From “Murder in the Dog Park”
“Don’t get smart with me Brice,” I said cocking the gun. “I have no problem hand delivering this print out to every journalist, blogger, TV station and cop in Baltimore. And your wife will need a copy too, along with your law partners.”
He slumped. I knew I had him.
“Let’s make a deal,” he pleaded.
“No deal Brice. I call the shots and here’s what you are going to do. You will talk to whoever it was you conspired with to frame Lenny for the murder. Call in your dirty favors with judges, cops—whoever else is in your pocket. You will get them to drop all the charges against Lenny. I want my cousin’s record wiped clean as a whistle. You have 24 hours to get it done. Are we clear?”
Brice was scheming. Worse, he wasn’t taking me seriously. It was time to implement plan B.
I stepped closer. As he started to back up I unleashed a roundhouse kick to his solar plexus that dropped him like a stone. He never saw it coming. I stood over. He peered up at me with a look of hatred and confusion. I put my foot on his groin and stomped hard. He howled like a baby cougar.
“Did you think I was kidding?” I said, giving him an extra punt in the ribcage. He muttered something about my mother. I knelt down beside him and shoved the gun against this jugular vein. His eyes bugged out of his head and drool formed on the edges of his lips.
“I am 100% serious about exposing you as a freak. And I expect you will be equally as serious about clearing Lenny’s record. For the final time: are we clear?”
He nodded. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“Stay put Brice,” I said as I put the gun back in my jacket and picked up my backpack. “Wait 10 minutes then go back to the Tavern.” I tossed a five dollar bill at him. “Have a beer on me, you wanker.”
I walked away smiling to myself. Yeah, sometimes a girl’s just gotta be bad to be good.