Atlantic City
I shuffle back to my room after losing this month's rent to a cocktail of everything the casino had to offer. My shoulder holster keeps me company as I search my pockets for the key. That's funny. I don't remember leaving the door unlocked. Must have been the third glass of scotch.
I walk in finally separating myself from the sounds of slot machines and despair. I take off my coat, but leave the bow tie undone where it rests. I stare out the window at the panorama Atlantic City displays. "You should've put on a record", I say without looking at the woman on my bed.
"Maybe you should put one on for us", she replies. I still don't look at her as I slowly lower the needle onto one of my favorites from the 20s. "So how can I help you miss...." I turn for my first real look. "My God" I think to myself.
It was the woman from across the bar. And she was still wearing that red dress.
"Have we met?" I ask already knowing the answer. There's no way I would have forgotten a woman like this.
She looks at my badge and back at me. "Unlikely Detective. I try to avoid trouble."
"Surprising from a woman who sneaks into someone else's room", I retort.
"Oh, is this not my room?", she quibbles as as she places a cigarette into her mouth.
I decide to pour myself a glass. What was this? I was intrigued, but on the inside I was shaking my head. Little does this broad realize that I've been working a chain of homicides, where the victims were pretty little lasses just like her. And here she was making herself an easy target if I was such a monster.
"Do you have a light?", she asks.
I take out my zippo and extend my arm hoping to meet her half way. She doesn't budge, forcing me to sit on the bed to reach the smoke resting between her red lips.
"Thank you for your service, Detective". She reaches up and pulls the bow tie from my collar.
"You're putting yourself in a precarious situation, don't you think?" I ask.
"You take risks everyday Detective".
"Yeah, but only when it's worth the reward."
"Are you saying you're not worth it?" she retorts.
"All I'm saying is there's been a series of killings, all with victims just like you."
She runs her perfect fingers across my lips and I swallow hard.
"Oh, that?" she asks. "Being shot by a
.22 and left for dead outside some bar doesn't keep me up at night. I sleep just fine. Besides, you're an officer of the law". She undoes my uppermost button.
She was right. Maybe I was being overprotective. Maybe I....wait. Did she say ".22"? The caliber hasn't been in any of the papers. How could she have known that detail?!?! My God! I'm about to get intimate with the Bar Street Killer. I mean...was about to. I'm not anymore though, right? I mean, sure we're both two consenting adults, of age, and single, but now that I know she's a killer I should probably stop....right? Yes. I'm definitely going to stop this.
As I'm about to speak she leans up and whispers in my ear. "I hope you like designer lingerie" she says.
Oh come on!! I think to myself. I love designer lingerie!! I mean, not for me, but on others. Why did I just feel the need to justify that I don't like wearing designer lingerie, but rather enjoy seeing it on others? Especially during an inner monologue. Focus Ben! Focus!
Ok. Time to stop this. She moves in closer, breathing softly into my ear. Her perfect body presses closely against mine.
You know what? I'm probably reading too much into this. It was probably a lucky guess, and nothing more than that.
"Besides" she says out of context, "all of those women were killed after midnight. It's only 11."
Damn it!! Another undisclosed detail!! Probably just a second super really lucky guess....
"And they were all found face down" she adds.
What?!?! Why would anyone say that, killer or not.
She slides her hand behind me and pulls me even closer to her.
Ugh!! The internal struggle here is really taxing!! Ok...she's clearly the killer. I can't sleep with her simply because she's got a body that lets you know there's a God. And the fact that we are completely alone and no one would ever know isn't even a thought on my mind. Seriously, haven't given that very specific detail a single thought....wait a second. Wait a second...I have an idea.
What if I only pretend to like it but only for a few minutes just to gather intel? Ok. I'll have to be subtle.
"So, murder anyone with a .22 recently?" Damn it!!! Why did I say that?!?! Maybe she didn't hear me.
She pauses. "What did you say?"
Whew. Looks like she didn't hear me.
"Did you just asked if I murdered anyone with a .22???"
Crap. Yep. She heard me.
She pushes away and pulls her dangling dress strap back onto her shoulder.
"Wait, come on", I plead.
She steps out of my reach and goes for her clutch resting on the night stand.
"Oh, you're not going to sleep with me just because I accused you of being a serial killer? Don't you think you're being a little sensitive?"
I pause. "You're a real piece of work" I declare.
She's boiling inside. Probably wondering how I figured it out. Time to let the cat out of the bag. Paint her into that corner and seal the night with a confession. Time to go to work.
"You listen to me!" I say with some authority as I move in close.
"You knew too much and couldn't keep your mouth shut and now it cost you. It cost you big time! The weapon caliber. The time of death. Even the body position. All details that were deliberately left out of the papers, deliberately kept close to the vest to catch simpletons like you off guard during interrogation. You're caught sweetheart. Red handed! Hand in the cookie jar! Now, the only question is how are you going to play this. Face it, coming clean is the only card you got left to play. So what's it going to be doll??? The truth, and maybe I'll put in my report that you were cooperative...or hardball and things will get interesting?"
She freezes in her tracks and stares blankly at me. Yep, I got to her alright. She opens her mouth to speak. This should be interesting.
"I got all those details from the case file that is open on your night stand." She slowly raises her pointer finger at the grungy file I had placed next to my bed hours earlier.
I swallow hard. "So uh, you didn't kill anyone?"
Her eyes stare at me in disbelief. She shakes her head no.
"How about that?" I say. "Seems like a very common misunderstanding..."
"Wait" she interrupts. "Were you going to sleep with me when you thought I was a serial killer?" she asks.
"What?!?! No!! That's ridiculous!!"
"Are you sure, because it appeared like you were going to."
"Nope" I retort. "I'm so not into you" I reply. I think she bought it.
She walked past me and grabbed a handful of fresh strawberries off the minibar.
"Hey they charge me for those!"
And just like that she was gone. Who was she? And why did she show up here? I didn't know the answer to these questions. All I knew is that me and my erection would have to figure it out.
**Any old school cops out there? You've probably been in this same situation a dozen times. Leave your experience in the comments section.