Page 42 of Race With The Devil

“Where do you get these chemicals?” I asked.

Tutti shrugged, unconcerned. “Mainly China.”

“So, they’re illegal here, then?”

He got where I was drifting. K2 wasn’t regulated, so they could put whatever fake poison in there they wanted. If someone had a murderous bent, as I was beginning to suspect The Fentanyl King of Flagstaff did, he could purposefully concoct a lethal strain. “You’re not going to report Corey’s death, are you?” He didn’t even look at Corey’s face. The henchmen had unrolled the upper half of the body to make a proper ID, but Tutti didn’t even glance its way.

“No, that’s why I brought you his body. I presume you’ll inform his next of kin.”

“Oh, he didn’t like his family. They didn’t like him.”

After Unity told Tutti he could keep the rug, we got the hell out of there. We were driving past a little cement shed near the cockfighting cages when I pulled over. I knew there were most likely security cameras out there too, but I really did have to take a leak. Behind the cement shed, I discovered it was a shelter for garbage cans. Opening one, I dug beneath the first dead rooster and found what could have been a wedding dress. At least, it was once white, and made of satin.

Digging deeper, I found a pile of folded-up paper. “Dearest King Tut, I’ve been waiting the livelong day to cast my eyes upon your sunshine face once more,” one began. Figuring they were love letters tossed aside like so many parking tickets, I stuffed them in my hoodie pocket.

The can was a treasure trove of unwanted rubbish from Lavinia’s life. Cards depicting abundant flowers were signed by Lavinia. The saddest sight of all must’ve been a teddy bear wearing a bib that declared I LOVE YOU THIS MUCH. And, as if to confirm the possible wedding dress, at the bottom of the can a wedding veil sat marinating in barbecue sauce.

I took all that crap and tossed it into my trunk. If Corey had done the actual offing of Lavinia, Tutti Morgan had definitely ordered it, possibly because she was pregnant. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to be married. Then why the fuck had he married her? No one was twisting his arm. Why did people do that—lead people on with false hope? Tutti may have been a brilliant chemist, but he was no criminal mastermind. The chucked love mementos, thrown in the trash a week after his “beloved” vanished, was a plain statement where Tutti stood on the issue.

“He threw away her wedding dress and veil,” I explained as I got back into the driver’s seat after tossing the smelly offal into my trunk.

“Jesus. Look at this. Lytton just texted both of us.”

I looked at my phone.

Lytton: Scooby Bites is composed of the usual synthetic cannabinoids, with one twist. It contains a high amount of zinc phosphide. In other words, rat poison. It seems to be the exact same stuff that was in the fentanyl the sideshow kids died from. Call me when you can.

“Jesus,” Unity intoned again. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. This place is giving me the creeps.”