Shortie and Lanky

Shortie and lanky stood across the road from their target. The rain spat at the collars of their topcoats. Shortie puffed on his cigar, his hands dug deep into his coat pockets.
“How’re we gonna do this?” Lanky asked as he lit a cigarette.
Shortie bit down on his cigar and shifted it between his lips, “The usual.”
Lanky smirked taking the cigarette from his lips between two fingers, “There is no usual with you.”
Shortie turned to look over his shoulder at him, “Wipe that smirk off your face!” He turned back to their target.
The women inside the building were none the wiser of their future assailants standing across from them. They chatted over the sounds of music and hair dryers with the women sat in front of them as they cut their hair.
“You can’t go in there,” Lanky pointed with the cigarette between his fingers.
“Why not?”
“You’ll stand out! You’re a local, and you’re a short fucker!”
Shortie turned to his accomplice, “You don’t talk to me like that, Mucker.”
His hand raised so fast Lanky didn’t have time to respond before the slap hit him sharp on the cheek, “You hear me?” Shortie said with his cigar clenched between his teeth.
“There was no need for that!” Lanky cried rubbing his face.
The slap was hard enough to little a temporary red mark which Lanky felt no qualms to moan about.
“Shut it, mucker!” Shortie said as he stared across at the hairdressers. “What do you propose we do then, smart arse?”
Lanky shrugged.
“You’re so full of ideas you,” Shortie whistled full of sarcasm.
“I don’t see you coming up with any!” Lanky hissed through a haze of smoke. “Anyway,” Lanky dropped the end of the cigarette on the ground and twisted the bottom of his shoe on it, “I thought we didn’t hurt women?”
Shorties mouth dropped open as if to say something before turning into a scowl, “We don’t!” He dug his hands even deeper into his pockets. “I don’t want to hurt them, I won’t hurt them. But you know who their boss is!”
Lanky’s face twitched in anger, “Yea,” He looked across at the hairdressers now with hate in his eyes, “Yea I know.”
“I know what we could do,” Shortie started.
Lanky stared the building across from them down not so discreetly. Shortie turned on his heels and walloped him.
“Jesus!” Lanky rubbed his face again staggering a little, “What was that for?”
“Being a little bitch,” Shortie shook his head, “You know what for!” He rolled his eyes, “Take Lanky, he’s discreet as they come!” He shook his head again, “Discreet as they come, my arse!”
“Fuck you,”
Shortie raised his hand, “Are you asking for another slap?”
Lanky stepped back a little and shook his head, holding his hands up in appeasement.
“Anyway,” Shortie began, “I’ve got an idea.” He rubbed his hands excitedly and ushered Lanky back up the street to their car.

