05/22/2025 Snippet, TOM VARGAS AND THE CASE OF THE MEDDLING PRIEST.

Investigation!

I bet you’re wondering why I just walked right in, fat, dumb, and happy. Why not let the cops handle it? Preferably an older, grizzled one that was too old for this mierda, and ready to lay out half a dozen street punks with a left hook and a few quips? Look, I told you: they don’t patrol this part of town often enough. If there was something bad going down, would Carlito thank me if I didn’t stick my nose in in time?

Speaking of my nose, it was twitching in a way I didn’t like. Something in there stunk. It wasn’t blood and it wasn’t icemold, but those two aren’t the only bad things you can find on the other side of a hastily-closed door. That was all the excuse to meddle I needed, not that I ever do.

The inside was deserted, and also a mess — and I don’t mean like pawnshops usually are, all stuffed to the gills with knickknacks, mathoms, and the occasional geegaw. Somebody had trashed the shop, either because they were looking for something, or just for the fun of it, It was so bad, I wondered why the cops weren’t here already. Whoever had done this hadn’t been quiet about it.

There was more, though. The stink was even stronger inside, and I didn’t like the way it tasted on my lips. Don’t ask me how it tasted, or smelled, though. You probably don’t have the right kind of nose or tongue, and just then? I wished I didn’t. There’s a term from the Lore: ‘reek of wrongness.’ Bergman’s was full of the reek, and it was scarily fresh and horribly spoiled, all at the same time.

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