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Not Again

Eric Burbridge

    The last thing I needed to see, a guy’s head turned inside out by a shotgun blast. But, the spaghetti with meat sauce I ate stayed put. My, off and on, partner ducked behind a cruiser and threw her guts up. “You okay, Milly?”
    “No, Meacham, I’m pregnant and it’s yours,” she tried to laugh and wiped her mouth.
    That was the least of my worries — we hadn’t slept together in a year. “Any sign of a weapon?”
    “None, I got uniforms looking. It had to be a double barrel.”
    “Who is he?” Dumb question since his pockets were inside out.
    “No ID, but there’s a lady screaming over there, she’ll know,” Milly said. “Lot of people around — must’ve been some party at that lounge.”
    “New ownership I heard, bigger crowds, but none of the usual shit...until now.” The crowd chatted amongst themselves in the usual manner, a few shocked, but most not. I tried to write on my wet notepad, but the rain wouldn’t cooperate.
    “Need paper, Reverend Detective Andrew Meacham?” I shot her a dirty look. “I thought you promised not to—”
    “I’m messing with you; you know that nobody heard me. I thought you went to the Ministry full time during your suspension.”
    “You care? We aren’t partners anymore.”
    “Yeah, and don’t make me mad, Meacham, we got work to do like it or not.”
    She was right; the boss punished me for taking a few days to get drunk. The best relief for stress. The uniforms checked the usual places. Nothing. No surprise. I scanned the crowd that shifted with the widening crime scene. I suggested more tape to keep prying eyes and ears at bay. For a second I thought I saw a familiar face.
    It couldn’t be. It was her!
    She wore the same baseball cap at a similar murder scene several months prior. Same height, build with big framed glasses.
    What was she doing here?
    She stepped back, turned and faded into the crowd and avoided the street lights and cameras. I lost sight of her, but anticipated where she’d be in a minute. “Be back in a minute, Milly.” I hurried to the end of the crowd. I’d lost her.
    We finished the preliminaries on the scene and headed back to the station. An hour worth of paperwork later I made a beeline home.

*

    The minute I stepped in my place I felt a presence, not a threatening one, but one I hoped wasn’t there. I hit the lights and there she was.
    Her oversized glasses and baseball cap on the table next to an empty wine bottle. My sister snored like a mule.
    Wake the hell up, Carole!” She sat straight up and rubbed her eyes.
    “Hello there, Reverend Detective brother of mine—”
    “Don’t call me that. Why did you leave the scene? And don’t tell me you did it.” The coat she wore had blood splattered on it. Jesus, what if she did with her crazy self? She was a chronic confessor. A serious illness and something my frienemies at the precinct love to tease me about. Did she go off her meds or what?
    “I need help...I been bad, brother detective.” I slipped on gloves and examined her coat. Her eyes were bucked, fear and confusion on her face. I took a deep breath. Now I had to deal with her insanity.
    “You shot that guy?”
    “He broke my heart, Andy.” She rubbed the sofa. “I love this leather and the TV is nice.”
    “Don’t you fade on me, Carole, you stay here. Where’s the weapon...the 9mm, where is it?”
    “No nine honey, a double barrel. He has no head.” Carole’s eyes rolled in her head like she could be having a seizure.
    That trick didn’t work. “Look you crazy fool, remember the last time you confessed? You almost got charged and if my boss hadn’t went the extra mile you’d be in jail for something you didn’t do. That’s the shit you probably need.”
    “You were doing so nice with your bad language, reverend detective, what happened?”
    “You!” I wanted to smack her, but my crazy little sister with the porno body that everybody wanted, which compounded her split personality needed prayer. What else could I do? I hugged her and prayed. She broke away and laughed.
    “Don’t do that...he deserved to die.” Carole grabbed her bloodied coat and headed for the door. “I’m turning myself in. Oh, I love the way you re-decorated and lost some weight, you don’t look good with a gut. Bye.”
     The door slammed. I was relieved for a second, just a second. I took the phone off the hook and turned off my cell. Soon my colleagues would call with news about Carole. Embarrassing. One of the many reasons why I kept a place on the lake front. Nice area since I spent the majority of my time in the world’s butthole. The university was down the street and why I decided to go study the bible. Strange, but it keeps me sane. They said I was called to the ministry.
    After a shower and a slice of two day old pizza, sitting on the balcony at 5 am made sense. This time I’ll call the boss. “No awol’s sir, but I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I’d done my twenty years and the minimum pension looked better and better. I felt better around church people. I’ll call my pastor later and ask for a job.

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