“What is this plan of yours then?” Lanky asked impatiently in the passenger seat.
“Well,” Shortie gripped the steering wheel and listened to the ticking of his indicator. “We’ll find other men the same height as me!”
Lanky bit back a chortle, “And where are going to find these short fuckers?”
“Never you mind that!”
“I will mind!” Lanky frowned, “It’s my ass on the line as much as yours!”
They sat in silence as the car jerked forward and out of the space at the side of the road. Lanky turned the radio on to fill the silence.
Shortie concentrated on the road with his cigar still clenched between his lips.
Lanky fidgeted in his seat with huffs and puffs of breath in boredom.
“Jesus Christ, Lanks!” Shortie spat.
“What?”
“Can you sit still for a second in your life?”
Lanky shook his head, “Nope.”
“Anyway,” Shortie turned the radio off, “Want to hear my plan?”
Lanky was eager to hear it, ready to lap it up like a lapdog.
“We’re gonna find some shortie muckers like me,”
Lanky couldn’t help himself, “From the Short Gangsta Society.”
Shortie turned his neck to face Lanky so fast he could’ve given himself whiplash, “How did you know?”
Lanky’s mouth dropped, “Wh…What?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“How did you know about the Short Gangsta Society?”
“Wha…I did…what?”
“You’re looking at the fucking founder of it!”
Lanky laughed, “Oh I see you’re pulling my leg!”
Shortie frowned, “No.”
Lankie stopped laughing abruptly and looked at Shortie sheepishly, “You’re…You’re serious?”
“Of course I’m fucking serious!”
“Oooookkaayyy”
“Shut it, Mucker!” Shortie pulled into the drive of a big mansion.
Their footsteps on the hallway floor echoed.
“Shoes off!” Shortie told him as he undid his own laces and carefully placed his to one side.
Shortie led Lanky to his living room.
In the middle was a grand fireplace with a sheepskin rug laid in front of it.
Lanky sat down on an L shaped leather sofa and Shortie across from him on an old brown leather chair. “So I’m going to get a team of men the same height as me,”
Lanky nodded in agreement as he listened.
Shortie cut and lit another cigar, “and then we’re going to,” Shortie knew this bit was sure to get a laugh so he readied himself for it, finding it a little amusing himself, “We’re gonna dress up as women.”
Lanky’s mouth gawped open, “you…”
“I’m not kidding,” Shortie said with a chuckle.
Lanky frowned and looked at him, his face contorting with question.
“Oh I’m for real, but it don’t mean it aint funny!” Shortie slapped an arm of the chair and laughed.
Lanky forced a laugh while he gauged his companion’s reaction, when his fake laugh only catered to further Shorties own laughing he started to laugh for real till tears ran down his face, “You’re gonna…” He couldn’t speak for laughing, “Dress up as women?”
“Yes,” Shortie smiled a short, sharp smile then a foreboding looking crossed his face.
Lanky stopped laughing abruptly and looked Shortie in the eyes.
“We’d all be a good height for that.”
Lanky had to bite back more amusement, “But for the other differences like your voices, muscles, fat, built…” He continued on.
“Are you saying there is only one type of build for women?” Shortie shook his head, “You’ve read too many Nuts magazines!”
“Just because you’re wife…”
Shortie scolded him midsentence with a look.
“Sorry,” Lanky grimaced. “So,” Lanky nodded his head toward Shortie, “You’re all going to dress up as women then?”
“Then go in there and ransack the place!”
“And if someone catches you? As soon as you speak, you’ll give yourselves away!”
“I’ll put on my best woman’s voice!” Shortie smiled.
“Go on then.”
Shortie cleared his throat, “Okay,” He cleared his throat again and jutted his neck out from his collar like a chicken, “Okay,” He cleared his throat once more.
“Oh for fuck sake stop stalling!”
“I’ll have you know I’m not that kind of lady!” Shortie said in a voice that sounded more like a teenage boy whose voice hadn’t fully cracked. He tried again, this time trying to go higher, “I’ll have you know…” His throat hurt from the effort, “I can’t go any higher than that!”
“Well, this plan already looks good!”
“Fuck you, Lanks!”

 

