o87. Writer's Choice: Don't Knock The Twist

#2 from the prompt table smaur and I are doing.

o97. Writer's Choice: Don't Knock The Twist

(wow, murder the way she likes. murder feels like,

murder the way she likes.)

(murder, the virgins)

{1}

The bullet clicked cold in the chamber, and all Loretta Llewellyn could think was payback’s a bitch. She was in the passenger seat of a fire engine red Maserati—an Alfa Romeo 8C to be exact—with her hands wrapped around the grip of a standard issue 9 millimeter. She had watched enough cop shows to know that was what she was holding in her hand. Kazu was driving, weaving in and out of midtown traffic as they sped down Piedmont Street. Every few seconds, Loretta braved a look at the skinny Asian girl in the driver’s seat, but Kazu just glared back at her, the corners of her black eyes as sharp as a snake’s tongue.

“You no look,” she snapped when Loretta’s timorous twitching seemed too much for her.

Loretta smiled nervously and stared at the enfolding landscape of buildings and cars swiftly passing—the gun cold in her hands.

The car hung a left near the old city hall, and Loretta felt the acceleration as they pulled out of the turn. Loretta didn’t know the area of town much; and the warehouses were unfamiliar to her as they rushed by.

Before Loretta could stop herself, she blurted, “Shouldn’t you slow down?”

“You wanting to drive?” Kazu asked, broken accent think and choppy, edged with exasperation.

“No. Sorry, “ Loretta tittered.

Loretta pulled at the visor flap above her head and opened it. She stared, only part of her cocoa colored face visible in the mirror. She blinked.

The car jerked to a stop, and Loretta twisted towards the drive and the visor snapped up like a clam. Kazu sharpened her glare and pursed her lips as if to say, “Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!”

“You go now.”

“Oh… okay.”

Loretta flinched and fumbled with the passenger side door handle until the door finally lurched open wide. Clutching the gun in her left hand, Loretta exited the car and started for the entrance of the club. There was a large, close shaven man, arms-folded, at the door. He turned a steady blue eye on Loretta and cracked a smile—his right canine was missing, and it made his face look lopsided. Loretta fought to keep her nerves from bursting out of her skin as she smiled in return and passed through the door he had opened for her. When Loretta entered into the kaleidoscope patterned darkness of the club, the last welcoming sounds she heard was the rev and roar of the Maserati speeding away.

As she passed through the club, Loretta ignored the hungry and interested looks. She weaved her way across the wide, neon tiled dance floor that looked like a giant dance dance revolution square. She blocked out the thumpa thumpa of the music assaulting her ears; and she ignored the sleazy guy who tried to pull her into a dance. The heat of the bodies dancing clung muggy to her skin yet the gun was still cool against her palm. Where the dance floor, packed with gyrating patrons, ended, plush couches lay filled with guys and their honeys. Loretta focused on the farthest one. There a man was lounging, both his hands stretched wide, occupied with young, skinny things—one white, probably Russian, the other dark with stygian, cat-slanted eyes. As Loretta stepped up onto the bias, the dark girl caught her eye and winked. Loretta raised her arm, and leveled the gun at the man.

“Hey, Dennis,” Loretta called out.

The man turned, his laughter cut short at her call. And, a split second after their gazes made contact, Loretta pulled the trigger and put a bullet right through his head.

As Loretta turned to leave the club, she caught a glimpse of the Asian girl, who sat motionless, blood spatter on her face, and a curving, Cheshire grin on her lips.

Loretta braced herself the frigid stones of the back of the club, her hand still holding the gun was limp; the metal now warm against her flesh. The roar of an engine approached, but she did not look up. Her whole body singed with ardor and life; conscious of her pumping blood.

“In. Get.” A voice shouted. It was Kazu.

An instant later, Loretta flung herself into the giving embrace of an air-conditioned car.

(try and hit the spot

get to know it in the dark,

get to know it whether you’re

crying, crying, crying; oh, oh

can you climb, climb, climb higher.)

(zero, yeah yeah yeahs)

{2}

Reginald Cho was brushing his teeth in the seventh squad’s bathroom when the word came in from dispatch. He carefully wiped the foamy toothpaste from around his mouth, and ran his tongue along his teeth. When he walked back into the squad room, it was alight with excitement—men and women in uniform bustling about and gearing up—hands secured service pistols and revolvers; bullet proof vests were pulled over heads, their security heralded by tenacious rips of velcro.

“Reggie!” a voice called out for him. It was Colton Reed, his new partner—a twiggy kid with blonde hair and an easy smile. He looked across the room to face the kid.

“There was a murder down at Club Negris. Suspect fled the scene. Considered armed and dangerous.” The kid’s eyes sparkled at his last words.

“We on the case?”

“No.” The kid seemed to deflate in the small space of a word. “Cap’n wants us on riding heard on Gunderson seeing as IAD seems awful interested in sniffing up his ass lately.”

Cho retrieved his service revolver from the drawer in his desk and slid it into his hip holster. “That suspiciously sounds like babysitting to me.”

“You coming?” The kid asked eagerly.

“No. Have to go see a man about a dog.”

