by Patti Larsen
This time it was a young woman in heavy black makeup with multiple piercings and tattoos who spoke. Her voice was so girly Kinsey grinned.
“We’re taught to be afraid all the time. Fight or flight.”
“Not taught,” Kinsey said. “Though it might feel that way. It’s embedded in us, has been since we were tiny little mammals surviving the dinosaurs.” She stood, invigorated by the conversation, knowing it made her a freak, but not caring. “Humans have very powerful instincts when it comes to fear. From the moment we became aware, fear was a constant companion, and still is. But the more complex the development, the greater and more complex the fear.”
“Like the bomb scares in the 50’s.” So Jockboy did have a brain.
“You got it.” Kinsey motioned to Mitchell who took a moment before noticing, getting up to turn the lights back on while she went on. “The height of the cold war, everyone was terrified of the bomb. Despite the fact it was only used on foreign soil as a weapon and never used against them, considering very few had actually even seen the truth about nuclear holocaust, the mere existence of such a devastating threat was enough.”
The dark-skinned girl in the front row frowned, her deep, brown eyes troubled as the lights came on. “But, Dr. DanAllart, why did people in the past make up monsters? Why not be afraid of the plague or the weather? Those would have been bad enough, right?”
It was a great question. Kinsey loved great questions. “They were. But everyday fears were quantifiable and experienced by everyone. Unseen fears, however, were harder to dispel and spread rapidly through stories and word of mouth. There is a morbid curiosity in us that makes us focus on the very worst outcome from the most unrealistic sources.”
Kinsey’s phone vibrated on the desktop. A quick look told her it was something she couldn’t ignore. And didn’t want to.
“Sorry to cut class short,” she said. The usual excitement students displayed at being allowed to cut out was missing and she was glad. Maybe she’d made them think, stirred up their own questions about the fears they carried. God knew she had her share, and a second look at the text she’d received brought hers to immediate attention.
Kinsey waited until most of the students were gone, Mitchell trailing behind, before she checked her message.
weird case Starlet Lg on 5th asap G
Gerri. Kinsey’s heart skipped, sped up. But not from fear. And that made her even more of a freak, didn’t it?
Battling her unhealthy excitement at the idea of working a case with her detective friend, Kinsey grabbed her laptop bag and ran for the door.
***
EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – MORNING
Gerri would never tell anyone, but blood made her want to throw up. Not because it bothered her stomach or her nose or even triggered a fear response. No, she felt like puking because the smell made her so hungry she could eat a horse.
And that grossed her out.
It helped to focus on the dark-haired woman crouched next to the body, her lean form tucked into a black vinyl jacket with “MEDICAL EXAMINER” printed in white block letters on the back. Gerri drew a shallow breath through her parted lips and ignored the rumbling in her stomach as the brunette looked up.
“I won’t know for certain until I examine her fully,” Ray said in her British accent, softened by years of living on this side of the pond, “but from the multiple stab wounds, I’m going to guess sharp force trauma.” She stood, peeling blue gloves from her delicate hands as the crime scene crew took over, sniffing around the body like a pack of bloodhounds, snapping photos and gathering evidence. “No sign of defensive wounds, though. So the first strike must have killed her.” Gerri backed off, shaking loose a hanging bit of what looked like used toilet paper from the toe of her favorite cowboy boots, scowling at the offending cling-on.
Now that was disgusting.
“I got that much,” Gerri grumbled to her friend as Ray stuffed her used gloves into a plastic bag for later disposal. Hazel eyes widened slightly as her coroner friend tucked the bag into her pocket and shrugged.
“Then, you know as much as I do.” Ray grinned, prodded her with her elbow. “Call Kinsey yet?”
Gerri looked away from the body’s brilliant red hair and staring eyes so green they had to be enhanced with contacts, stomach clenching. She hated how much she relied on her gut. It seemed to know exactly how to make her uncomfortable—and led her, more often than not, precisely where she needed to go. Case in point. The moment she arrived on the scene, the second she laid eyes on the body of the dead dancer, she knew she had to make a call.
