Sunday, August 23, 2009

Zack Martinez Case 9

Zack Martinez's glassy gaze passed glumly over the contents of the dead boy’s bedroom. It was irritating to have a poisoned teenager slumped on the floor wearing a wrinkled and mutton-chopped rubber mask. It was downright incongruous for a teenager whose walls were covered with posters that screamed “attitude” to line his bed with stuffed animals: a squirrel, a llama, even a hedgehog. Zack had never seen a stuffed hedgehog before. (Maybe his son would like one). Anyway, too cute to be true...

And then there were the way-out weirdos who’d wandered over in the wee hours of the morning; the gorgeous babe (better not let his wife see him questioning her) who swallowed her zip drive before he could confiscate it, the soulful-eyed man in glasses who said he’d come to borrow a wrench and wouldn’t account for the heavy parcel he threw into the back of a passing dump truck, the fresh-looking college kid who came in with a stack of books to return and suddenly remembered that they all belonged to the library instead of the boy... All of them babbled about evil, though none of them mentioned downright lunacy.

And then his crew walked in. Candy with her Canon D camera and her double D bra. She started in the porn industry and moved up to crime photographer. Cyrus, the medical examiner who worked his way through college at the slaughter house and still wore a bloodstained apron always. Even the day after washday. Finally Junior Denton, the smartass new detective in the department who liked to put bandaids on bullet wounds. Guess he didn't have a joke for poisonings.

Zack Martinez closed his glassy eyes, and ran his hand glumly through his hair. How did I get stuck in a novel trying so hard to be fresh, that even I can't figure out what's going on?

Opening: Joanna......Continuation: Anon.


Evil Editor said...

Unchosen continuation:

There was one man who stood out from the rest. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a look of feigned interest when he heard the boy was dead. Instead of shock and outrage, the questions began rolling out...

“Why would someone kill the boy? What's the motive? Was he a drug runner, maybe a school bully? Did he hack into the account of a teacher who was secretly eFlirting with the freshman? This makes no sense at all. There's no information to set up why this would happen to the kid in the first place.”

Martinez thought the man knew far more than he was letting on. There was an unsettling calm to his observations, like he'd been in this situation before. “Ok, mutton chops. Don't you find it a bit uncanny the corpse is wearing a mask with sideburns that are similar to yours?”

“Mutton chops are more common than you may think. So are baited questions and poorly planted evidence. What you may find interesting are the rejection letters piled on the desk. The one on top of the pile is horribly written and covered in blood. You may want to ask Janet Reid where she was earlier this evening.”

--Aimee States

Evil Editor said...

Unchosen continuation:

In short, a sufficient number of subjects to sidetrack and stultify the sergeant who stood beside him. And Zack should be able to introduce enough confusing evidence in the course of his interviews with the suspects to cover the tracks of the real killer.

He didn’t feel remorse. The time he’d put into not-so-subtly advertising himself and his services on the kid’s blog had been a waste, but he could have lived with that--rather, he could have let the kid live with that. But he spent months sweating over his crime thriller, and donated to charity right after posting it for critique to ensure good luck; and the Burning-eyed One dismissed it a few snarky asides and an acid-laced postscript paragraph. The adjectives pierced Zack like bee stings (he was allergic to bees); “Contrived.” “Overwritten.” “Stuffed with meaningless symbolism and pointless distractions.”

Zack might have done himself in if it hadn’t been for that meeting in the allergist’s office. To think that he’d been dissed by a self-publishing sixteen-year-old who didn’t have the sense not to talk about his blog over his cell phone in a public space... Well, no one would ever pointlessly distract the kid again.


Evil Editor said...

Unchosen continuation:

Zack Martinez's interrogatee and chief suspect, the classy gassy babe of Naughty Lane in Shady Louisiana passed jumbo zeppelin-sized quantities of methane-powered expulsions in the patrol car while waiting for M.E. to pronounce the deceased dead or murdered or just plain suicidal. Two officers radioed for aid and paramedics as the leaves on the Oak tree browned out and their hair turned gray. The CSI Techs took mere minutes finding the storage tank of poisonous gas hidden on the babe's bootylicious body in a most inauspicious location. Martinez tested the theory on the way-out weirdos. Satisfied, He charged her with murder most vaporous. The Babe went down for the count. Urban Legend would record that she hummed the 1812 Overture multiple times that night and the cannons reverberated throughout the police station.

--Dave F.

Dave F. said...

who liked to put bandaids on bullet wounds.
who liked to put bandaids on bullet wounds.

You guys are so mean! And that's fun!