Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 27

The clearest example of the intersection of the material and immaterial universes is the human brain. There must also be a reason for this, integral to the way reality works, or this intersection would not exist at all. Nature is simply too efficient.

Herman's Six Reasons

Reason Number Two

"I've come for my psychic back," says a man's voice from behind Jo.

Herman? Vince?

It's neither. Zandra doesn't recognize the voice, but she does know the taste of iron in her mouth. She runs her tongue along her teeth. Nothing feels out of place. Her teeth are as twisted and tobacco-wrecked as ever. She spits on the floor to prove it. Nothing hard hits the floor.

Zandra feels the whoosh of Jo spinning to face this new man.

Jo wasn't expecting him.

"It's you," Jo says with a gasp.

"I'm here to collect. Step aside," the man says.

Who the hell is this?

"She's gone," Jo says.

Uh, I'm sitting right here. You had the pliers in my mouth a second ago. Remember?

"Then who is that?" the man says. Zandra imagines him pointing at her.

"Zandra," Jo says.

"Zandra? I thought her name was Zeena," the man says.

"Zeena's gone."

"Fucking psychics," the man says. "So where'd Zeena go?"

"Put that shotgun down and I'll show you," Jo says.

Can someone clue me in here? Because I still can't see shit from that pepper spray.

"Maybe you just tell me," the man says. "I drove a long way. Gotta make it worth the trip. Followed you back here after I got tipped off you was askin' questions at Chubby's. Nice hideout you got here."

"Thanks. Now how about I put another scar on your face?" Jo says.

Bingo.

"I'm the one with the gun," the man says.

"No, not the only one," Jo says.

Now to plug my ears. It's going to get loud.

Zandra knows it's gunfire, but the explosion sounds like it blew the walls off the bunker. Then again, maybe it did. Her swollen eyes still don't allow her to see anything. Plugging her sausage fingers into her ears did littleto stem the air shredding into pieces against her head. It could've been one shot. It could've been two. Or nine.

At least her nose still works. The bunker takes on the smoky-sweet aroma of propellant. It drips down the back of her throat.

Before her ears can stop ringing, Zandra feels hands lifting her up out of the chair. She can't tell whom they belong to, but they're not any less rough than Jo's from before. They press Zandra against the wall and then leave. She gets the idea she's supposed to stay put.

The whir of the bunker's ventilation system sends shivers across Zandra's body. She runs her hands down her sides and across her stomach out of curiosity. Her fingers come back even greasier than before. She touches her fingertips to her lips and immediately regrets it.

Tastes like salt and iron.

Tastes like blood.

It's only a guess, but Zandra supposes that it's Jo's blood. She wonders if the shot reached her body, too. It'd be hard to tell.