Not actually sure why I was tiptoeing.Something about the gravity of the moment, and what I was about to do.Billy would be long gone from the morgue by now, but I wasn’t planning some kind of confrontation. I was doing a job and leaving. As quickly and, hopefully, painlessly as possible.I’d changed into sneakers and jeans, and I was packing my Glock 17 in the back of my pants. I remembered my instructor back in the city saying that the good news was that the Glock is easy to shoot, and the bad news was that the Glock is easy to shoot. The short, light trigger pull is vulnerable to accidental discharge, so it demands an experienced hand and a cool head.Luckily, I’ve got both in spades.But I was still sending up some kind of prayer to the Goddess that I wouldn’t need to use it. Apart from anything else, Mom hates weapons as much as any mermaid and if she heard about some shooting stuff involving me, I’d be off brownie privileges.And when you’ve only got three weeks to go, every last brownie counts.I hustled over to the morgue in Mom’s ride, the route all too familiar.
