Waterproof Dress Shoes: 1
A Crime Miniseries
In the anti-spirit of perfectionism, I’m posting the first few bits of this serial story I’ve been working on. I know where I want it to go, but thoughts are appreciated. This is the first time I’ve begun posting something that isn’t yet finished, so I’m a tad nervous.
The sounds of cars are trimmed off by the tall city buildings. The traffic passes left and right, left and right. None turn. A man is walking down the road of sleeping cars. He is unconcerned when a pair of roving halogen beams wash over him to paint the street a nicotine yellow. The headlights continue spilling down the street until they stop alongside the man. He lifts his gaze to look at the car-shaped shadow. There is a flash, a bang, then nothing. A third-story dog barks.
#
“You ever seen a Buddy cop movie?”
“Like Rush Hour?”
“Doesn’t matter. This,”
Vince’s hand parallel parks between him and new guy, back and forth, “this ain’t that. We ain’t buddys. I was not your buddy, I am not your buddy, I will not be your buddy. Okay?”
“Copy.”
“Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say ‘copy’, like some fuckin’ spy or somethin’. Geezus.”
“Sorry.”
Vince spits brown into the road.
“You’re going to get cancer in your mouth from that stuff.”
Vince turns. His gaze is a needle and new guy is a bug. He pins him down.
“I tell ya what’s gonna give ya mouth cancer, kissing Barnaby’s ass the way you are.”
New guy doesn’t say anything.
They push through the vultures, duck under the yellow tape. John Doe is laying mostly on the sidewalk, but a few bits wandered off onto the building.
“Whadya got.”
The forensic gal doesn’t look at Vince, she’s doing something with a tablet.
“Gregory Weaver, 56, gunshot wound to the head,”
New guy interrupts, “back of the head or front?”
Forensic gal looks up now, puts another pin in the bug. “I was getting to that…”
“Sorry.”
Forensic gal looks at Vince, she can hear his eyebrows say, “fuckin’ tell me about it.”
She goes back to the tablet, “the bullet entered through the forehead. Exit wound, low on the back of the skull. Small caliber gun, we found the bullet in the brick there,” she points with a pen, “we’ll send it to the lab.”
New guy puckers up, “Thanks,” he pauses, verbal hands awaiting the gift of a name. Forensic gal doesn’t say anything.
Vince sighs, “Put away the butter, we’re on the clock, fucks sake…” He moves toward the body, dodging little evidence table numbers. Blood, party of five? Brain matter, party of two? New guy pulls his slacks and crouches, staring at the body, real cinematic. Vince rolls his eyes around. Down the road, there’s an intersection. Vince’ll have to check the cameras. New guy opens his dumb mouth again, “Looks like a drive by, shooter was probably in a car. The victim was facing the street.”
Forensic gal is poking around the body, “Detectives, take a look at this.”
They both take a look. There’s a bullet hole through the victim’s forearm.
I'll tell ya what's going to give you mouth cancer, kissing Barnaby's ass. LOL. Great line. I like the little twist at the end. Why was he shot in the forearm, too? Very great start, Keith. I'm looking forward to more.
Okay, I'm into it. The dialogue is nice. Has a good flow and feels real. I already get a sense of the characters from it. I'm most intrigued by the title. That's a wtf for sure. My only complaint is that it's so short, but I get that this is only the beginning. Always love a mystery.