Suckers - J.A. Konrath

“Why do you want my dog?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. I don’t want you to shoot me, but I also don’t want to hand over my dog
to a homicidal maniac.”
“I’m not a homicidal maniac.”
“You’re wearing a ski mask in ninety degree weather, hopping from one foot to the other
like some kind of monkey.”
“I had too much soda. Give me the damn leash.”
She handed me the damn leash. So far so good.
“Okay. You just stand right here, and count to a thousand before you go back inside, or else
I’ll shoot you.”
“Aren’t you leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Not to second-guess you, Mr. Dognapper, but how can you shoot me, if you’ve already
gone?”
Know-it-all.
“I think you need a bit more blush on your cheeks. There are some folks in Wisconsin who
can’t see it from there.”
Her lips down turned. With the all the lipstick, they looked like two cartoon hot dogs.
“This is Max Factor.”
“I won’t tell Max if you don’t. Now start counting.”
I was out of there before she got to ‘6.’
* * *
After I got back to my office, I took care of some personal business, washed my hands, and
called the client. He agreed to come right over.
“Mr. McGlade, I can’t tell you how... oh, yuck.”
“Watch where you’re stepping. Marcus decided to mark his territory.”
Thorpe made an unhappy face, then he took off his shoe and left it by the door.
“Mr. McGlade, thank you for... yuck.”
“He’s marked a couple spots. I told you to watch out.”
He removed the other shoe.
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