Timecaster by Joe Kimball Read Free Book Online

considered grabbing a bottle of rum, and some of Aunt Zelda’s LSD, and zoning out for the rest of the day.
    Instead I pressed my earlobe to activate my headphone. I wanted to call Vicki. Wanted to apologize for being a dick.
    “Service not available.”
    Shit. Neil’s collar must have been jamming my phone as well.
    The rum and hallucinogens called, but I decided to man up and do my damn job. I couldn’t hide the evidence of this murder forever. And once the news broke, I’d be arrested and convicted within an hour. With so few criminals these days, trials were often faster than the time it took to get dressed for them.
    I still had no idea how the TEV showed me committing the murder.
    But I did know someone who might be able to figure it out.
    “Neil, there’s some food in the cabinets when you get hungry,” I said, heading for the front door. “Remember to stay out of the refrigerator. I’ll BRB.”
    Then I left the apartment and went to see Michio Sata.

EIGHT
    Outside the building, I called Vicki from my headphone as I walked to my car. She didn’t pick up. Probably blocking my calls because I had acted like a cretin. I left her a message.
    “Look, babe, I’m sorry I was an asshat. It’s just that I love you so much, I can’t stand thinking about you with other guys. Call me old-fashioned, but the only man you should be with is me. When I picture some tool like Neil . . .”
    No. That wasn’t an apology. That was continuing the fight.
    “Erase. Restart. Vicki? I’m sorry. I knew when I married an SLP that you would spread your legs for other men . . .”
    That didn’t sound good either.
    “Erase. Restart. Vicki, I’m sorry, but how can I help feeling jealous knowing you’re sucking some other guy’s . . . Shit. Erase. Restart.”
    “This isn’t working, Talon.”
    Uh-oh.
    “Vicki? Were you listening to that?”
    “If you’re not mature enough to accept what I do for a living, maybe we shouldn’t be together.”
    I felt my heart stop. “Vicki . . . I’m sorry . . .”
    “I’ve been discussing this with my therapist. She doesn’t feel like this marriage is healthy for either of us.”
    I leaned against the hood of my Corvette. My Corvette, paid for because she boffed other men. “You discuss this with your therapist?”
    “Don’t you discuss it with your therapist?”
    Both of our jobs required us to see therapists once a week, Vicki to retain her SLP license, me to remain a peace officer.
    “No. We don’t discuss anything. We spend the session watching hyperbaseball.”
    “My therapist thinks it’s unhealthy for me to feel guilty about my profession because you’re too insecure—”
    “Insecure? I’m always one hundred percent sure of myself! Aren’t I?”
    “—too insecure to realize sex is simply a biological need that is completely wholesome and natural and impersonal. It’s no more intimate than a massage.”
    “Then why can’t you become a masseuse?”
    “Dammit, Talon, you’re acting so twentieth century. Other animals don’t get jealous. This is your hang-up, and it’s ruining our marriage.”
    I didn’t like where this conversation was heading.
    “Ruining? I thought our marriage was solid. We rarely ever fight about this.”
    “You mention it at least once a week.”
    “That’s not a lot. Is it? Do you really think I’m insecure?”
    “Maybe we need to take a break from each other for a while.”
    I thought about Aunt Zelda, and the speedy conviction that awaited me. “Maybe we’ll get a break, whether we want one or not.”
    “So you agree with me?”
    “What? No. I don’t agree at all. But something came up at work that may—”
    “Is it Neil? Did you help him? Is he okay?”
    “You sound awfully concerned about Neil, babe.”
    “There you go again. He’s just a sad, lonely little man.”
    A sad, lonely little man who nailed my wife today, while I was mowing our lawn.
    “He’s in love with you,” I said.
    “He’s just got a crush.