by Steven Loton
“I’d like to put my nuts deep inside of her box,” said the policeman driving.
“You’d like that too, wouldn’t you, Harry?” asked Detective Raymondo. “You’d like to bust a nut in there, wouldn’t you? You like little blondes, don’t you, Harry?”
“Oh no,” said Harry, “I’m homosexual.”
“Poofter, eh,” said the detective, looking Harry up and down. “I never knew that.”
“Why would you?”
“It’s my business to know people’s business. Comprendes?” he winked.
When they got Harry Devine into the interviewing room, a policewoman got him with the legal jargon, and Detective Ray Raymondo pressed play on the little recording deck on the table.
“Name please,” said the detective.
“Harry Devine,” replied Harry feeling excited to be in an interviewing room.
“You have refused the right for the legal representation to be present. Is that correct?”
“Oh yes,” said Harry with a little chuckle. “I am more than happy to help in any way that I can. What seems to be the problem?”
The detective lit up a cigarette and pushed the box across to Harry. Harry shook his head, and said, “This is a no-smoking building.”
“What are you, a cop?” asked the detective laughing wildly.
“No,” said Harry, blushing. “I’m not.”
There was a paper file on the desk, and Detective Ray Raymondo opened it. He flicked out some laminated photos of various young blonde-haired women. They were all bloodied, and their hands were bound with rope. Some cigarette ash flaked off onto one photo as the detective pushed it toward Harry.
“These women were all brutally murdered. You wouldn’t know anything about, that would you?”
“No,” replied Harry, calmly.
“This is Jessica Saunders. Have you ever seen her?” asked the detective pointing at the picture.
“No, no. Never. This is terrible. Her poor family,” said Harry with a little grin.
“Listen,” said the detective rocking back onto the legs of his metal chair. “The game is up. We have evidence. You ever heard of DNA?”
“Oh yes,” said Harry. “Of course I have.”
“Well, we have you.”
“Oh,” said Harry, rubbing his chin. “You have my DNA?”
The detective mumbled something inaudible, and Harry repeated the question.
“I’ll ask the questions, here,” said the detective, losing patience.
“Of course,” said Harry. “May I have some water?”
“Machine’s broken”
“That’s fine. I’ll have if from the tap.”
“Tap’s broke. Now, what were your movements on the seventeenth of this month at 9 p.m.?”
“Hmm,” said Harry, racking his brain. “I was at the bowling meet. I am part of a team. There are witnesses that can vouch for me.”
“I’ll need names.” The detective slid a piece of paper and pencil over, and Harry eagerly scribbles names, addresses and phone numbers down. It was almost as if he had rehearsed this, he was that precise.
Detective Ray Raymondo continued to grill Harry for the next forty-five minutes, but he expertly answered every question. He never wavered once. Finally, the detective opened the door and allowed Harry to leave the interview room. Harry signed out of the police station and stepped out onto the street, looking up at the sun. It was a beautiful day. He walked the direction back to his house, but something caught his eye. He approached a local bakery, stopped and admired the window display. But it wasn’t the widow display that had his attention. It was a beautiful young blonde girl removing donuts from the oven. She caught some heat and burned her finger. She placed her finger into her wet mouth and sucked it, then blew on the wound. Harry walked into the bakery. They were alone. He turned the OPEN sign over to closed and twisted the lever on the blinds, closing them.
“You’ll need a bandage for that.”
“Oh,” she said, startled. “I never saw you there. You scared me. How can I help?”
“I’m just browsing,” said Harry. Then he approached the counter and stared into her eyes. Her hair was long and luxurious, and her lips were soft, pink and plump. She had deep-blue eyes and a little pointed nose.
“You’re very beautiful, Sally” said Harry reading her name badge.
“Thank you,” said Sally. “It’s dark in here. I should open a window.”
“No,” demanded Harry, stopping Sally in her path.
Backing away from the counter, Sally noticed that the OPEN sign hanging on the door had been flipped. She grabbed the phone and held it in her hand.
“My manager is due back any moment, sir. I was about to call him.” She held the phone to her ear.
“In that case, Sally, I’ll leave you to it.” Harry smiled. “I only wanted to browse. Thank you for your help.” Harry walked toward the door as Sally put the phone down. “Take care,” he said, as he slid out of the door. “I’ll be seeing you later.”
Sally ran to the door, locked it and watched Harry casually walking down the road. Harry stopped at an outside café, took a seat and waited for the waitress to approach. When she did, Harry noted her dark hair and her heavyset body. Looking at her thick legs, he thought, No. She’s not for me. She doesn’t fit my…MO. He ordered a double espresso, and when the waitress waddled off he took a napkin out and started jotting down a plan of action for later on tonight. He was excited about seeing Sally very soon.
Sally waited until Harry was out of sight. She left the door locked and went to the phone. She dialed. It rang once, and somebody on the other end answered.
“Sir, it’s me,” she whispered. “He took the bait. I think he will be back at closing.”
“Nice work,” said Detective Ray Raymondo on the other end of the phone. “We will have a team closely watching this evening. Carry on as normal for the rest of the day.”
Sally hung up the phone and switched the oven back on. She went to the tray of donuts and picked up a glazed cinnamon ring. She sank her teeth into it, thinking how delicious it was. If she ever retired from the force, she could open her own bakery.
Author Biography.
After being expelled from London’s prestigious Central school of Speech and Drama in his second year, Steven went on to become a short story writer, regularly published in LA’s, Underground Voices and in London’s The Delinquent; he also wrote for the London magazine BLANC.
KAI-ME-RAH is his groundbreaking debut novel, and Steven also has published two collections of short stories, Riker and Jungle Shark. He is currently hammering out his second novel, Riker – Night of the Vampire, where he resides in South London.
Follow Steven Loton:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stevenlotonwriter
Contact: [email protected]
Table of Contents
JUNGLE SHARK
Copyright
Dedication:
A Hot Breeze Blew South
The Ex-Pro
Neverending Night
Midnight Wolf
Sex in a Whorehouse is Mundane
The Gun
No Ordinary Man
Author Biography
