Page 58 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘Three feet,’ Jet muttered to herself, studying the new foundations. ‘That’s doable. OK, guys!’ she called, cupping her hands to send her voice farther. ‘Break time! Everyone take five. Or … a few fives. Hey, shut that digger off!’

‘You can’t tell them to do that,’ Jimmy said, his confusion thawing, melting into something like anger.

‘I just did. You’re working too hard, Jimmy. Go grab a coffee, or go take a piss, I don’t care. Hey, you!’

Jet stopped a young-looking guy who was walking toward one of the vans, a sledgehammer in his hands.

He widened his eyes, deer in her headlights.

‘Hey,’ Jet said. ‘You mind if I borrow that?’

He didn’t say anything. Passed it over and skittered away, into the safety of his van.

The sledgehammer was heavy.

Jet held it with two hands, the handle sleek and orange, rubber grips at the end. The dense metal end was well used, marked with scratches and dents.

‘I guess I’m really doing this,’ Jet said to Billy and to herself, carrying the sledgehammer over toward the new foundations. She climbed down and over the trench, standing in the footprint of the garage-to-be.

‘What are you doing over there? Get out!’

‘Sorry, Jimmy,’ she called back, raising the sledgehammer. ‘I don’t think you and me are going to be friends.’

She brought the hammer down, double-handed, into the center of the concrete channel. It cracked, the pressure locking her wrists, riding up her arms, the thud ringing in her ears.

A large chunk came loose, a crater where it used to be.

‘What are you doing?!’ Jimmy screamed, voice finding a new octave. ‘Stop that!’

He barreled toward Jet, sliding in the mud, hands out to reach across the trench and grab her.

‘No!’ Billy got there first, stood in front of Jet, blocking Jimmy’s way. A barricade made of arms, flexing his shoulders. ‘You leave her alone,’ Billy said, straightening up to his full height, leaning over a red-faced Jimmy. ‘Please.’

‘But she’s –’

‘– I know she is,’ Billy said, calmly. ‘But neither you or me are going to stop her. Believe me, she can’t be stopped.’

Jet swung again, another thwack, another slice of concrete, the size of her hand.

‘Please.’ Billy doubled down, too damn nice sometimes, should have just told Jimmy to go fuck himself. Give Jet a second to catch her breath and she’d do it herself.

Jimmy growled and Jet glanced up, ready to swing at him if he dared to hit Billy. But he wasn’t, he didn’t. He spun on his boots, walking away, pulling a phone out of his back pocket.

‘He’s gone,’ Billy said, the last word lost as Jet swung again, widening the hole, fault lines cracking, spidering along the once-smooth surface.

‘I love it when you fight over me, honey,’ Jet told him, already breathless. ‘You got some balls now, huh, Billy Finney?’

‘And you’ve got a death wish.’

‘Billy, I’m not even going to comment on that one.’

Jet swung again. She guessed she was really doing this. She had to – she was dead in five days and she had a murder to solve. And … well, she’d kind of always wanted to just smash shit up.

And shit was smashing. The middle of that hole might have already been two feet down.

Billy was watching her, his teeth out, pressing little moons into his bottom lip.

Jet shifted, aiming closer, trying to break the crater into a cross section. She’d need to check the entire trench; it could have been anywhere along it.

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