The Hornet’s Nest. Patricia Cornwell

“Oh no. Not a threat,” West said.

“A promise.” She jammed the car into park.

“Find someone else to ride with.” She was the maddest she’d ever been.

“Where are you parked?”

Brazil yanked up the door handle in a murderous reply.

“Well, guess what?” he said.

“Fuck you.”

He got out and slammed the door. He stalked off into the dark, early morning. He managed to write his stories in time for the city edition, and he pulled off 1-77 on his way

home and bought two tallboy Miller Lites. He managed to drink both as he drove very

fast. Brazil had a frightening habit of pushing his car as far it would go. Since his

speedometer didn’t work, he could only guess how fast he was going by the RPMs. He

knew he was flying, going close to a hundred miles an hour, and it wasn’t the first time

he’d done this. Sometimes he wondered if he were trying to die.

At home, he checked on his mother. She was unconscious in bed, and snoring with her

mouth open. Brazil leaned against the wall in the dark, the night-light a sad dim eye. He

was depressed and frustrated.

He thought about West and wondered why she was so heartless.

‘e’/ W West walked into her own small house and tossed keys on her kitchen counter as

Niles, her Abyssynian cat, appeared. Niles was on her heels, much like Brazil had been

all day, and West flicked on her sound system and Eiton John reminded her of the night.

She hit another button, changing to Roy Orbison. She walked into the kitchen, popped

open a beer, and felt maudlin and didn’t know why. She went back into the living room

and turned on the late-night news. It was all about the killing. She plopped on the couch

at the same time Niles decided she should. He loved his owner and waited for his turn as

the TV played bad news about a dreadful death in the city.

“Believed to be another out-of-town businessman simply in the wrong place at the wrong

time,” Webb said into the camera.

West was restless, worn out and disgusted, all at the same time. She wasn’t happy with

Niles, either. He had climbed up her bookcases while she was out. She could always tell.

How hard was it? He leapt up three shelves, just high enough to knock down bookends

and a vase. As

for the framed picture of West’s father on the farm, well, what did Niles care about that?

That cat. West hated him. She hated everyone.

“Come here, Sweetsy,” she said.

Niles made his ribs rattle, knowing how much it pleased her. It worked every time. Niles

wasn’t stupid. He reached around and licked his hindquarters because he could. When he

looked at the lady who kept him, he made sure his eyes were very blue and crossed.

Owners fell for that, and, predictably, she snatched him up and petted him. Niles was

happy enough.

West wasn’t. The next day when she got to work, Hammer was waiting for her deputy

chief, and everybody seemed to know it. West left her Boj angles breakfast with out even

opening the bag. She dropped everything and hurried down the hall. West almost ran

into Hammer’s outer office and felt like giving Horgess the finger. He very much

enjoyed West’s negative reaction to being summoned like this.

“Let me call her,” Horgess said.

“Let me let you.” West didn’t disguise how surly she felt.

Horgess was young, and had shaved his head. Why? Soon he would dream of hair. He

would lust after it. He would watch movies starring people with hair.

“She’ll see you now,” Horgess said, hanging up the phone.

“I’m sure.” West gave him a sarcastic smile.

“For God’s sake, Virginia,” Hammer said the instant West walked in.

The chief was gripping the morning paper, shaking it, and pacing.

Hammer didn’t wear pants often, but today she was in them. Her suit was a deep royal

blue, and she wore a red and white striped shirt and soft black leather shoes. West had to

admit, her boss was stunning. Hammer could cover or show her legs without gender

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