Zeke, a reporter with schizo-affective paranoia, gets caught up in a vamp-motivated murder.
Zeke's best work is drafted during "medicinal vacations," where he uses his condition to aid his writing process, short term memory be damned. However, the l...
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The thing was unrecognizable.
Zeke peeled back the paper, and couldn't believe what he saw.
Green mush oozed from the sides, falling into his hands. He licked up the avocado mess, followed by a hearty bite. The sandwich had been pulverized, smashed by his colleague's beautiful ass, but that didn't mean it should go to waste.
"Damn Carter," he mumbled, mouth full.
"You gave her a ride home from the office, and this is how she thanks you," August Lopez remarked, puffing a drag off his cigarette like a pro.
Being of the non-pro, non-smoking variety, Zeke appreciated the skill that went into such actions. August's curly brown hair and flawless brown skin proved one thing, at least to Zeke: Black don't crack. Except, August was Puerto Rican, but that was close enough.
He was a good friend, always around when Zeke needed him. At this particular junction in his life, fueled by Carter's betrayal, he needed him a lot.
As women tended to be, she was frustrating. Constantly landing the better story, winning local awards, swingin' her ample rack around as though unaware of its distracting size.
Zeke downed another bite, ready to swallow his pill.
"You sure you need that?"
August asked the question casually enough, but packed each word full of undertones.
Zeke stared at the pill, the tiny capsule rolling around in his palm.
His previous medicinal vacation had lasted a week. Maybe more. Time blurred together when he was off his meds for more than a day or two. Yet, somehow, in this nowhere-state-of-mind, he had learned to harness some of his best writing. The disassociation was worth it often so he could throw himself into a collaborative piece Carter. That was, until he read the latest byline:
Samantha Carter.
The traitorous bitch.
She had promised they would both rise to the top, and it had been an empty promise. Now, reading the article, Zeke couldn't even remember most of the details, except that she'd fucked him. And not in the way he'd hoped. Not since that one time.
Irregular med use was not smart, he knew, because he was smart. He also hated losing chunks of time, but his job sometimes demanded the erratic intelligence of his schizo-associative self. Before the doctors had diagnosed him, he'd spent the better part of his late teens and early twenties blacking out, seeing things that weren't there, and waking up in strange places. He certainly didn't miss that.
Stomach nearly full, he now hungered for something...else. He tried in vain to block out the bitter sting of rejection, but as his ex had reminded him on her final exit from the apartment, he had trouble letting things go.
Like the raise and job he was expecting, all stolen by Carter. He was exiled to the night shift. To make matters worse, she was constantly asking for favors, using him. Days when she worked late, she begged a ride home off him, claiming car problems. Her car looked fine to him -- clean, waxed, and on display in her driveway. Her bumper sticker spoke volumes about her personality, something about dogs being better than dudes. Probably just meant she was a lipstick-lesbian whore.
"Last time I help her out," he told himself, checking his face in the rear view mirror for smears of avocado. The pill now sat in the cupholder, and he contemplated staying on vacation just one more day, to score a lead on a decent case.
"I don't think you need it, man," August repeated.
And for the time being, Zeke forgot about the pill.
The scanner on the dash crackled to life:
Male 10-51 on Bloomingdale Road.
A drunk man in a suburban neighborhood didn't stop Zeke from eating a bag of chips. He tipped the bag in August's direction, who shook his head in a polite decline, and they waited for a good call in comfortable silence.
Female, 10-53 on 301.
"A woman down," August said, looking excited.
"Yeah, and slight panic in the dispatcher's voice," Zeke noted.
This was way better than the usual drunk, streaker, or suicide. The pill could wait until a couple of hours.
"You coming with me?" he asked his friend, already turning the key in the ignition.
August shrugged. "I ain't got fuck else to do."
~*~
Zeke sped to the scene, grateful for the budget cuts which had prevented the local sheriff's office from switching to the newer digital channels. It made his job as a night reporter much simpler.
At the site of the 10-53, Zeke and August arrived to watch paramedics carry off a young woman covered in blood. She pressed a rag to her neck, eyes staring blankly.
As he dictated notes into his phone, he spotted the lead officer on the scene and approached. August hovered behind him, but he didn't mind. They often worked cases together.
"Vamp meeting gone all wrong, Officer Campbell?"
"If you wanna impress the editor, a vamp scandal is perfect," August said, nudging him, and he nodded.
Officer Lexa Campbell pursed her lips, intent on ignoring Zeke. She was tall with porcelain skin and blond hair. Every time Zeke saw her, she seemed even prettier than before. One of the kinds of women who didn't even need makeup. Or, seeing as how he knew little about makeup, could be she masterfully applied it for that natural look. Either way, he enjoyed looking at her.
They'd known each other in high school, but the only way he was getting anything out of her was if he made it worth her while.
August coughed loudly, and nudged him again. Taking the hint, he shook her cold hand, discreetly slipping her the bill cupped in his palm, which she accepted with a stern nod.
"No vamps, just a bar fight. Maybe a vamp-party wannabe. Who knows," Campbell said, shrugging.
"You got anything useful?" August asked.
Campbell didn't answer. She stood, hands on her hips, brows raised.
"You got anything useful?" Zeke finally parroted.
"Yeah, some witnesses over there." She pointed at two men loitering near the alleyway. "Have fun."
Then, she sauntered off without a goodbye.
She hadn't even acknowledged August. Hardly anyone ever did. Well, no one really did.
