Speak of the Devil Read Online Free

and black socks. Hector recognized him from his mug shot—Ricardo Amaya, the brothel owner, the man Hector had come here to arrest.
    One of the two thugs was an average-looking Hispanic male, but the other seemed to be wearing some sort of mask. Hector’s eyes went to their hands, assessing the threat they presented. Both thugs carried machetes, but unlike the fool in the front hallway, they didn’t raise them at Hector. Instead, they opened the back door and stepped outside into the dark alley, dragging the half-naked brothel owner with them.
    Hector could see another officer outside in the alley, guarding the rear door. The weird-looking thug hurled Ricardo at the officer. The officer was bowled over; he and the brothel owner fell in a tangled heap to the ground. The two thugs took off running.
    Meanwhile, the man with his pants around his ankles was reaching toward a machete on the floor. Hector kicked the machete away and slammed the guy, chest-first, into the wall. Hector cuffed him, then shoved him into Ralph’s arms.
    “Call for backup,” Hector said. “Two Hispanic males with machetes, wearing jeans and trench coats, running west toward Fourteenth Street.”
    Hector ran through the bedroom’s back door and out into the dark alley. He could see the two thugs rounding the corner, more than a block away. He sprinted after them.

6
    An hour later, Detective Tavon McGee knelt down in the brothel’s front yard. The flashing police lights illuminated a little plastic skeleton lying in the dirt. With gloved hands, he pinched the string attached to the plastic skull and held up the figurine. The little skeleton seemed to dance on its cord as the detective examined it with a flashlight.
    McGee filled his lungs with the warm night air, momentarily relieved to study the kitschy representation of death as opposed to the real thing. The scene inside the brothel was a bloody mess. Two corpses: one downed by the double-tap of a police Glock, one duct-taped and decapitated. Three injured: the brothel owner with his chest carved up, drifting in and out of consciousness; a second man, duct-taped and confused; and a naked prostitute, bruised and bloody, sobbing nonsensically about el diablo . The three survivors were on their way to Howard University Hospital; the two dead were headed to the Medical Examiner’s Office.
    The crime-scene techs had their work cut out for them: dozens of used condoms in the garbage can in the bedroom. Blood spattered on the bedroom walls. Broken furniture strewn around the living room.
    It was a messy scene, and it was going to be a messy case. Two of the invaders had gotten away. The police involved in the shooting would not be able to work the case. A Use of Force investigation would be launched, to determine whether Hector Ramos’s shooting was justified. All of the officers would be placed on administrative leave pending the decision. Their union attorneys might not let them talk for weeks, if not months. McGee would have to figure much of this out on his own.
    He was a homicide detective, had been for over twenty years. He was used to sorting out the relationships between the living and the dead.
    A movement in the row house next door caught his eye. A dark-haired kid was cracking open the front door and peering out. The boy was maybe five years old, with knobby knees and wide brown eyes.
    “This yours, little man?” McGee called. He held up the plastic skeleton. The kid nodded. McGee walked up the steps to the boy’s porch. The metal railing around the porch was decorated with dozens of identical little skeletons, as well as black rubber bats and pipe-cleaner spiders. Ghosts made of wispy white sheets hung from the ceiling, twirling slowly in the breeze. McGee handed the little skeleton to the boy. “What’s your name?”
    “I’m not ’posed to talk to strangers.”
    “It’s okay. I’m the police.”
    McGee touched the badge hanging from a thin chain around his neck. The kid still