brought your work with you, did ya?” She asked, referring to the flash drive dangling on the end of the cord outside his shirt. “Yeeup. You know me well. Have to prepare for tomorrow.” “And I thought we were done work for the day.”
 
“Shows how little you know.” He said smiling. “I’ve been thinking.” “Not again.” She said and laughed. “The way I figure it the perp did not remain at the golf course. That would be too chancy. If you just killed someone, Donna, and there weren’t many people around, and no one saw you, would you risk staying at the scene? I don’t think so. I know I wouldn’t.”
 
“You got a point, Stenson. It is hard to imagine anyone staying there. If he did, he would have to be one cool son-of-a-bitch.”
 
“True enough. However, we might just learn something new by talking to the manager. I have a feeling that she knows more than she is letting on.” “Are you going to order something, Stenson, or are you going to let me eat alone?” Stenson smiled, motioned to the waitress and when she found her way to the table, he ordered a green tea. “Are you still seeing Burke, Donna?” he said getting personal.
 
“Well, no...umm sorta, you might say. We haven’t seen each other in at least a month.” “Donna, what’s happening? I thought you guys were hot and heavy. At least you gave me that impression.”
 
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s going to work.” She said bringing her half closed hand to her mouth and tapping her lips with her fingertips. “I guess the ball is in his court. I called him the last time to get together. I figure if he is interested, it’s his turn to contact me.” The waitress arrived with Stenson’s tea, and the conversation stopped momentarily. Stenson poured the hot water over the tea bag in his cup. “What do you think, Stenson? Am I wrong? Should I just go after him?” “You’re the only one that can answer that. If you like each other, does it really matter who initiates the hunt?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Jesus, when you put it that way, you make it sound like we’re a couple of brainless animals just out for a hot fuck.” “Well?” Stenson said laughing. “And, by the way, with that mouth, you’re beginning to sound a lot like Redmond.” “You asshole!” She said. Her laughter blended with his, but was hollow. She then added somewhat resigned, “Anyway, I got a feeling that he’s seeing someone else.”
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