Short story: The Detective

image by aherm

It was the wayward ones that requested for life to begin. Asking questions of a life that paralyzed them. They wanted so much more than this, and as the world belched out, the pain of promise yet to arrive, held them in a state of captivity. It was done, and it was questionable, Menelik hated playing hero to young girls who were starved of all their dreams. Girls who took a wrong turning in life’s obstacle course and here he was, the defender, the protector, the healer of all wounds deep. He lit the Cigarette, felt the Tobacco swell on his insides, he gulped and swallowed hard, as he wrestled with discomfort in the seat of the green Toyota. “Why do you hate being a detective, so much?”

“Because I have my own life to save.” He glanced briefly at Vivien Marx, he hated her idealism on most days, but today, she was the worst version of herself. All sunshine and daisies. It was too much for a Monday morning Midnight Stretch.

“I just think…” she began, then ran long fingers through the folds of spaghetti tendrils. She’d dyed her hair Midnight black; she always did that when she was going through pain. Her hair usually a brilliant auburn would be transformed, but the eyes are always magnifying glass of the soul. Their soft brown would light with a tear, and protectively she would raise the collar of her leather jacket, as though it were hiding her from the world. 

“ You change my perspective, and yours is drugged by misery,” she uttered into Midnight shadows, “Forgive me for having seen too much in my 32 years of living,” Menelik countered. “Forgive me for not buying into you pity Mel,” she snatched the cigarette from the comfort of his fisted mouth. Stubbed it, “You bastard you promised you’d stop smoking.” They shared a glance for a five second stretch, her smile was hypnotic, her gaze like a touch to him. Menelik released a lazy smile. “You know Mel if I wasn’t so crazy about you,”

“But you are….”

He nodded, a nod meant back to business. “So you think this guy killed her.”

“Dianne Fahilla mysteriously disappears, completely out of character, right after she publishes the book revealing Aztec International’s dodgy ventures. They market themselves as a clean corporation, she knew a lot of powerful people, and she pissed of a lot of powerful people.”

To be continued on upcoming website