AcmeShorts

I left Myra in sexual tatters the next morning; we’d been up all night, redefining the word fucking. Back at my place I cleaned up, a French shower of Ralph Lauren Purple and a tumbler full of Cuervo. Whatever the morning held, I was meeting it head-on with a brain full of booze and a pocket full of shells. The office buzzed with the Monday onslaught of weekend murders. It was enough to make you drink, or swear off drinking, depending on how you viewed things. My partner, Delaney, was already at his desk when I stumbled in, the Times in my hand, three days of stubble on my face. “Glad you’re here,” he said. “Gotta body down by the docks." He handed me a coffee and said, "Let’s go.” Three minutes later we were in the car, him driving, me pounding Advil like it was happy hour at Who’s On First. Delaney’s disapproval hung in the air, the judgmental prick. I took a gulp of Joe and emptied the rest of my flask into the coffee cup. “Just say it, for Christ’s sake.” “You look like shit, Frank.” “Good,” I said, “Because I feel like shit.” Delaney stopped the car. I was freezing my ass off and shaking to beat hell. As we approached, I could see Rodriguez and Bailey cock-blocking the crime scene, poking around at shit without any gloves on. “Bailey, get your dirty Mick hands off that body. Rodriguez, get me a taco.” Rodriguez ran at me like a Mexican with a stolen TV. “Miller, fuck you, man. This is our scene.” “The boss told us to take this one, we take it. I don’t give a fuck who was here first.” By this point, Bailey, the predictable dickhead, had ambled up behind Rodriguez and was trying to act like the muscle. Who were they kidding? Neither of ‘em was over five-seven, couldn’t have weighed more than a buck thirty. Delaney stepped in before it came to blows. "Let’s all take it easy, okay, guys? Bailey, you can have the next dead hooker.” “Yeah,” I said to to Bailey. “Just don’t leave her in your apartment this time, okay, you sick fuck?” “Fuck you, Miller! I was cleared of that shit!” “Whatever,” I said. “Beat it before I beat it out of you.” Now Rodriguez played good cop, putting his hand on Bailey’s shoulder and leading him away from the area. I looked over at the body, some dead white guy in a suit. “Couple of walking stereotypes,” I said. Delaney raised an eyebrow. “Eat it,” I said, and struggled to put my gloves on.