Chapter Nine
The ICE Tombs, Crypts, The Ice House, cops have a lot of cool names for the place at the END OF THE HALL.
Usually, I dig hip lingo, smart talk, but not today, not now, not this day.
I hate smart, hip words at the moment.
The innocent never deserve the big sleep along a stainless steel slab, especially some little bird that never had a bad tweet one day of her short life.
We stall out at a massive, stainless, hermetically sealed door. Garcia stalls out, looks at me, my head ticks as I seethe. “Do it.”
Nodding, he hits the big lever.
“Swoosh” the door opens.
I exhale and follow him into the other name the cops gave the morgue, Blue Moon Heaven, for the entire place is bathed in blue neon. I don’t know why. Maybe because blood looks blue under a full moon, don’t know.
We
