This story contains sexually explicit scenes.
“What’ll it be, Moe?”
“Some smokes and ... ” Moe Gafferson paused. The cigarettes were a no-brainer. He had considered quitting. But that was just a thought, not an action. Besides Moe knew smoking wasn’t the worst thing a man could do. “Add a pack of them Necco Wafers, Beany.”
“Any leads on that serial killer, Moe?”
“You know I can’t discuss a case, Beany.” Moe recited the standard answer.
Yeah, Beany knew, but that didn’t keep him from asking. His curiosity had a way of getting the best of him. “The Daily said they was raped.”
“The papers don’t know everything,” Moe said.
“Young girls, all of them! It said.” Beany’s eyes gleamed with horrid fascination. “Red-heads with peachy skin and freckles.”
Moe thought about tossing Beany a crumb and telling him about the latest: Francine O’Brien. Gold-fire hair to her waist, with pussy fuzz the same color barely covering the bronze speckles on her labia. She had been a vision.
Then Jackson came in.
“Moe, we gotta go! Another girl, only this time the prick messed up.”
“Yeah, he left us a present.”
Moe lit a cigarette from the just-opened-pack and took a drag. “What’d he leave?” he asked.
“Dispatch said something about a wax candy wrapper.”
Moe Gafferson stared right at Beany and never flinched.
But Beany did.
Copyright © 2002 by Desdmona.