“In my considerable experience, drug dealers are more likely to die a violent death than get hit by a bus.” I said.
The rookie stared at me dumbly. “But he didn’t get hit by a bus, he got hit by that sheet of glass from the construction site.”
I didn’t want to have to explain what a ‘figure of speech’ was to this snot nosed, fresh out of the academy, maggot. I shook my head and continued with my search of the scene.
Lee Petersen was a well known dealer, not the street level kind either, no, he was the dealers dealer, he was one of the big three, a group that brought drugs in from South America and the Middle East and distributed them all through Wichita. This was Karma. I had been tracking him and his cohorts, Trace Hansen and Steve McCoy for years. I would have loved to have been able to bring Lee in alive, but this splattered and flattened specimen would do.
“What do you think happened Rookie?” I asked my new partner.
He looked at me dumbly again. “Sir, a piece of glass fell from up there and hit him, I believe it was an accident.”
“You’re a smart cookie son, just remember, smart cookies don’t get eaten.” He stared blankly at me. I bent down and inspected the glass. A palm print. Odd, maybe he didn’t get ‘hit by a bus’ after all.