She’d told Kinsey in the text it was weird. The anthropologist’s specialty. And though Gerri had the go ahead from One Hundred Police Place, she didn’t have official permission to invite Kinsey to this particular scene. Still, the three of them had enough experience with weird Gerri knew Kinsey’s eyes on this would be invaluable.
Both she and Ray stared at the symbols etched into the skin of the body, Gerri’s gaze locked on the giant swirling curls with a sharp “I” in the middle of the victim's chest, marred by what looked like over a dozen stab wounds. Aggressive, powerful, clean. Not a sign of hesitation, from what she could see.
Someone sobbed nearby, distracting her. Gerri did her best to ignore the crowd gathered at the end of the alley, just past the police tape, next to the door leading into the Starlet Lounge. She hadn’t yet had a chance to talk to the owner, the staff, but knew from the prelim fill in from the uniform first on scene Aisling—a show name, from Gerri’s guess—danced at the club. Now that Ray had a look at the body and the CSI’s were busy gathering evidence, Gerri could move on to step two.
With a quick nod to Ray, Gerri spun and strode toward the police line, eyes scanning the crowd. Her detective’s senses perked immediately as she settled her mind and let her well-trained brain take over while she skimmed each face for later sorting. Thursday morning, even this early, and people still came out. The unis had already taken photos of the crowd—standard operating procedure—so she could compare faces and expressions later. For now, Gerri trusted her gut, as always.
It prodded her to focus first on an older man who stood in profile, speaking to a small group of what looked like drag queens who, it turned out, were the source of the sobbing that pulled her attention from the body. He looked out of place here, as did the older woman in the plain brown cardigan, her flowered dress hanging well below her knees, leaving an uncomfortable skin gap over the top of her sturdy looking shoes. Clergy maybe? He didn’t have a collar, so not a priest. Still, the whole exchange had a religious feel.
Gerri’s gut was rarely wrong. As she drew near, she caught a few words. “—the sins of the flesh, repent and the holy shall lead you out of slavery and into salvation.”
Her teeth gritted against the need to boot him to the curb on the toe of her shit-kicker. Not that she had anything against religion, not really. It just seemed like highly inappropriate timing. Still, the few wo/men who paid attention didn’t appear angry, so Gerri let it go.
Let him preach. She had more important things to worry about. Like the grinning ass who spotted her from the other end of the tape. Two months in Silver City and she was already on her second partner. As much as she’d resented her first pairing in the beginning, she’d at least respected the old fart the captain saddled her with. And now, Joe Mutch was dead. More than dead. Gerri shied away from the memory of her partner’s murder. Of her guilt at not being able to have his back, of losing a good man before his time. It started off the weird, after all. The unexplainable. Awakening her worry there was more out there than the normal and ordinary, things and people defying explanation. Only Kinsey and Ray knew what she knew, saw what she now told herself she didn’t see.
She couldn’t lie to herself completely, not when seeing Ray reminded her the coroner experienced the same things she had. Understood her fear.
Joe’s death changed everything—and nothing.
Gerri looked awa
y from partner #2 on purpose, with a flat glare that told him to back off. Jackson Pierce was about as far from Joe as a prime cut steak was from a hotdog. Tall, handsome, arrogant as all get out, Jackson’s attitude rubbed her so wrong the first time they met, Gerri had, as yet, to talk to him without picturing his mangled body at the end of her fist.
Clearly, the few sessions she’d had with her therapist hadn’t cleared up her anger issues.
Brief commotion caught her attention and pushed her out of her own homicidal thoughts. The sight of Kinsey arguing with a uni made Gerri grin. A sharp whistle and a jerk of her hand . He nodded in answer while Kinsey wove her way through the crowd toward Gerri, slipping under the tape with a breathless smile of her own and a gleam in her eye that made Gerri feel uncomfortable all over again.
