Watching the Detectives

Ebola sat on top of a table, one leg planted on the floor. He watched the two detectives enter the club.This was going to be a long night. The police had separated all the band members to await their turn to be questioned. They took a few minutes talking to the cops who had been first on-scene, watching the cop point out the various band members, and gave them a mock salute with smile as the cop indicated him. They seemed to take that as an invitation to start with him and headed in his direction.

“I’m Detective Lopez, this is Detective Urbanowicz. Sorry about your friend, but we need to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure, no problem.” Ebola took a sip of whisky from his glass, and dragged on his cigarette.

“You don’t seem too broken up over your friend’s death,” Lopez said. “Any particular reason for that?”

Ebola took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out casually, looking at the detective with one eye closed. “‘Friend’ might be too strong a term. Let’s just say we had our differences.”

“Differences over what?” The woman smelled of ‘freshman’, had to be straight out of the academy, he thought. He watched her eyes go over him, head to toe, taking in his six-inch high spiked blond mohawk, skin-tight, sleeveless black mesh shirt, and linger ever so slightly on his toned pecs. He returned the favor, giving her the once-over as obviously as he could. He chuckled to himself as they both watched him.

He shrugged. “The usual shit. She took too long in the shower.”

“So you two were a couple?”

He sniggered. “Hardly.”

Both detectives shifted a little, he could see the impatience forming on their faces. The woman glanced at the older detective. Yeah, she was taking her cues from him. This was probably her first time in the field. A virgin, he thought with sardonic enjoyment.

“So, what then?” the woman asked.

He continued smoking, taking his time just because he could and it annoyed them. “Look, when you’re on the road, sometimes we all have to share one room. People get…short-tempered.”

“Short-tempered enough to kill?” the man, Lopez, asked.

“Jesus, she was our lead singer. Now the band’s out of business. I don’t kill my meal ticket.”

“Any idea who might want her dead?” The woman seemed determined not to let him intimidate her, but he was just getting warmed up.

“I don’t know, gorgeous. She could piss off just about anyone when she wanted.”

The female detective almost sneered back at him. Well, maybe she wasn’t such a putz after all, Ebola thought.

The woman pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and slapped them down on the table next to Ebola. “Tell you what, you write down anyone you can think of who might have been pissed off at her. Think you can do that for me?”

“Sure, gorgeous. Should I bring it to your house… later?” he said laughing.

“Yeah, do that. Here’s my address,” and she handed him her business card. “We’ll need to talk to you again later, don’t leave town.”

Ebola blew her a kiss as they turned to go talk to someone else.

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~ by D. D. Syrdal on March 25, 2012.

6 Responses to “Watching the Detectives”

  1. love it! I wouldn’t have even thought of Ebola as remotely attractive – the fact that he is – or thinks he is – opens the whole thing up in a fun way! Let me climb out from underthis pile of term papers and I’ll see what I can come up w/ (unless Chazz beats me to it) For now, do you see Ebola as an irredeemable thinks-he-is-god’s-gift-to-women jerkoff, or just a rebellious artist type, or “who cares we’re gonna kill him off next”?

  2. Thanks! Oh he could yet be all those things, I think. πŸ™‚ Much more fun to make him nuanced and unpredictable, no stereotypes if I can help it. This was a pretty quick write, I got a basic picture last night, but did all the writing this morning.

  3. Nicely stated. Now I am starting to get a picture of him as one of those types that half the girls (or gays) who see him are intrigued, and half are completely repulsed (and occasionally the same person will feel both; that’s kind of the basis of true rock and roll charisma, if you ask me. ) Baby herself was the type whom guys couldn’t tell they if wanted to take her in the back seat, or run her over w/their car, y’know?

  4. ROFL exactly! πŸ™‚

  5. Ebola seems more hard-boiled that I imagined, but I can work with that πŸ˜€

  6. I was envisioning all of them as pretty tough customers. πŸ˜‰ They play some rough clubs to some rough crowds, they need to be the kind of person who doesn’t wilt at the first hint of unpleasantness, yanno?

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