Waterproof Dress Shoes: 3

A Crime Miniseries

The rain whirlpools into the mouth of a hungry drain. Vince pulls alongside the curb, puts it in P. New guy propels himself out of the car with the energy of three office coffees. The splash of New guy’s shiny shoes into the hungry swirl of water unearths half a smile in Vince’s face, which he promptly buries again. New guy is unconcerned, standing beside the car, the rain slobbering it’s way across his toes to the drain. Vince exits. New guy glances down and taps a gleaming wet toe idly. He speaks loudly over his shoulder, voice rolling across the black roof of the car. “Man, I’m glad I waterproofed these. Found this crazy hydrophobic spray stuff online. It was only like—”

Vince stops listening, tucking his chin into his collarbone to hide his neck from the rain.

They duck the yellow tape. New guys' eyes are up scanning apartment windows. Vince looks to where the body was found, then turns to where the shooter would’ve been. Beyond the yellow ticker tape are a few vultures with their numbered white vans and pointy antenna's. The story is becoming sensational already. Past the flock of carrion news cameras, Vince spots a corner store ATM. New guy’s voice grates the silence into bits, “So, what is spotting anyway?”

“Drive around looking for deer. You use a big bright flashlight to spot them.”

“That the kind of thing we could trace?”

“Nobody sells something like that,” Vince grips his forehead like he’s measuring it, “not around here, anyhow. Probably ordered online.”

New guy does his crouch pose to look at nothing on the ground. His shoes shine at 100 watts. “There’s got to be a connection between the two vics.”

“Don’t say vics - this ain’t Law & Order. These were people before we got here.”

Vince finishes measuring his head, moves across the street, neck tucked away from the warmth sucking bite of the cold rain.

The ATM screen protector houses a menagerie of flattened insects and is so dirty it’s opaque. Vince drags a thumb across the camera, clearing off residual city. He looks over his shoulder, assessing the line of sight. When he looks back, new guy is chatting up someone, a bystander. Vince scribbles the ATM info, walks back over.

“Hey, Vince—”

“Detective, to you.”

“—this is the eye-witness, Dean. Says he saw the whole thing from up there.” New guy points up at a window.

Vince glances at it, then at bystander. He looks nervous. “So what’d you see?”

Bystander’s got an Adam’s Apple the size of a bobber. It jumps with a gulp then he’s talking. “I saw a flash outside and at first I thought it was lightning, but—”

“What time was this?” Vince cuts in.

“—uh, probaby like 7:30? A.M.”

Vince nods. Bystander continues. “—I was watering my ferns by the window and I heard a loud pop and I thought something happened with my sink, I got one of those garbage disposals and you're supposed to run water through it when you mulch up the food but sometimes I don't if its just a little bit so I thought maybe I blew the motor or something, I don't know, but then I heard tires squealing and looked out the window behind my sink and yeah, dude was laying on the ground there,” Bystander points with a vape pen conjured from nowhere, “an he seemed like, not so good, you know? I figured maybe he'd just had a little too much or something. Didn't think anything of it till later when I heard what happened. Poor dude.”

New guy nods sadly, thanks Bystander from the lowest regions of his heart.

Vince pinches a brown wad into his lip. New guy comes over, stands wide, hands on hips, “What's with the flash? Is he taking pictures of his victims or something?”

Vince closes his eyes and savors the cool crawl of nicotine in his blood, “You’re missing something.” Vince opens his eyes, falls back into the car.

New guy gets in, buckles out of habit, “What, what'd I miss?”

“Think about it, come on. What's the similarities we got?”

“What are.”

Vince looks at New guy, quizzical like, “Huh?”

“You said what's the similarities, you meant what are the similarities.”

“Whatever, doesn't matter. Point is, this guy is still driving a vehicle around even though that's the quickest way we’re gonna get him.”

“You think he needs it? For the flash maybe?”

The corner of Vince's mouth pulls up minimally. “There you go. Also fuck you for grammar, grammar means shit out here. Remember that.”

New guy placates with hands raised like a mime.

Vince twists the key in the ignition but the car doesn’t start. New guy’s head turns. Vince cuts him off while stirring the key around, “Don’t.”

“What? Don’t what?”

His words are sticky with smug. “Geezus, this fucking thing… come on.”

Vince is whisking with the key and the car coughs, splutters, starts. He puts it in D, shudders out onto the wet road. The interior smells like two-stroke gas, and New guy imitates the car's cough. Vince sees him cat-paw the door looking for the window switch.

It’s a crank.

The smirk surfaces again, then retreats. After a coughless minute, New guy rasps out, “Lunch? I need a drink.”

Vince nods. He knows just the place.