Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“I won’t do anything you don’t agree to,” the doctor said. “There’s quite a bit of testing involved, and some talking, but it’s also a drug trial.”
“A drug trial? What kind of drugs?”
“Hallucinogens mostly.”
Jett was surprised by that. “Like magic mushrooms and shit?”
“There is some psilocybin usage,” the doctor said. “All of that would be disclosed to you. You would have to agree to any and all of it. But that part would come second. First we’d need to make sure you’re a good candidate for this treatment.”
Jett ran his palms over his jeans again, the contact once more bringing him pain, but a pain he craved in some odd way. “Sure, okay, what the fuck. Sign me up.”
The doctor smiled; it started slowly and then widened. “Wonderful, Jett. Wonderful.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lennon’s feet pounded on the wet sand, the dawn a bare gray slip on the horizon. For whatever reason, she’d hardly gotten a wink of sleep, tossing and turning all night until she finally decided to just get up and start the day, even though it was still dark outside. Her phone, tucked into the pocket at the back of her leggings, started buzzing, and she retrieved it as she came to a slow stop.
She glanced at the name on the screen before answering. “Lieutenant.” Déjà vu descended, or the disturbing thought that she had found herself in her own version of Groundhog Day. Only one where a serial killer was on the loose and she’d have to hunt him into perpetuity.
“Gray, we have a situation over on Ellis Street. It seems like a straightforward overdose, but there’s some product with a purplish tint at the scene. How soon can you be there?”
Her eyes moved to the parking lot beyond the sand where her car was parked. Déjà vu indeed. Only last time she’d experienced almost this exact same scenario, she’d gone home and showered and changed, not out of professionalism but because she’d been hoping someone else would arrive before her at what sounded like a gory triple homicide. If she went home now and changed and showered, it’d take her over an hour to get there. “I’m on my way. Give me thirty,” she said.
“Great. Thanks, Gray. Keep me updated.”
She jogged up the short set of steps that led to the lot, removed her things from the trunk, pulled a hoodie on, and got in her car.
It took her twenty-seven minutes to drive from the beach to the Tenderloin. Lieutenant Byrd had texted her the exact address as she’d driven, and when she pulled up, there were already a couple of patrol cars double-parked at the corner, lights turning. The sun was just beginning to rise, but it was a foggy morning, and so the streetlights offered the only real illumination. She clipped her badge on her leggings and strapped her small holster on, covering it with her hoodie.
She didn’t recognize the officers standing at the corner in front of the short wall that separated the sidewalk from the stairs that led down to a Muni station, and so she introduced herself when she approached. The two young men both gave her an odd look because of her attire but identified themselves as Boddie and Meads. “What’s the situation?” she asked.
“The owner of the corner store right there”—he pointed next to him—“called in two dead bodies in a tent just up the street.” He pointed to the small grouping of three tents situated about fifty feet down the one-way street that they had blocked off with their car. “We looked in the yellow one on the end, and sure enough: one male, white, one male, black, both deceased. And there are pills scattered around, and something purple in a baggie. We didn’t touch anything, just called it in.”
Shit. “Okay, thanks. What about the other two tents?” She nodded to the two sitting to the right of the yellow one.
“Unoccupied as of now. Just a bunch of junk in both. And they smell like shit.”
She couldn’t hold back the ick face. “The store owner, he’s inside?” she asked, nodding over to the store.
“Yeah. A Mr. Allen Cheng. He’s the only one there.”
Lennon nodded, turning toward the corner store with signs and ads covering the two front windows. She walked the short distance and pulled the door open. There was an older man at the register, and when Lennon entered, he stood, rounding the counter. “Are you with the police?” he asked in a heavy Chinese accent.
“Yes. Hi. Mr. Cheng? I’m Inspector Gray. I’m going to go check out the tent but wanted to stop by here first and get a little more information.”
“Yes, okay. Good.”
“You discovered the two men this morning?”
“Yes. I open the store every morning at four thirty. If the sandwiches pass the expiration date, I bring them around to whoever is awake. I don’t feel right, tossing food when there are hungry people right outside my door. It’s not right. So I get a ticket, so okay.”