I Hunt Killers Read Online Free Page A

to break in to a morgue.
    The police station was open twenty-four hours a day because it was a nerve center for the county’s law enforcement efforts. But at night, many hours after Jazz had left in a huff, it was just a skeleton crew, consisting of a deputy on duty and a dispatcher. Lana was still at the desk, having pulled the night shift. Jazz knew that would make this easy. Lana thought he was cute. She was right out of high school and he was a junior, so only a couple of years separated them.
    “I’ll distract Lana,” Jazz told Howie, “and then you work your magic.”
    “You sure you can keep her occupied?”
    Jazz rolled his eyes. “Puh-lease.”
    “The ladies love bad boys,” Howie said, striking what was supposed to be a tough-guy pose. “Gotcha. I will be your magic trick. Misdirection!” He waggled his fingers. “Abracadaver! Get it?” he added as they headed for the door. “Abra cadaver ? Get it?”
    Jazz sighed. “I got it, Howie.”
    Together, they walked into the police station, which was quiet this late at night. Lana looked up, then grinned a wide grin when she saw Jazz.
    “Hi there!” she chirped.
    Jazz sauntered over to her cubicle and leaned on the half-wall with both elbows. “Hi, Lana.”
    “What brings you back?” she asked, her eyes very wide and earnest. This was going to be way too easy. “You stormed out of here before.”
    “I just wanted to—”
    Just then Howie came up to them, clearing his throat. “Okay if I get a Coke?” he asked, pointing to the back corridor, where an ancient Coke machine loomed large.
    “Go ahead,” Lana said, not even flicking her eyes in his direction as he walked past them.
    “I just wanted to apologize for the way I went out of here before,” Jazz said, pretending to give Lana all his attention. He cranked up the wattage on his smile. “I didn’t even say good-bye to you.”
    As he chatted with Lana—who assured him that his apology wasn’t necessary, all the while lapping it up—Jazz watched Howie head for the second desk in the row behind Lana. He looked up at Jazz, who nodded quickly. Howie opened the top desk drawer, fished around, then closed it. A moment later, he rejoined Jazz at Lana’s cubicle.
    “Done,” Howie said.
    “Well,” Jazz said to Lana, “I guess we have to go. School tomorrow, you know. But I just knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t say something to you.” Another big smile.
    Howie and Jazz were almost to the door when Lana called out, “Hey, Howie, I thought you were getting a Coke?”
    Jazz shot a glare at Howie, who shrugged meekly. “Turns out I don’t have any change.”
    They got outside before Lana could say anything more. “You’re an idiot,” Jazz told him.
    “And yet, I recover well.” He dug into his pocket and produced the block of wax Jazz had given him earlier. “Still an idiot?”
    “Yes,” Jazz said, grabbing the wax. In it was a perfect impression of the morgue key Howie had found in the desk drawer. “Just somewhat competent. Let’s go.”

    Making a duplicate key from a wax impression was an extremely useful skill to have if you were the sort of person who liked invading other people’s homes and killing them. Billy Dent felt it was important for Jazz to know how to do this, and for once Jazz was grateful for Billy’s lessons. It didn’t take long before he’d turned Howie’s wax block into an actual key—he had a selection of blanks and cutting tools that Billy had given him on his eleventh birthday. Match up the right blank with the wax impression, then file away everything that isn’t in the right place until the notches fit the wax. Simple. He’d been practicing most of his life, after all.
    The police station abutted the Giancci Funeral Home on one side, the two buildings joined by the briefest of outdoor corridors. The Lobo’s Nod morgue was half the basement of the funeral parlor.
    With Howie at his side, Jazz strode into the morgue like he