Waterproof Dress Shoes: 2
A Crime Miniseries
The room for viewing the traffic cam footage is small. New guy, Vince, and traffic fella are all tucked in. It’s tight. New guy is leaning over the shoulder of traffic fella, very intrusive, he jabs a finger at the monitor, “There, there’s our guy. And headlights, just like I said. Shooter was in a car. See, he’s pulling up there and— whoa!”
“The fuck was that, lightning?”
“Can you rewind it? Take it back?”
Traffic fella takes it back. They all watch a beam of screaming white light flash out of the car, then the car drives off and the body is lying how they found it. Vince pushes his tongue against a busted tooth, talking out half his mouth, “Pause it on the flash, wouldya?”
Traffic fella pauses it on the flash. New guy states the obvious, “That’s not lightning, it’s coming from the car. Camera flash, maybe?”
Vince pushes on the sharp spot of his tooth, “Nah. It’s one long flash, longer than a camera. More like a spotting flashlight.”
“Spotting?”
“Ah, c'mon, you serious?”
“Should I know what that is?”
“Doesn’t matter. Point is, that,” a thick thumb is poked sideways at the monitor, “is a flashlight.”
New guy squeezes his eyes, twists his mouth, “Mmm. Maybe.”
Vince scoffs. Traffic fella scoots his chair as far away as he can, which is not very far.
#
Vince slouches in the leather chair on the business side of Barnaby’s desk, “I’m sayin’ I don’t like him, that’s what I’m saying.”
Commissioner Barnaby’s chair is wrapped around his body, inseparable, “And I’m saying I don’t care. Kent is good and he could learn a lot from you, even if it’s what not to do.”
Vince kicks his feet up onto the mahogany island, rattling the Newton's cradle set there, “Whassat s’posed to mean?”
Barnaby grabs a pen, uses it to push the feet off his desk, “I’m saying sometimes you could be a tad more professional.”
Vince scoffs, straightens. “Who’s unprofessional? I’m fuckin’ professional. Geezus. Been here longer than your old ass, come here calling me unprofessional. I’m fuckin’ professional.”
Barnaby uses the pen to flick crumbs of dirt off the mahogany, “Yes, well, that’s not why I called you in here. There’s been a development in your case. The drive by on Oak Street.”
Vince unwrinkles, “Development how?”
“A second shooting. A witness heard the shot in their home and reports seeing a bright flash just before.”
“Where was this?”
Barnaby hands a file to Vince, “Last night, across town. So far, the flash of light is the only similarity, but it’s big enough. Take Kent and look into it. Figure it out.”
Vince flips gracelessly through the file, standing while he does, “Uhuh. Sure, anything else, boss?”
“Chew some gum, your breath is rancid.”
Vince glances up, “Unfuckinprofessional, is what you are.”
#
Vince drops the file onto New guy’s chest as he walks by, “C’mon, dipshit. Time to be professionals.”
Front desk lady raises a fake eyebrow, “What was that all about?”
New guy grabs the file, winks at front desk, “Oh, he’s always like that. Good luck with the kid, hope you get some sleep.”
Vince assaults the exit door, it bounces back with a loud metal clack. New guy catches it and pushes it open again to follow into the rain, “Hey, what happened? What’d he say? Why’d you have to go in alone?”
“I went in alone because I wanted to complain about your annoying ass.”
“Hah-hah. Seriously, what’s in the file? Has there been a development?”
“Geezus, read the fuckin’ thing and shut the hell up.”
Vince falls into the car. New guy gets into the car and opens the file. The wipers slide to the left then slide to the right, clearing the glass. Vince pulls a hockey puck from an inner jacket pocket. New guy sees it, “Aw, come on. Do you have to do that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a disgusting habit.”
“So’s shitting.”
Vince pops the lid off the hockey puck, pinches a fine brown wad into his lip and leaks air steadily from the nose. New guy watches with a frown, then returns to the file. The wipers cha-cha.
Vince closes his eyes, listens to the murmur on the roof. New guy holds up a picture, “Another one?”
Vince nods minimally, doesn’t open his eyes. New guy looks at the picture, “Hole in the arm, just like our guy.” Vince doesn’t say anything, so New guy beats back the silence, “These victims, they’re raising their arms to block whatever light this guys shining, that’s why they get shot through the arm…” Vince says nothing. New guy puts the silence in a chokehold, “So, do you think that’s why the perp is using the light? So they’ll raise their arm? The victims would block their eyes, so if he shoots for the arm he’ll get a kill shot every time.” Words form in lines on Vince’s forehead, they say ‘Shut the fuck up’ but his mouth says nothing. New guy takes the silence out behind the shed, shoots it, “Plus, nobody would be able to ID him if they lived, not with the light in their eyes like that… I think we should look—”
“If you say one more thing, one more goddamn thing, I will make you get out of this car.” Vince’s eyes remain closed, but he can feel New guy nearly say ‘sorry’, only to swallow it. Vince smirks minimally, opens his eyes, puts the car in D and gets on with it.