“Weird?” Kinsey’s blue gaze sparkled behind her black-rimmed glasses, her attention leaving Gerri and aiming at Ray who waved toward them when she spotted Kinsey. Gerri’s discomfort came back at the blonde’s softly vibrating excitement.
“It’s a dead body,” she said, not sure why she felt the need to offer a warning. Kinsey looked up the six inches Gerri had on her and shrugged.
“Figured,” she said, pushing past Gerri and heading for Ray. “You’re a homicide detective.”
Gerri rolled her eyes and followed. But not before her gut hit her hard.
Turn around.
Unable to resist, Gerri spun, eyes scanning the crowd again. Face after face, some in agony, some in shock. Others just curious, come to see death in person. One in particular held her as she caught something she couldn’t identify on his face.
Tall, brutish looking, dressed in leather with a bald head covered in tats. When his dull, dark eyes met hers, something sizzled inside her. But, the moment she headed forward, pinning him down with her gaze, he turned and stomped off, heavy boots thudding on the pavement.
He could wait. She had nothing yet to say he was involved and Gerri hated to leave things to her gut, right or not. She’d have a look at his pic, see if he had a record. Use police work to gather evidence. If he was her killer, she’d find out. She’d catch him.
She always caught the guilty, the right way. And, with a little help from instincts she couldn’t ignore.
Gerri turned back, caught Jackson’s scowl. He’d seen Kinsey enter the crime scene, then. Too damned bad. She tossed him a “screw off” glare and kept moving. Let him question the crowd, get some busywork in. This was her murder to solve.
Kinsey was already snapping pictures on her smartphone when Gerri stopped a few feet from the body. The coppery scent wasn’t so bad anymore, for some reason. Maybe she was just used to it. But a giant, dripping burger would be awesome right about now.
She swallowed hard as Kinsey stood from her crouch and turned, hands shaking, whole body in soft tremors. But Gerri knew her friend better than to assume she was upset.
“This,” Kinsey whispered for their ears only, “is freaking awesome.”
Ray laughed while Gerri prodded the blonde with one index finger.
“Death is never awesome,” she said.
Kinsey’s face fell, her whole demeanor changing. “I know, I’m sorry.” She was adorable when she bit her lower lip like that, so tiny and fragile looking. Gerri sighed, shook her head.
“Just tell me about the weird, please. As in, tell me it’s not weird so I can go find the killer and not worry about this.”
Kinsey’s lip bite turned to a frown as she looked down at the screen of her phone. “I’m not sure,” she said. “These markings seem familiar, but I’ll have to do some research.”
“You do that.” Gerri planted her hands on her hips, dress jacket pushing back from the gun at her hip. One boot tapped on the ground, making a soft, squishing sound in a puddle of what she hoped suddenly was just dumpster goo and not undiscovered blood.
“If it is weird?” Kinsey exchanged looks with Ray before turning to Gerri again. “I know how you feel about… stuff like this.”
Tension grasped Gerri in firm hands and pinned her in place. It took effort to even inhale, but she managed. She’d been raised on logic and to trust herself, her instincts as well as her understanding of the world. All of that had been challenged in the last month. Since Joe died. Unreasonable fear made her take a step back from Kinsey who noticed, retreating herself.
Gerri didn’t mean to make her feel bad. “Look,” she said, “just do what you have to. Okay? I asked you here for a reason.” Hopefully, to prove there was nothing paranormal going on. There, she said the word in her own head. That was something, right? Nothing paranormal. Supernatural. Out of the ordinary.
Only, Gerri’s gut was telling her otherwise. Stupid gut.
“I’ll run back to my office and see what I can uncover.” Kinsey nodded to Ray who grasped her arm before she could leave. To Gerri’s surprise, the coroner’s other hand latched onto her elbow and pulled her tight into a three-way huddle. Ray’s hazel eyes glared at Gerri before she spoke, British accent more pronounced, which told Gerri the brunette was more than just a little agitated.
“We can’t just skirt around this,” she said. “The three of us have seen things, and we can’t ignore that fact. Lived things.” She swallowed hard, but the firm set of her jaw and the grip of her hand on Gerri’s arm didn’t waver. “We need to talk about it. To understand it.”
