Killing Amy (standard:drama, 6829 words)
Author: K. Derby	Added: Apr 18 2004	Views/Reads: 3383/2289	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A cop is convinced he's going insane. Cleaned up in response to some comments...

Killing Amy 

(c) Kerwin Derby 2004 

What's your name?" she asked seating herself on the hotel room bed.  She
gave a slight bounce as if testing the springs. Her dyed blonde hair  
had taken on an amber glow from the light of the bedside lamp.  It was 
the one  spot of brightness in an otherwise seedy decor. 

"John," he said with a slight nervous undertone, his thick fingers
reaching up to his collar and loosening his tie, pulling it down a 
fraction.  He swallowed, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his 
forehead.  "My name is, ah, John," he repeated. 

She laughed slightly, a deep tinkling sound, her cheap-looking blouse
shifting with her movements.  She gave the man a sidelong look. 

"How original," she drawled, getting up from the bed and undoing the
mans' tie completely.  Her nimble fingers eased open a shirt button and 
 she pressed a hand against his coarse chest hairs.  The warmth of her  
touch was a searing heat. 

"What's your name?" he rumbled, his arousal evident as he put his arms
around her. 

She spun away, teasingly pulling his tie out of his collar and letting
it trail onto the carpet. 

"After you pay me, I can be anyone you want," she said huskily. 

*** 

"Mornin', Joe," I said, entering the cramped task force office, a former
utility room, and slammed my bulk into my chair.  It creaked  
alarmingly, but held.  I passed my first test of the day. 

Detective Joseph Morales nodded, not looking up from the report until I
dropped a paper bag on the table.  I set down two takeout coffee  
containers next to it. 

"Was my turn to buy coffee," I mumbled when Morales' snake-like stare
turned questioning.  "Figured I'd get some Crispy Cremes too," I added. 


I snagged a coffee and noisily began prying off the lid.  A skill honed
after years of police work. 

I took a slurp as Morales hitched his cup closer to him and returned his
attention to the report in front of him. 

I've been working as his partner for the last two years, mostly on
homicides.  He's a nice enough guy, sharp dresser and a real hit with  
the ladies so I've been told. 

Something about him though was kind of off-putting, if you know what I
mean.  Maybe it was his reserve, he was sort of quiet, or maybe his  
habit of staring you in the eyes when he talked to you.  I mean, really 
staring, like he was trying to read your mind or something. 

He wouldn't have been my first choice as partner, but I've been on the
force long enough not to ask for too many favours.  Like be reassigned. 


"Watcha got," I asked said after he deftly peeled the lid off of his own
coffee and took an exploratory sip.  A quiet sip.  Very elegant and 
refined.  Another annoying  habit of his. 

"Another dead hooker was found this morning," said Morales putting down
the report and smoothing it against the tables' nicked surface.  "That  
makes it five so far." 

Oh, Christ no. 

"Too much goddamn sugar," I said, grimacing to hide my shock.  I set
down my coffee container to do something with my hands.  I could feel  


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