The Snitching

Meanwhile, Mel rushed to the Detroit's east side in her squat car. She got a call from the neighbors that she found a dead body in a burnt house. She climbed out of the car to see the crime scene. The yellow tape surrounded the house. And Mel is in no hurry to see who's dead. With her police badge around her neck, and the 83 degree weather is making it easier to do her job while enjoying the sunny day. She walked into the house and saw the dead body of a woman. The first one on the scene was Chief Carey Holmes. He was an old tall slim fifty-eight year old man who was as tough of a police chief as nails. He had his experience, and was about to retire from the force in six weeks.

Carey and Mel looked at the dead body. Lying in the ashes in the living room that was left by the fire three months ago.

"Her name was Pamela Simpson," Mel said, "her family called for a concern, because she hadn't come home. She was last seen at the White Party."

"The White Party at the Riverfront Festival?" Carey asked.

"Yep." Mel replied, "gun shot wound to the head. She was dead."

"You don't think that she could have met somebody at the party?"

"She could have. She must have met somebody, and then I guess she either witness something or over heard something. Heck, she could be another prostitute."

"Nah!" Carey said, "they are too busy to sell their bodies for a couple of bucks. This girl does not look like she could be one."

"Well expect the unexpected in the city of Detroit, Carey. You never know what you're gonna get in the end."

Then Mel notice something is not quite right on where she was killed.

"I don't believe she was killed here." Mel said as she examined the deceased, "I don't believe that she was killed here."

"Well her body was here, Mel. Where could she have possibly be killed?"

I don't know, but it wasn't here though. I believe she was killed somewhere else."

"Well we could go around and ask people for more information. Maybe somebody saw someone drag this dead body into this house."

Jake looked at Damon's apartment. As if he has not been to his apartment before. Jake saw how messy Damon's apartment is. From junk mails to leaving his nasty underwear on the floor. Damon was th type of guy who don't give a rat's butt who see his nasty draws or not. His apartment smelled like the basement dew from the seventies. His living room was dark with only one light. And Damon's two decade old lamp is hanging by a thread. Moving the lamp to get it to work would be ghettofabulous. 

"Damon!" Jake said, "you need to call Peter Walsh to come and fix up your crib."

"Nah!" Damon said, "I don't need to declutter my art. Besides, my television doesn't work."

"Well how do you get the information?" Jake asked.

"Word on the street, silly." Damon replied.

"I'm sorry, but I am not listening to what other people say."

"Why not?"

"Because they don't know what's really going on at times. You either get information from a homeless man who is drunk all the time. And then there is your Land Lady, who always flirt with you, but don't have a clue that two plus two is."

"Well that's how much you know. They are my latest news."

"Whatever, man! I got enough trouble with Cristina and her family than I can count for."

"Is she giving you problems?"

"She talked all of that junk about me taking her places. But I hang out with you and Chuck."

"Why do you want to marry this girl, man? I mean she is nothing but a trick to me."

"Nah! She is a good Christian girl who loves me."

"But you don't love her."

"I know, but she doesn't know that. But I show her my "Fake" love for her. But even that wasn't good enough."

"Wow! Women are never satisfied. You are helping her paying the rent on that fancy joint you have. What more does she want? She better be glad she and her stupid cat got a place to live." Damon grabbed two bottles of beer out of the fridge, and gave one to Jake.

"I know. I had to get on her about not being supportive. But then I moved up the wedding, and her mouth-running sister complained that her husband won't be able to make it."

"Don't he have to go to Florida for a training camp?" 


"You didn't tell her about the girl, did you?"

"Of course not! Why would I want to tell the woman I suppose to love that I'm cheated on her with that trick in the white dress. I am not a snitch. I don't roll like that."


The End

0 comments about this story Feed