The Detective [Part VII]

PART VII – Morning

Morning hit like it always did, abrupt and painful. The Detective rolled off the sofa and stood up. Two cups of coffee, two cigarettes, a shower and a shave and he was driving to work. The Sun was just beginning to hate the world.

He arrived at the Precinct just as the shift was changing. It was painful ritual requiring him to pretend that he actually liked the other Detectives in the Squad. Handshakes and pats on the back were exchanged freely, worthless currency. Eventually he made it to his desk with a cup of coffee in his hand.

He had nothing, four crime scenes, four teeth, and all of it a dead end. If something didn't break, well that wasn't an option. He couldn't even think of a motive. The worst part was that there were no bodies. Without bodies, there wasn't any homicide. Without proof of a homicide, it was a waste of his time. For all he knew these people were still alive sans a tooth and completely unaware anything had happened to them.

He needed a body. The thought would have been disturbing to most people, but it was what he needed. It was what he required.

He picked up the phone and dialed his friend the Dentist.
"Hello."
"What's shakin' Doc?"
"You got my message."
"Yeah, and it opened a world of possibilities."
"You got nothin'."
"Bupkiss."
"Maybe I can help."
"That's why I'm callin'."
"Where are you torturing your liver these days?"
"Where am I not?"
"I'm in town at a convention on Wednesday. Good enough?"
"It'll have to do."
"What's the bartender like?"
"She's the only thing that gives me hope."
"That'll do."

They made plans to meet and The Detective hung up. That gave him 24 hours to find out something everyone else didn't already know. That was 24 hours closer to the phone ringing again. He got up from his desk and walked out side for a think and a smoke.

[This is an experiment. I don't know where it is going. I write it and post it with only a questionable reread. It's about the process of hitting the keys in the most reflexive of styles. It probably will go nowhere, but we'll find out. I have no plan. I have no outline. I have no reason. It's still © 2007 Greg Bunch, even if it sucks.]