Read In the Dead of Night for Free Online Page A

thrilled by my presence. The poor bastard is such an easy read, his eyes flashing a peculiar mix of anger, longing, and the irritation that seems to be a hallmark for most veteran cops. He’s probably hoping against hope to bone my woman, judging from the slight bulge in his trousers. What a frigging dreamer.
    Granted, the dude’s attractive, I guess. No doubt many women admire his strong build on a six-foot frame, and a full head of dark hair along with a toothy smile underneath his pussy-tickler mustache. A sharp dressed man too…I sort of said that already. The dude’s straight out of a Z-Z Top video from yesteryear. That might be his biggest problem, since he was probably my age back in the nineteen-eighties when that band was last popular. Detective Ed’s definitely around the half-century mark by now.
    “Hey, hon,” said Fiona, reaching out to hug me as I secured my helmet to my handlebars. “I can’t believe this is happening. We just saw Dickey last weekend at Terri’s place….”
    She began to weep, her shoulders heaving.
    “I’m here to take care of you, babe,” I assured her, holding her close. “I’m so sorry…so sorry.”
    She cried harder. Meanwhile, Dick Tracy seemed to get more and more annoyed. Probably in a hurry to avoid the increasing crowd of news reporters and paparazzi, and surely just as anxious to curtail Mr. and Mrs. Alea’s tender embrace.
    “You better get on in there,” I told Fiona, tipping my shades to Ed, who nodded gratefully to confirm my suggestion. “I’ll be here when you get out.”
    She smiled after pulling away, wiping her tears before walking with Ed to the main entrance. Two uniformed police officers stepped aside to let them through, and I caught a glimpse of Ed’s arm moving to usher her in through the doorway from behind. Again, trust on my part, and I could picture her stiffening from the slight invasion of her personal space.
    “Man, I believe everybody who’s ever spoken with Dickey is here today,” said a high-pitched male voice from behind me. I whirled around to see who it was.
    “It figures the pony-tailed dudes wearing reflective sunglasses would end up in the same spot, huh?” I responded, tilting my shades low enough to reveal my raised eyebrows, ala ‘The Rock’, Dwayne Johnson.
    “It’s good to see you, Jimmy!”
    Fred Marlowe, a longtime fan of my band, Quagmire, who just happens to be the lead beat reporter for the music scene in Nashville. Fred began his Nashville career nearly a decade earlier with a small local publication, The Nashville Scene , and then graduated to the city’s syndicated newspaper, The Tennessean , three years ago. Small and wiry in stature, he sports a Fu Manchu moustache that my wife says detracts a little from his brown eyes. Maybe it’s a macho thing, like something to make his baby-face framed by long blonde hair look older. It works in a rock n’ roll sort of way, and that’s cool with me.
    “Good to see you too, Freddie!” I told him, grasping his hand in the brother handshake. “It’s been awhile, man. Fiona and I were just talking the other night about having you and Trisha over for a cookout.”
    “Sounds cool,” he said, turning his attention back to Dickey’s main entrance. “So, Ed Douche-wad needs Fiona’s assistance to get a lead on the killer, I take it?”
    “Yep,” I replied, turning to look back toward the doorway where one of the uniformed officers remained. The other had left his post to keep a pair of photographers from sneaking around to the rear of the building. “That’s his stated need, anyway, from what she told me earlier. I’m sure he’d like her assistance with more than just a murder investigation, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
    I chuckled, though I couldn’t hide my contempt.
    “I’m sure you’re dead-on about that!” he snickered. “It’s got to be killing him that she’s all yours, Jimmy. He should get a frigging life, man! He’d better focus all of