Thought Grime #2

“Park here, will you.” The chief detective ordered, flicking ash out the window.
“Sir.” Hugh nodded his acknowledgement and parked up neatly.
The man that answered the door to them had puffy eyes hidden behind his glasses, peering out from behind his door, “Hello, what do you want?” He said in a shaky voice.
The chief detective held up his badge, his foot already on the man’s doorstep, “care to let us in?” It wasn’t a question it was an order. The man stepped aside and opened the door further for the two men to come in
“Care to tell me your names?” He asked, hobbling to his armchair.
“This here is Hugh.” The detective pointed towards Hugh.
“And you are?”
The detective loosened the buttons on his coat, “people call me Grim.” He tried a friendly smile, but his scarred face and piercing eyes gave off a sinister air whatever he did with himself.
“That’s a nice name.” The old man said, not convincingly.
“It’s pretty grim.” Grim grinned, showing white teeth with just a little yellowing.
“Are you here about the…” the man dared utter the word.
“The?” Grim asked, determined the man should ask for himself.
The man’s eyes shifted behind his puffed up skin and bit his bottom lip nervously, “you know,” he looked embarrassed, “the marijuana.”
Hugh looked towards Grim, and Grim returned a glance, both their lips quivering into faint smiles, “no, but now that you mention it,” Hugh smiled at the man, “where is this marijuana you speak of?”
The man slumped down in his seat, and shook his head in a fast shaky motion, “no! No! No!” He slammed his walking stick on the carpet, “please,” he began to plead, “don’t take it from me.” He looked up at Hugh, who was still stood, “please, it’s all I have to take the damn pain away.” He held out his hand before Hugh and spread his arthritic fingers out, “see,” his hand tremored, “so much pain.” He cried.
Hugh smiled sympathetically at the man, “don’t worry, I was only asking in case you had enough for us to have some.” Hugh winked.
The old man startled into silence for a moment started a throaty laugh, “don’t trick an old man like that!” He wiped his mouth and continued laughing.
“So you haven’t heard?” Grim asked, sceptically.
“Heard what?” The old man asked, appearing genuine.
“We’re here because there was a gruesome murder last night.”
The old man slumped back in his chair, closed his eyes tight behind his glasses, his shaking hand on his lips, “murder?” He asked, his tremor had since worsened. “Murder?” He repeated in disbelief, “round here?”
“Right in this neighbourhood,” Grim confirmed.
“What, right here?” The old man pointed outside his window, “so close to my house?”
“I’m afraid so,” Grim crossed one leg over the other, “I’d be right in assuming you didn’t hear anything last night?”
“You’d be right; I go to bed at nine sharp!”
“And so it’s safe to assume you didn’t witness anything?” Hugh asked, running his finger across a dusty shelf and inspecting his finger.
“Yes, you’d be right to assume that! What happened? Who was killed?”
“We’re still figuring out the first question,” Grim answered.
“It was a Frederick Archer.” Hugh finished.
The old man was visibly shaken by the name, tears pooling at his puffy eyes, “not Frederick.” He slouched forwards in his chair and sobbed loudly. “Not Frederick.” He wailed.
Grim and Hugh shared a glance, “you knew Frederick then?” Grim asked.
“He brought me my shopping, he..” the old man gulped, took off his glasses and wiped at his face, “he did everything for me.” He looked out the window, something about looking outside only set him off more, “no,” he shook his head, “it can’t be!” He turned to look at both detectives pleadingly, “it can’t be!”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Hugh said softly.

Thought Grime #1

I am God, for I am the omnipotent narrator, I see, hear, and tell. These characters are as real as you and I, for I have brought them breath in all that follows:

