A Crime Story
“No, Bruh, no, y’all got it all twisted.” Spoon leans back in the straight-back wooden and plops his feet onto the scarred vinyl table.
Detective Topps casually hangs his two-button sportcoat on a chair, retrieves his glasses from the top pocket, folds his six-foot frame into the chair and slaps Spoon’s feet off the table. “Enlighten us.”
“You don’t need to be so harsh, Bruh,” he sits up straight in the chair, “like I was sayin’, your little report got the words all wrong.” He closes the manila folder, the detective handed him earlier across the tabletop. “It should read the Dish ran after the Spoon. You dig.”
Topps massages his balding head. “Enlighten us,” DetectiveTopps echoes. “And I’m tired, Spoon so don’t mess with me tonight.”
“After, Bruh, is a preposition means behind or follow. Got it? Dish followed me; I did not run away with her.”
“So here did Dish follow you?”
“See that right there is why you are sniffing up the wrong tree. We wasn’t like that.”
“Like what, Spoon?”
“Like all lovey-dovey. We was just friends. I hung on her right side and at the table but that’s it.”
“You was friends? I find it odd you are talking about Dish in the past tense. Why?”
“Bruh, Bruh, come on I’m walkin’ down the street and you and your boys in blue bum-rush me, throw me in the back of your broken down vehicle, drive to the station like your pants on fire; I figured somethin’ bad must be up.” He scratches his armpits. “Don’t take no genius.”
“So you don’t know what happened to her?”
“I never touched her.”
“Bruh, you know I may have lightly brushed her sides when there was cereal or soup or somethin’ is in the bowl, but that’s when a Brother is hungry. You know what I mean?”
Detective Topps smirks. “That’s touching.”
“Okay, let me tell you this, one day Dish is in the sink; submerged lip deep in creamy, smooth bubbles. She calls my name, Spoony Baby, that’s what she called me when nobody was around. Anyway, did I answer? Nope. I layed at the bottom of the sink minded my business.”
Topps leans forward, his face six inches from Spoon. “And you didn’t think the creamy, smooth bubbles was sexy?”
Spoon falls back in the chair, looks left and right.
Detective Topps mimics his actions, internally he laughs at Spoon’s antics; outwardly his face is like stone.
“Between me and you,” Spoon whispers. “I-”
There ain’t nobody else in the room,” he interrupts, “cut the drama and speak up.”
Spoon waves his finger in the air, “cameras.”
“If you don’t cut the shit and make sense, I’m going to haul your ass downstair and put you in front of a camera and take a picture of you holding up a board with numbers on it.”
“Okay, ok.” He stands.
Spoon eases back in the chair and smiles. “No, I don’t think Dish is sexy. Personally, I don’t go for the rotund figures. Nothing wrong with it. Me, I like lines and curves like Fork, know what I mean?” Desert Fork, now she’s sexy; you dig?”
Topps shakes his head. “Get back to the night in question. The night Cat was putting down the sounds with the fiddle. And you’re on thin ice, Bruh.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Detective.”
“Okay.” Detective Topps nods his head to music in his mind. “You want to play games. I’ll bring in Specialist Geller. You will talk to her.”
Spoon put his hands out in the universal sign of surrender. “Okay, okay. Like you say, Cat was putting down some sounds, Bruh. I mean like crazy off the chain sounds.”
“Like … like some Charlie Daniels, The Devil Went Down to Georgia kinda crazy.” And Dog was laughing like mad, but I think he had help. Cause I seen him earlier smoking weed with Cow; must’ve been some good shit ‘cause when I left the party Cow was tryin’ leap over the moon.”
Detective Topps leans in again. “So you did leave the party early?”
“Uh, yeah, by my lonesome.”
“Yep. And anyone tell you otherwise is lyin’.”
“Well, I got here in my hands a sworn statement from a witness and I quote “I saw Dish and Spoon run away, they was holding hands. Spoon told me earlier that he was going to get some of that. End quote.”
Spoon slouches in his chair, raises his head to the ceiling, closes his eyes. “That dirty Dog.”
© 2016, charles stone. All rights reserved.
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