The Medusa Effect Chapter Eight

medusaeffect (48)in #writing • 6 years ago (edited)

"You smell like a friggin fruit salad."

"Keeps the critters away."

"That was more than a month ago." Hardy looked over his glasses disdainfully at Stan.

Stan was running both buttered up hands through his hair. The smell of the coconut oil wasn't really bothering Laurel, it was the fact that every time Stan did it, the detective was reminded of the beautiful woman with white pills dotted all over her long black hair.

"I kind of like it. My old lady thinks I looks like Elvis."

"Did she notice your collar looks like crap?"

Hardy slapped him in the back of the head and shoved him through the doorway to go to the cruiser. The long ride across the U.P. was annoyingly silent. Hardy could hear the buzz from his coworker’s wireless headphones.

"Did you pay two hundred dollars for those cockamamie things?"

"Huh?"

"Oh Hell, never mind."

"Huh?"

Hardy turned on the radio. It couldn't keep him from thinking about the last trip to the diner. It wasn't a good experience, but it was far too important to just let it go. The reaction from the few people he met, made him sure he would have to go about the investigation a different way. Yes, they would notice the two of them were there, but they couldn't keep him from contacting the seasonal shop keepers. The newcomers would have no loyalty to the locals. He saw a going out of business sign across the street. It would be a good place to check out.

"Look stay with the vehicle, but keep the radio on...and get those stupid things out of your ears."

"You told me to buy them."

"Right. Keep a look out."

Hardy stepped to the door. Inside the little bell rang next to his head. The short middle aged man shuffling the coin purses in front of him didn't bother to say hello. The detective flipped the picture on to the counter. The man didn't look down. He stared straight ahead at a spot on the wall.

"You gonna buy something?" He asked finally.

"What, a leather purse? What is it with this town? I'm the law…" Hardy shook his head.

"Not here, you're not." He crushed his cigarette out on the counter.

Hardy laughed. "You look like you're not from around here either, friend."

"Can't wait to get out of this hole. Lost my shirt on this dump." He finally looked up.

"Well, why not give this town a big fat kiss in the ass on your way out."

Finally the man put his thumb on the picture and spun it around. He looked at it for a long time. "I don't think I can help you."

Hardy pulled out his wallet and grabbed a sweatshirt from the rack. It was dark green. It would be worth forty bucks, even with the fifty-percent discount if the store owner would cough up a lead.

"Alright, I know what you're asking. Yup, she was here and she wouldn't give me the time of day, even though I offered her a lot more than a couple of twenties."

Hardy bit the corner of his moustache. "Who did she spend time with?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Out with it."

"It's your funeral." He shoved the photo back at him and pointed out across the two lane. "That lovely lady sat there, right across the road, every other Friday with Carl, the cook over there. Sometimes you can find him on the reservation up in Brimley, where I doubt you will be welcomed." He said sneering at him, "They'll see you coming a mile away."

Hardy swatted at the forty dollars balling it back into his fist. He threw it on the counter and headed to the door.

"If you're not careful someone will find you floating at the Docks."

Hardy felt a chill run down his spine. He didn't look back. Apparently everyone knew what happened with Miss Braxton, except him.

Turning down the highway he went past the grocery. The manager and the young woman from earlier were both standing next to a blue Chevy. Even from the road he could see they were shouting. Hardy pulled in at the far end. He knew he stood out like a sore thumb so he parked out in the parking lot as far as he could next to a work van. He could only hope he wouldn’t be spotted. He threw off his jacket and grabbed the green sweatshirt from the seat beside him. He grabbed the ball cap from the floor and pulled it down over his forehead.

Hardy sprinted to the far entrance. He ran to the register and bought magazines from the rack and threw in a couple of candy bars. He placed the bag in front of him and wandered outside. He could clearly hear them. He distinctly heard Robert call the slender man in the cab, Sam. Hardy spun around on his heel and raced back through the check out. It took several long minutes before the cashier could get the carton of cigarettes. He unwrapped the cellophane and pulled one out. The truck was already moving toward him. Hardy had to think fast. He put the smoke in his mouth and stepped forward trying to mimic the imaginary lighter between his thumbs. Sam stopped and waited for him to finish. Hardy hoped Sam would believe him when he threw the defective lighter into the air. Keeping his head down, he walked to the driver’s side and tapped on the window.

“Hey, can I get a light?” Hardy’s heart was thumping in his chest when the window rolled down.

“Sure, no problem.”

Hardy stared into the truck. The man appeared to be in his twenties. Hardy went through the checklist in his head; around a hundred and fifty pounds, no facial hair, medium build, shoulder length black hair, straight slender nose and small black stone earring. Inside the cab there were work boots and empty insulated cups with the Casino’s logo on them from up north. Hardy nodded quickly and let him pass. The license plate number was easy, personalized, it spelled SACRED. He practically ran to the cruiser when he made sure the truck was down the road a safe distance away. The one thing he didn’t need to write down in his notebook were the gold flecks in the young man’s black eyes. They were so distinctive he wouldn’t easily forget them.

#fiction

6 years ago in #writing by medusaeffect (48)

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The Medusa Effect Chapter Eight

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