The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 40k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. I made few changes to Chapter 8 for this second draft. Enjoy.
CHAPTER 8 (Cont.)
Jen immediately called Molly to let her know what she had learned from Pervert Pete. “So that rattle snack wasn’t a prank?”
“I think not,” Jen answered.
The next day Jen and Molly pulled into the driveway in a rented car. Jen took out her house keys and opened her door. “Shit,” she said.
“What happened?” Molly asked.
“I dropped my keys on the floor.” Just as Jen bent down to retrieve her keys, a bullet smashed the rear window, passed over her head by inches and exited out the front windshield. Both women ducked down as far as possible as a second bullet whizzed through the car, sending glass flying over the two.
“Who the fuck is shooting?” Molly yelled.
“The hell if I know,” Jen answered. “We need to get out of the car and into the house.”
“How fast can you run in prosthetics?” Molly asked without waiting for an answer. “I’m not moving until the police show up. Molly pulled out her cellphone and tried to dial. Her hands shook so much that she missed dialed twice. Jen grabbed the phone out of her hands and dialed 911.
The police arrived quickly, one patrol car followed a few minutes later by three more. One of them was Johan. They searched the neighborhood and once satisfied that the danger had passed, escorted shaking Jen and Molly inside the house. The incident triggered Molly’s PTSD. Jen held her tight and tried in vain to calm her down. It took nearly thirty minutes.
“Okay, this time the attacker was more professional,” Johan said. “We find the spot from where he fired. It was a roof top of a house that is for sale. It was nearly four hundred yards. Probably a high-powered rifle with a scope. The sniper picked up his brass, so we don’t know the caliber. We’ll know more when we find the bullet.”
When things quieted down, Molly told Jen, “I’m going to get a gun.”
“Molly, you have PTSD,” replied Jen. “You can’t legally buy a gun.”
“I know a guy,” Molly said.
The next day, an old pickup truck drove into the driveway. Hoyt Goodrich, the commander of The High Priests of Phinehas, a violent hate group, and the ex-lover of Molly, stepped out holding a small box. Jen saw him in their security monitor. “This is the guy you called?” she said to Molly.
Molly stood up and grabbed her cane. “Hell, yeah. I knew he could help me get an unregistered weapon.”
“Molly, it’s illegal,” Jen protested. “We could lose our license.”
“Shut up,” Molly snapped as she headed for the front door. “You’ve got one.”
Jen did shut up. Molly was right. In spite of the law and the protests of her boyfriends, she did have a gun. She opened her top desk drawer and pulled out the .38 and followed Molly. At least, she could have Molly’s back.
Hoyt didn’t come toward the front door. He just stood by his truck. Molly approached him. “Is that it?” she asked as she pointed at the small box in Hoyt’s hand.
“Yeah. The serial number has been filed off, and it hasn’t been used in a crime. It’s clean.”
Molly took the box and opened it, revealing a pistol. “A Glock 9mm. You couldn’t get a10mm automatic?”
Hoyt shook his head. “come on, Molly. I’m risking my parole as it is.”
“I know,” Molly said. “Thanks. I owe you one.” She kissed Hoyt on the cheek. Then she kissed him again on the lips. “I missed you, you know.”
“Yeah, I missed you too,” Hoyt said. “It wasn’t all bad, you know. Even though you did lie and used me.”
Molly chuckled. “I did. Then I was nearly killed.”
“I know,” Hoyt replied. “I felt really bad about that. I tried to find the Symths after what they did. I would have killed them.”
Molly smiled. “All things considered: the sex was great.”
Hoyt laughed. “It was that.”
Molly stared into Hoyt’s eyes and then reached out and touched his arm. Jen was watching from the front porch and came flying off into the front yard. “No, no, no,” she yelled. She reached the two and pulled Molly back. “We’re not going through this again,” she yelled at Hoyt. “You get out of my year or I’ll call the police. You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re a felon.”
Hoyt held up his hand in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”
At that moment, Jen realized that she had been waving her own illegal gun at Hoyt. She looked around and saw her neighbor across the street looking out her window. As Hoyt drove off, she grabbed Molly by the elbow and led her toward the house. “What the hell were you thinking?” she asked Molly.
“Come on, Jen,” Molly answered, “I have had any cock since I got out of the hospital. I thought we could hook up.”
“Not with that guy,” Jen replied. “He’s a racist, and you know it.”