“OK, Malone, we can do this the easy way...” Silence, three footfalls slap thin thread carpet, a metallic switch, nostalgic crackling, Billie Holiday. “...or the easy way.”
Malone squinted into the lamplight. He was a hardened crook; chuck-steak, a real day old donut kinda guy, but he had a bad feeling his luck was fading fast. He’d heard about the Jorganson-Stinkily Good Cop/Good Cop routine before, hell, who hadn’t? These boys were mean. They stood before him, silhouettes crowding just behind the white wash of the lamp. Malone squinted hard and cocked his head, trying to focus on the massive outline of Stinkily, he was definitely shimmying.
Stinkily shuffled quietly into his silk kimono. He knew that Malone wouldn’t be able to see the costume change. He wouldn’t register the fine silk, the intricate stitching, the erotic unicorns; but he’d feel it, perhaps kinetically? Stinkily made a quiet note to ask someone what kinetically meant, because he liked the sound of it, the taste of if wriggling out of his mouth. He thought he could maybe use it on dates, or when he was interviewing crooks. The kimono was smooth and cool and rubbed against his groin the way a cat greats a warm leg. His nostrils flared, he liked Good Cop/Good Cop. He knew it. He trusted it.
In the dark someone groaned. A long drawn out whimper that didn’t sound human, but definitely was. Wiry hair stood up on the back of Malone’s neck, then back, then lower back, this pattern continued and sat him an inch taller in his chair. “I hope you like strawberry and cinnamon, Malone.” Jorganson’s mint fresh whisper grooved into his ear. Malone flinched as a tray of muffins slowly swept beneath his nose, and then he heard that gurgling, squirming groan again. “Well from the sound of his tummy, I’d say he does.” Damn that Stinkily, he sounded as though he was wearing some sort of oriental robe, he was oozing comfort. Malone was no rat, he punched himself hard in the stomach to silence snitching acid and contracting muscles. “I ain’t no snitch you bunch of animals. What are ya? Huh? A bunch of animals? Yeah, that’s it, a bunch of wild animals!” Malone was pretty happy with this burn, but his buoyancy faltered short seconds later, as a police issue photocopier was smashed across the back of his head.
Malone landed hard on the ground, listening to the gentle shrapnel shower of shattered plastic and broken glass land on and around him. Hot thick blood soaked his hair and spread a squishy patch on the carpet, where it met and mingled with black photo copy ink. Two men stood above him; Jorganson a red headed lion, and Stinkily in a stunning sapphire green kimono. Good Cop/Good Cop had it’s way, and Malone spilt the beans. As his life drained away, Malone sold Handsome David for the murder of Jimmy the Whippet. But his words went unheard. Maybe because his voice was too weak? Maybe because the two cops were preoccupied by the sweet interrogation muffins? No one could really say for sure.
“That’s our third photocopy related death this week, and the third crook who wouldn't talk. I think I’m ready to declare Jimmy the Whippet a Cold Case. Let’s you and I get a beer, Stinkily, I’d say we’ve earned it.” Jorganson, like any good partner, turned away as Stinkily wriggled out of his kimono and back into his Classic Cop Slacks. Moments later Stinkily lit cigarette, Jorganson looked up at the sound of the match and he punched Stinkily’s outstretched fist. He led him over the crumpled wreck of Malone and out towards the car. The Chief was going to need to hear about this.
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