The Suspect

Written for #MotivationMonday

The Suspect

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

He never imagined the butler would be his greatest threat. Yeah, I see the smirk on your face. Let me explain.

My name is Sam Malone, Private Eye. Okay, quit laughing. I know I don’t look like your average private dick, but don’t let the lipstick and short skirt fool you. I can pound pavement along with the best of them and the legs get me in places other detectives can’t. In this case it was Packard’s Lounge. The butler answered the door on my first ring, took one look at what I was packing…. My 36 Double D’s.. He said Mr. Finch was expecting me. I didn’t find that hard to believe, I had been asking all over town about the man. Mainly I was spreading the word that he was a douche.

Trenton Finch sat behind a big mahogany desk, smoking a cigar. I got the impression the little guy was compensating for something.

“So, you’re Sammy Malone’s daughter. I knew your dad once upon a time.”

“If you knew my dad, then that makes you a bigger douche than I thought.”

He frowned. “So what is it I can do for you, Samantha… or do you go by Sammy?”

“Sam. Last person that called me Samantha is dead.”

“Oh, who’s that?”

“My dad.”

“I’d heard that you’d been his doer… wasn’t sure I believed it. “

“Tanya Davis.”

“Excuse me?”

“You asked what you could do for me. You can leave Tanya Davis alone.”

“I don’t believe…”

“You might know her as Roxy Devine.”

“Ah, yes, one of my most requested girls.”

“She’s not your girl.”

I bent over his desk, looking him in the eye. Trenton leaned forward so that his nose was pressed towards mine. It could have been very hot, if I didn’t find his breath so disgusting.

“I have a contract that says otherwise.”

“She wants out.”

He laughed, blowing his fetid breath up my nose. “And why would I let her go? She brings in quite a bit of money.”

“Because if you don’t I let everyone see these.” I tossed a manila envelope onto his desk. Looking at me, curious, Finch picked up the envelope and shook out the contents. They were all photos of Trenton dressed in drag.

“I don’t think you would appear to be such a tough guy once these got out.”

“It was then that I heard the sound of a gun cocking. I turned to see the butler sporting a very impressive piece. He shot the douche, right between the eyes.”

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“You killed him… in cold blood.”

“Look.” He nodded towards the desk. Trenton sagged to the side, a gun hanging limp in his hands.

“He was going to kill you.”

The police detective switched off the recorder. On the table were photos of Trenton Finch… minus most of his head.

“So, you seriously expect me to believe the butler did it?”

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it always the butler?”

Word Count: 500

@jezri1

Psycho Babble

Psycho Babble

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

I should have been nicer to him. That’s always been a problem for me. If I hate someone, I can’t just make nice and pretend otherwise. I’m not a hypocrite and this is something I’ve always been proud of. Until now. Now, my animosity towards Richard could be my undoing. I’m the only one that hated him enough, to want to see him dead. Since he was now lying on the floor of my kitchen, with a cleaver through his head, it made sense that I would be the obvious suspect.

 Okay, yes, I killed him, but does that mean I should go to prison for the rest of my life? The man was an asshole and a bastard asshole at that. And I’m not the only one that hated him. I’m just the only one that told him I would see him rot in hell. See, I’m not that smart. I should have just thought it in my head. But then again, they would have read my thoughts and known. There’s no place for private thought anymore.

 Even then, it might have only been talk, but the man showed up in my kitchen. I was cutting letters out of a magazine, when I heard the door open behind me. First thing I thought was it was a home invasion. I had a friend that was taken by Big Brother. They sent her to some reprogramming center and brainwashed her. That’s the only thing that explains how she turned on me, testifying for those social workers and helping them take my kids.  Told them I was crazy, she did. That bitch. Well, I showed her, ummm, I mean, she disappeared. No one knows what happened to her.

So Richard comes sneaking in my back door, probably planning on raping me, or tying me up and selling me to his alien friends…did I mention, he’s not human?  So I reached for the cleaver…it’s always where I can get to it, turned and swung. Bye bye Richard.

But now I have a problem. At first I expected the mother ship to come swooping down, or to be beamed up into space. But nothing happened. I haven’t even seen any signs of the G-men and I know our government is working with them, subduing us all into submission. It’s working too. It amazes me how little anyone questions things anymore. But they will be here, unless I divert attention to someone else.

I finish cutting out the letters and paste them onto the paper, being careful to use water and not my own saliva. Then I put it in the mail. It is addressed to Santa Clause. He works for the government you know. I’ve told him Richard can be found at my neighbors, Suzie Carmichael. She’s an alien too, disguised as a little girl. Little cunt has the whole neighborhood fooled, except for me.  But everyone will know what she is, once they find Richard’s head in her toybox.  Heh heh heh.

Word Count: 500

This was written for Motivation Monday