Cottage Cheese and Green Onions Ch. 01

"Yes, Ma'am. My name's John Dickinson, and here's my number. You need anything, you just give me a shout, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am, you too."

He hung up the phone and looked up at Sawyer.

"Co-worker, had lunch down there today, some big business deal."

"Oh? What kind of business?"

"Oil. Nigeria. Say, you know about this Petroleum Club thing?"

"Yeah. Way above our pay grade, Slick. Don't even think about going down there without an okay from the Chief."

"Really?"

"Really. Top two floors of the First National building. Good grub, too."

"You been?"

She ignored the question. "What else did she say?"

"They, uh, weren't involved. Doesn't think anyone there was either, mainly as everyone else was male."

"So? You ever heard of homosexuality?"

"She was pretty sure about that, if you know what I mean."

She shook her head, sighed. "Get a list of the people at the lunch? Who they work for?"

"Yup."

"Well, run the names when we get back to the station. Maybe give 'em a call on Monday."

"Will do."

"What about the vic? Any background?"

"A little. Local boy, University Park. Highland Park High. Married twice, divorced twice, no known girlfriend right now."

"You thinking hooker?"

"Seems likely to me."

"Was that the same sterling pattern as the bookstore?"

"Yup."

"Okay, we got us a possible serial killer just getting wound-up."

"We need to see if any other departments have had a similar set of killings, don't you think?"

"We'll have to go through the FBI for that, but yeah, good idea. What time is it?"

"2230, thereabouts."

"Fuck, let's head to the barn, maybe run over to Adair's, see if they have any hamburgers left."

"How can you think about food...?"

"You get used to it, Slick. You start on the report yet?"

"Me? This is homicide, not vice."

"Yeah, so? You want to make it to homicide, don't you? Well, here's your chance. I'll let you sign off on the main report; I'll do the supplementals."

He brightened at that. "Yeah? Thanks."

"Well, let's head on back, get something written up..."

+++++

They made it over to Adair's just before the doors closed, got their orders in just before the kitchen shut down the grills and the beer was still cold, too. Sawyer leaned back in the booth and sighed; Dickinson quaffed his Lone Star in one pull, walked up to the bar for another, then came back and saw Sawyer was asleep – or damn near, anyway – but when he sat her eyes popped open.

"You married? I can't remember..." she said.

"Nope."

"Been with the force, what, five years? And you're coming on thirty?"

"Yup."

"So, what'd you do before?"

"Army. Warrant officer. Helicopters, spent '74 and '75 in 'Nam."

"Were you there when..."

"Yup. Pretty real, too, if you know what I mean. I spend two weeks running orphans out to Tân Sơn Nhất, loading 'em on Braniff DC-8s – one right after another for a few days. When I got home I didn't know what I wanted to do, but the whole gun and a badge thing sounded interesting."

"Interesting?"

"I like the idea of serving, I guess. Better than selling aluminum siding, anyway," he said, quaffing his second beer.

"You always slug 'em down so fast?"

"Yeah, you know, before they get warm. Warm beer tastes like donkey piss."

"Oh? That the voice of experience speaking?"

He laughed a little. "The girls in Bangkok will do anything for a buck, ya know?"

"So I've heard."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Married, all that jazz."

"No. Never found anyone that clicked, ya know? I was goin' with someone when I went into academy; that didn't last two months 'til he got all possessive and jealous and shit. Had a few since, but it's always the same song. Want to know what it's like, then when they find out they scoot."

"Where you from?"

"Athens. Well, a farm south of there."

"College?"

"Yeah. East Texas Baptist," she said, looking away.

"You into all that?"

"What? God?"

"Yup."

"I used to be."

"Oh?"

"Hard to believe in God after a few years out on the street, ya know?" She drifted, saw that crucifix carved on the guy's chest and shook herself back to the present. "What about you? You right with God?"

"God and I parted company somewhere west of Saigon."

She nodded her head. "Roger that. You better go get another brew. I'll drive you home."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Do it."

He walked up to the bar and came back with two, put one in front of her. "Don't fall too far behind, now."

Their burgers came and they were still the best thing on this side of the sky, the fries still hot and homemade-thick, and with three more ice cold Lone Stars onboard Dickinson began to feel almost human again. They talked some more – until she looked around and saw they were the last people in the joint, and that waiters were staring at them.

"We better split," she said, standing up.

He looked around, saw the score and stood too, but almost fell over.

"Come on, Slick. Better let me hold onto the reins, help you out to your horse."

"That's just what I need. A fuckin' horse."

He was slurring his words now and she shook her head. She knew from experience some folks had a hard time wrapping their heads around homicide, so this wasn't all that unexpected. The problem now, she knew, was that this kid was cute – and she was getting horny. 'Not good,' she said to herself as she buckled him in her car. 'No, not good at all.'

"Where to, Slick?" she asked as she looked at him.

"Your place."

"Come again?"

He turned to look at her and smiled. "Are you as horny as I am right now?"

And she looked him right in the eye. "Yeah. Probably."

"Well then, I think I'll come again, if you don't mind."

Turned out she didn't, not even a little.

This fragment © 2017 | adrian leverkühn | abw | nothing like a little fiction to cool your jets.