Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel Read Free

checking the Glock, a piece that rested comfortably at my
side since the Academy. The poster of the generic black-silhouetted target
loomed twenty yards down the line as I put my headphones on and slapped in the
magazine. I had just taken a piss, but needed to go again. If there was
anything else I could do before shooting, I couldn’t think of it.
    As I raised the gun with both hands, the
target blurred into Cozy Robicheaux being held by that madman. I had never
believed that a memory or a hallucination could actually take the place of true
vision, but here she was, standing before me, innocent and scared. After
blinking her away, the target came into focus and I exhaled, firing six rounds
in succession with no hesitation—easy, when no lives are on the line. My
lungs took air again and I lowered the gun, hoping the cluster on the target
was wrong.
    The sheet of paper raced towards me,
stopping with a ripple and a nice grouping of six bullets to the left of the
target’s head. My head swiveled around as if there would be gawkers laughing at
me. The harder I focused, the worse I did as two more targets offered a similar
result. Being alone, I allowed myself to curse and slap my face to wake up my
aim. The closer the distance, the better I did, but that hardly put me at ease.
How the hell do you compensate for that kind of drifting on the job? I had to
fix this fast.
    #
    Lush shrub bushes and oak tree leaves
surrounded my house right off Magazine Street. Huge tree roots caused sections
of broken sidewalk to dip and rise, creating an obstacle course common to the
Uptown area. My living room window glowed with permanent light from the corner
lamp, a menial constant that gave comfort.
    As soon as I shut the front door my wife
accosted me with an embrace. “How was it?”
    “Good. It was good.” My hands traced her
slender torso, stopping at her hips. I pecked her lips with a smile and she let
go. “Alicia here?”
    She gave a quirky half-smile and
shrugged. “In her room talking with Jane on the phone.”
    “Of course.”
    “I saw you and Tara at the Moon Walk on
the news. That’s your case?”
    “Yeah. Nothing much to
it right now. Doe dumped in the river.”
    “Don’t want to talk about it?” Her
curious face frowned.
    “Not right now. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
    Spaghetti and meatballs with my wife and
daughter started subdued: forks tapped plates until Heather broke the silence.
“Alicia’s soccer games are going to start soon. You should see her cute
uniform.”
    Alicia cocked her head in a challenging
manner. “Jane says perverts get their rocks off on girls wearing soccer
uniforms.”
    That caught my attention. “You’re only
twelve. Do you even know what that means?”
    She thought for moment. “Jane says it’s
an orgasm , which we learned about in sex ed .” My
daughter emphasized the proper words. “They taught us a man’s orgasm releases sperm, which is used to make a baby ,
but Jane says a woman’s orgasm feels
really good.”
    “Jane’s just a wealth of information.”
    “Is that right, Mom?”
    Heather sighed. “Yes, but in terms of
making a baby, a woman’s orgasm helps a man have his orgasm. As it turns out,
most men don’t need that help.”
    I smirked. “Men don’t become perverts
because of outfits. But you still need to be vigilant of strangers approaching
you at the games.”
    “I know, Dad. Whatever.” Alicia rolled
her eyes as only a tween can.
    “I do want to see your uniform, though.”
    “Is Mr. Chance going to come to my
games?”
    “Being mayor doesn’t give him a lot of
time for that, dahlin’. But, I’ll ask.”
    The rest of dinner conversation stayed
light and our television time passed in a blink. Before I realized it, we had
brushed our teeth for bed, where the term sleep would be used loosely. I didn’t know if more therapy would solve my restless
nights, but something had to be done before I turned to alcohol as a sleep
remedy.
    Heather sashayed from