There is a man, whom, shall we call, Frederick? Yes, it is a rather nice name! Indeed, let’s start with Frederick. Just last week Frederick was swimming in a lake, his arse crack and cheeks the first thing one would see, if they looked down from the balconies on the opposite street. And as he got out of the lake, stretching his naked body in all his splendour, had you looked from the balconies mentioned previously, you would see his torso and nipples erect from the cold water. His penis gleamed with the reflection of street lamps as water dripped down from the head onto the puddle he’d left. And had you been sat on one of those balconies that fateful night, you would have witnessed a death so grotesque you would be stumbling to find your words. For a man, who remains nameless and indeed faceless wormed his way up to the lake, in complete silence, Just as an owl seemingly glides towards its prey. The detectives knocked on neighbouring houses and streets the next day, trying to get a vision of that most bloody night! When they knocked on dear old Alices door, she was consumed absolutely from the sheer fright of it. “I saw it all!” she exclaimed, eyes wide and a tremor throughout her body.
“Sit down, Miss, ” the main detective said, “Now tell us, what exactly did you see?”
Alice sat down and put her head in her hands, “Blood, so much blood.”
“Anything before that?” The other detective asked, a smaller man than the first.
“Yes, Frederick was swimming in the lake.” She stops talking at once, as a thought enters her head and a naughty smile almost creeps on her face ‘what a time for such thoughts’ she said to herself silently, scolding herself.
“Please, carry on,” the bigger detective said, looking serious.
“He got out of the lake, he was stretching when he….” she lifted her eyes from her shoes, what they were doing on her shoes and not on her; you’ll never know. Anyhow, I digress, she lifted her eyes and put them in their rightful place, looking towards the officer with an intensity that could sting, “He, that man, that monster sneaked up behind him and….” She covered her mouth and shifted her eyes, water beginning to pour out of them. “Well you know the rest.” she sniffed.
“No, Miss, we don’t.” The main detective said, his jaw clenching with agitation.
“Well you’ve seen the mess!” she hissed.
“Yes, but I’m asking what you saw. I am a witness only to the aftermath, not the crime.” He reminded her, “please,” he nodded his head towards her “Do go on.”
“Well this man who, who I couldn’t make out very well,”
“Let me stop you there,” the chief detective interrupted, “how do you know it’s a man if you can’t make the killer out?”
“It was a man alright!” Alice exclaimed, her nostrils flaring, “no woman would do such a thing,” she shook her head, “not like that, anyway!”
“You’d be surprised,” the chief detective said.
“Are you here to question me as a suspect, or do you want to hear my account of the nightmare?” She asked assertively.
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture.”
“Oh, well next time I’ll make sure to take a photo of any crime I witness, shall I?” What a sassy character Alice was turning out to be.
“Okay,” the detective sighed. Meanwhile, the other smaller detective was pacing around the lounge inspecting pictures up on the wall. “Carry on.”
“I couldn’t make him out, but I saw something like a pair of scissors, but bigger,” she tapped at her skull, “ah what do you call them?” she closed her eyes tight, “Ah bugger! What do ya call them damn things?”
“Garden shears, perhaps, Mrs..” the smaller detective said, letting the word Mrs roll on his tongue as a question.
“I’m not married.”
“Miss?” He let that word roll too.
“Miss Cleaves”
“Okay, Miss Cleaves”
“Yes now we have that formality out the way, what was your suggestion?”
“Garden shears.”
Alice Cleaves eyes lit up, “Yes!” she slapped her thigh, “Yes! That is what they were, garden shears!”
“So let me get this straight” the bigger detective started, scribbling something in a notebook, “You couldn’t make the perpetrator out, but you could make out that the weapon of choice was a pair of shears?”
“Or something like them!”
“Then what did you see?” The shorter one asked, interrupting his own inspection of a family portrait, turning back to it as he waited for an answer.
“Well, the next thing I know, I hear this startled sound, across between a stifled scream and a sob and then his head was cut clean off!” She looks down at her shoes, “Oh god, it’s so awful!” she cries.
“I see you like gardening,” the smaller of the two detectives said now stood at the doors leading onto her balcony, he opened the doors and pulled out a pair of shears from some dirt in a plant pot.
The detective sat on the couch in front of her, looked at his partner then towards Alice, “do you mind if we bag them?”
She was visibly shaken at such an idea, “you’re treating me like a suspect again!”
The detective smiled, “Everyone is a suspect, Miss Cleaves. Even lovely ladies such as yourself.”
“You can’t seriously believe I could…” she pauses, possibly for effect, she shakes her head “do that.” she finishes in a whisper.
“I don’t believe, Miss Cleaves,” the detective said, “I don’t believe a single thing.”
“So what do you believe?” not realising the stupidity of her question, given what he had just said.
“As I said, I don’t believe anything.”
“But you must think I had something to do with it, to..” she rubs her forehead as if a headache is coming on, “to want to take them away,” she pointed at the shears, “for evidence!” she exclaimed.
“I don’t believe; I just look for evidence. I’m going by your word, scissor-like weapon, possibly shears, and what do we have here? A pair of shears, so one must investigate.”
“Well, you won’t find anything untoward with those.” She told them.
“Yes, one can hope, and I certainly do hope that is the case.” the detective smiles. “Now,” he turns to his partner, “Hugh, shall we?”
Hugh takes the shears and closes the door, “yes, very well.” He heads towards the front door, “Thank you for all your information, Miss Cleaves.”
Alice stands with her arms folded, looking at the bigger detective, “You’d do well to get manners like Hugh here.” she nods towards Hugh.
“Hugh’s young. He’ll learn one day.” the detective chuckles.