Submission
A SOUND AS GRATING AS A woman's fingernails
scratching against a chalkboard wrenched me from sleep. I pulled my pillow over my head and tried to ignore it. But like my ex-wife, it refused to go away.
I snaked a hand out from under the pillow, then dragged the telephone receiver to my ear. "What?"
"Detective Alan Chevalier, please."
"That would be me."
"Sir, we have a possible three-zero." The dispatcher stated the address of the homicide.
I mumbled something that she must have taken as an okay because she hung up. On my end, it took three tries before I finally got the receiver back into the cradle. In one move I hauled the pillow from my face and sat up, then stared blearily at the closed shades drawn tight against the windows, the edges ablaze with the morning sunlight slamming against them. I squinted at the digital clock half turned away from me on the nightstand. Just after eight in the morning.
Damn.
I was late starting my normal weekday. Although the definition of normal was up for grabs.
Sometimes being a homicide detective in New Orleans's Eighth Precinct, French Quar ... read full excerpt from: Submission ebook