The kid frowned. “Really? Need help?”

“Naw.” Cho sighed. “I got it covered.”

Cho regarded the exodus of the squad room with a frown, letting a prayer of protection out into the universe until Cho was left alone in their wake.

{3}

Cho was not exactly sure how he got to Normal Heights, his mind decidedly preoccupied with something else. From the moment he had heard the description of the perp over the radio, he knew what he had to do.

Swiftly, he jerked his car to a stop and breathed deeply—his hands shook from where they still gripped the steering wheel. Once. Twice. He told himself he was better than this. Finally, he drew in large, almost overwhelming gulps of air, only to hold them in before letting them slip out through his tightened lips. Gathering up his still twinging muscles, Reginald Cho got out of his car, and made his way towards the little house.

It was quiet as he started up the walk, the overcast grey of the day clinging to everything, echoing a depressive pallor of morgue corpses. Cho found the door unlocked and drew his gun from its resting place against his hip. His hands, wrapped around the gun, were steady, and unwavering, comforted by the cold metal weight.

He took two steps into the house, and pivoted sharply to peer into the great room. A nauseous bile rose in his throat as he inched through the deserted room and down a wide hallway. The oppressive silence bore down on him; suffocating sick.

The door directly ahead was cracked open so just a sliver of yellowed, sallow light escaped. He dismissed the closed doors on either side as he stepped towards the end. Cho waited and listened, his body against the door, for any welcome sound. His nose started to itch, but muffled voices distracted him. Metal clicked; the safety: off. Cho put his shoulder against the door and shoved.

Blink. Just passed the long edge barrel of his gun was her face. Surprised, her almond eyes were wide open and deer like. Her dark face, the color of Italian espresso, though grim, somehow welcoming.

“You killed Dennis Warren.” As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them. How stupid could he be? Saying things like that. To her. Of all people.

Her eyes rose to meet his, and her lips started to work. “See, Reginald. This was our problem. You never supported me in my work, and I’ve always, always supported you.”

Shocked, he responded forcefully. “Loretta. I’m a cop. You’re killing people.”

Loretta cringed; at that moment he sounded suspiciously like her Grandma Arnie.

She huffed. “Okay, so it’s not as glamorous as I thought it would be.”

He looked closer. He could see the shivers and shakes of adrenalin still rumbling through her body. He sighed, frustrated. His gun was returned to his holster. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

Her eyes narrowed at his words. “Then what did you come here for? To arrest me?” There was a sharp challenge in her voice that he did his best to ignore.

“I came here to see if you were okay.”

She took a step back, and her arms opened wide, placating. “I’m perfectly fine, so now you can leave.”

“I don’t think so.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to keep speaking.

She turned her back to him. “Fine; whatever.”

A few moments passed with only silence between them until the door behind Cho opened loudly. Cho shifted; his fingered poised on his belt, towards his gun.

Standing in the doorway was a young, Asian woman. Reginald did not turn his gaze from her, but he could hear Loretta groan.

“Okay?” The girl asked Loretta. She nodded and replied, “Yes. I’m fine.”

She shrugged and clucked her tongue before disappearing through the door that led to the garage.

Loretta exhaled loudly. “You can go now, Reggie. I’m fine.”

“You’re my best friend. I can’t just leave.”

“You have use of your legs, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.”

The ringing of Cho’s cell phone cut off the words were forming on his tongue. He frowned yet answered the call.

“Yo, Cho,” came Colton’s voice, “You see that man about a dog yet ‘cause I can only stall this pissing contest for so long.”

“Yeah.” He looked at Loretta; her face was turned away from him. “It’s … I’m finished.” He twisted his face away from Loretta.

“Done. I’ll see you there, partner.”

Cho ended the call and clipped his cell phone back onto his belt. “Stay safe.” His eyes were fixated on the door rather than on her face.

“Always do.” Loretta chuckled.

Cho frowned. He hoped that her words were more prophetic than they sounded.

Reginald Cho still felt unsettled but he had a job to do, and it had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend had just shot a man in the head.

(i don’t care what she’s done; i love you,

we gotta get you outta here! how do you know

she’s not gonna do the same thing to you?)

(murder, the virgins)

{4}

Loretta sat in Nora Minotti’s office trying to wipe the image of Reginald’s sour expression from her recent memory. She had come to the conclusion over the course of the hour that he was just being ridiculous-a symptom of being a cop, she supposed. She snorted.

“Ah. Loretta, my dear.”

Loretta looked up to see Nora standing in the doorway-looking smart in a coal business skirt suit; her dark hair was cut short on an angle so all her features appeared sharper than they really were. “Follow me.”

Loretta got to her feet and followed Nora out of her brightly lit office. When at last they were alone strolling down an empty, florescent lighted hall, heels clicking on the tile floor, Nora spoke, “So, tell me everything.”

Loretta felt her nerves a tingle and the adrenalin rushed through her body for a second time that day. “We pulled up to the club; Gus was there of course to let me in. As I entered, I could see…”

(find me never, never far gone

so get your leather, leather

leather on.

was it the cure? shellshock!

was it the cure? hope not!)

(zero, yeah yeah yeahs)