Gerri knew Ray was right. Kinsey’s hopeful expression was the right reaction. She just couldn’t follow through right now.
Instead, she pulled free and stepped back while her two friends stared at her in mute accusation.
“I have work to do,” she said, hating the roughness of her voice, the way it cracked slightly under the stress of rejecting them. “Just get me what I need, please.”
Gerri turned her back on her friends, hoping it wasn’t a metaphor for something worse.
***
EXT. to INT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE - MORNING
Jackson just had to get in her face and improve her mood, didn’t he? He might have been pretty to look at, but the nasty frown and glitter in his impossibly blue eyes just put her teeth on edge.
“What’s with the civvy showing up at my crime scene?” He tried to dodge around Gerri, who used her considerable height to keep him away from Kinsey. Protective instinct punched her in the chest, a surge of temper so strong she knew she should maybe talk to her therapist about it.
Or go shoot something. That would help.
“Get back to questioning the crowd.” Gerri firmly pressed one hand to his shoulder and spun him around, pushing him with little subtlety toward the back door of the club. “I’m the lead detective on this case, which makes it my crime scene.” Crap, that made her sound like a petulant kid on a playground fighting for status. “If I want to bring in an expert, I will. So back off, Pierce.” Much better.
Something ugly passed through his eyes, like rot and hate lived in the shell of model perfection. He was a few inches taller than her, broad shouldered, with Hollywood good looks. But she knew the moment she met him, Jackson Pierce had something fundamentally wrong in his soul. And that flash of whatever he let her see just proved it to her.
Instead of worrying her, it set Gerri free. She relished the confident surge of trust renewed in her instincts, now knowing, with that one look, exactly where she stood with her new partner.
He didn’t comment and, from the faint twitch of his lips, she assumed regret he’d let her see who he really was. Gerri let it go completely, striding past him toward the dented, gray door, standing ajar. Just past the interior felt murky in the dark, a sudden shock from the brightness of the early morning. The exit light overhead cast a washed out red glow over everything, horror house style despite its innocuous intentions. She ignored the dimness, continuing on with confidence, down the narrow hall and out the further door at the end into light.
The club was small, almost cozy, and hideously decorated with the epitome of gaudy chic. She’d never been to the Starlet Loung
e before, a favorite hangout of the lesbian/gay/trans/bi/queer community. Only because she didn’t go out much, not for any bigoted reasons. Besides, Ray’s sexual orientation taught her long ago she either had to get over her Midwest church girl upbringing or not have Ray as a friend anymore.
She chose Ray every time.
Maybe if it was dark, the only light from the stage lamps and the sparkling disco ball hanging from the ceiling, it might not have been so bad. But rarely did places like this show well in the full illumination of reality. Cracked vinyl seating in deep pink shone cheap in places and buffed dull by a million asses in others. The tired industrial floor needed another coat of black paint, feather boas used to frame photos of the dancers limp in the humidity permeating everything, despite the air conditioning. Gerri made her way to the bar, a long, black and white tiled monstrosity covering the whole far wall of the club where a small man sat with a uniform, his head in his hands.
Her eyes flashed to the young man behind the bar, dressed in a club-logo black T-shirt, his face pulled down in sorrow, before returning to the huddled creature who looked up as she stopped at his side.
“Detective Geraldine Myers.” She nodded to the young uni who nodded back before speaking.
“Detective.” The uniform cleared her throat, face pale. Must have been her first murder. “This is Salvador Martin, the owner of the Starlet Lounge.”
Gerri offered her hand and the old man took it. His mascara was a mess, running in thin rivers of black and gray down his lined cheeks, powder and foundation crumbling like an ancient stone wall under too much pressure. A rim of red lipstick remained around the outline of his puffy lips. When he took her hand, he squeezed it between his, palms cold and clammy.
“Please,” he choked. “Find out who did this to poor Aisling.”