The Drinking Game

Argument

The electric clock hummed as Sean leaned his palms on the Cam's massive desk. Cold air from a ceiling vent streaked down his back, but didn't affect his temper. He got close to his boss so he would hear every word. “But I'm the best. Can't the rules be bent?"

“No." Cam sighed and took a tone he should have used for a child, not one of his detectives. “The world does not revolve around Sean Gaudette. Rules are made for a reason."

Sean's eyelids dropped close. He straightened and balled his fists at his sides, his eyes flying open. Cam saw everything in black and white.

Frustration welled inside Sean along with helplessness. Why couldn't he help Ken now? “I was the first officer on the scene. I know what I saw."

Cam's patient smile bloomed. “And?"

“I've talked to Gladstone and he saw some very different things."

Cam shifted in his chair. “What things?"

Sean warred with himself. Should he tell? Should he reveal the incriminating things he'd seen on Ken's desk? He blew out of breath. “I saw a redheaded scalp lying on Ken's desk"

Cam's face remained impassive, but his fingers fiddled with the papers on his desk. “Scalp?"

“Don't you get it? A well-placed souvenir from the Redhead Killer. Remember, he scalped all of his victims." The killer hadn't struck for six months, and maybe his boss forgot.

Standing, Cam came around the desk and put a hand on Sean's shoulder. “Sean maybe you need to take a few days off. You're in shock." Cam nudged him towards the door.

“What are you talking about? You were there right after I called it in. You had to see it," Sean argued. Was he going nuts?

A patronizing smile appeared. “Sean, I saw no such thing on Ken's desk. Just Ken. Please take a few days off. That's an order."

Sean dug in his heels. He wasn't interested in pity. “Cam, I'm fine. I saw those things. Someone killed Ken, then tried to frame him."

Opening his mouth, Cam shook his head. “I talked to the ME this morning. He said it was suicide." He opened his office door and shoved out Sean. “Go home, now."

The door slammed in Sean's face and he remained unsure of what just happened. He'd seen that scalp and no one could convince him otherwise.

***

The redhead sat prim in the basement bar. Late afternoon sun struggled in through stained glassed windows, casting a pink pallor over her table. Her sloe gin fizz sat half empty in front of her. An ancient jukebox belted out decades old hits.

He picked up his warm beer and moved across the empty room. His shoes stuck with each step. Green eyes glanced up at him from the paper she studied and he flashed his warmest smile.

He loved the first meeting. At least the first one where he introduced himself. They'd made eye contact a few times on crowded Saturday nights, but he'd never spoken to her. Seeming commonplace and not out of the ordinary was paramount. His victim needed to have a false sense of security.

Anticipation sprinted up his spine. What a delicious feeling. “Hi."

Her gaze didn't waver nor did she roll her eyes. Good. She'd need only a little convincing. He slipped a hand into his pocket to touch the tiny envelope of white powder. The favorite drug gave him confidence.

“I'm Doug. May I sit?"

She pursed her lips, glancing at the paper in front of her. Her gaze traveled back to him and his jeans and Oxford shirt.

Gathering the entire sheaf and tucking it into a briefcase, she indicated he could sit. He did and held out his hand.

She glanced at it, obviously not completely thrilled with his company. He knew she'd be even less thrilled later, but he'd be in heaven.

“Jill," she said when she finally clasped his hand.

“I've seen you around here a few times," he said.

Sucking on the teeny straw to her drink, she shrugged. So she was going to be harder nut to crack then he originally thought. A challenge never hurt. The last few had been easy.

“I'm sorry. Am I intruding? I can go away," He started to leave but she put a hand on his arm. Her other slim hand raced through her shiny hair.

“Sorry. Rough day. I lost my job a week ago."

He put on a sufficiently sad face. “That's terrible. Let me buy you a drink."

She checked the level of her now three quarters empty glass and shook her head. “Not yet."

“Okay, then what did you do?" he asked.

She tucked a fiery lock behind her ear and fiddled with her straw. “A dental hygienist. The doctor made a pass at me and I resisted."

Moving closer, he said, “Isn't that s****l harassment?"

She frowned. “Probably, but I have no money for a lawyer."

“Surely one of those lawyers that advertise on daytime TV can help. You know, the ones with multiple names."

She smiled at that. Her teeth shone white even in the dim light of the bar. “Maybe."

He licked his lips. “Isn't this place a little dreary? We should go walk in the sunshine to cheer you up," he suggested.

She considered that, looking around at the bar. “Let me make a pit stop first, then we can finish our drinks."

She stood and he smiled again. “Right. Can't waste those."

She walked past the bar to the restroom, her red waves swishing back and forth. When she disappeared, he glanced at the bored bartender with his nose in a Sport Illustrated. Pulling out the small packet, he dumped the white powder into Jill's drink and stirred it with the straw. He sipped his drink after replacing the packet into his pocket.

When Jill returned, she downed her drink quickly. “Ready?" she asked with a smile on her face.

“Of course," he replied.

***

Deep in his disbelief, Sean made it to his vehicle. Not his police issue, but the utilitarian one he drove to and from work. The auto appeared in front of him and he stopped walking. He could have knocked down a little old lady on his trek and he wouldn't know it.

The beat up pickup truck sprung to life when he turned the key and was heading home before he could speak out loud. “Damn."