The interview was over. Constable Jenny and Constable Jackson got what they needed, alibi as well as some hair samples from the Tucker resident. The two officers leaned against the wall of the fifth floor hallway, waiting for their elevator. It was slow, stopping at every floor before theirs.
While waiting, Jenny gave a small sigh. Then busied herself by swiping a backhand across Jackson’s chest. “I – cannot – BELIEVE YOU!”
Jackson looked at where Jenny struck him. With a flat face, he brushed the dust off his shirt, “Look. Jeans. When you got to go, you got to go! What? I ain’t gonna toot my trombone in the middle of the room and say ‘Sorry had breakfast burritos this morning’. That would be too awkward.”
“Could you, at the very least, hold it until AFTER our duties!?” Jenny resisted the urge to full tilt yell in the apartment hallways. Not wanting to scare any children inside, she could only suppress her frustration with a groan and covering her eyes with shame, “The man lost his wife, his company is hitting a slump, relies on an inhaler, and he cried during the interview! I feel absolutely TERRIBLE for this man – and you go and leave a stinky in his toilet!?”
“Gurl,” Jackson raised a hand to adjust his fedora hat that slipped on a tilt, “if you have a habit of holding in number 2 for hours, you got health issues. I’m an officer of the law, not RoboCop.”
Jenny spun on her heels to turn her back on Jackson. One, it was the most polite way of saying go screw himself. Two, she can’t handle the intense feeling of embarrassment in her small body.
“Relaaax, Jeanny Jeans. The guy is fine, I’m sure. He’s already got a back up plan.”
“My brain hurts too much to understand your cryptic sarcasm. What are you suggesting?”
“Be thinkin he’s got another girl in mind,” Jackson would rub his chin with a cheeky grin, “I mean, I noticed he switched out his wife’s old towels with a brand new one. Even her own toothbrush is fresh from the box. Guessing he’s got an opening for a new babe...or boy if he’s a switch hitter.”
Jenny closed her eyes. She would take several deep and calming breaths, before swinging her police tablet to smack Jackson all over. A game of whack a mole!
“YOU – ARE – THE – WORST!”
“OW! STOP! AAGH! POLICE BRUTALITY! POLICE BRUTA—AAHG!!”
“Pfffft.” A sound came around the corner, suppressing the urge to laugh. Both Constables stop their war, and peered around.
A housewife was hiding behind the corner of the hall. The mole on her upper lip curled up with her sly smirk, full lips painted in velvet quivered to keep from laughing, and her extended eyelashes battering. She took a moment to carefully wipe a tear before it ruined her eyeliner.
“You two married?” the housewife asked in a teasing tone.
Jenny covered her mouth, “Please miss, no.”
Jackson tipped his hat over his eyes, “No way ho-zay, lady.”
“Gooood.” The woman laughed and pulled out a cigarette, “If I were you, sugar, I’d thiiink real hard before either of you be gettin hitched. Don’t want to see you warring like them Tuckers every day.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
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“So, about the Tuckeeeeeeeers?”
Jackson slid over to lean right next to the housewife. With a flick of a hand, a lighter appears in his palm and he helped to light the woman’s cigarette. She took in a deep drag, part of the cigarette tip turning into ashes, and she exhaled a thick cloud. Jenny took a step back to avoid getting hit by the trail of smoke, flattening her nostrils to block the smell.
“Oh don’t mind me sugar,” the housewife laughed and took another drag, “My hubby isn’t a fan of the old smoke and cigar. Grocery shopping is the only time I can relief myself. Now, where did little ol’ me trail off at – aaaaah yes..”
Jackson nod, paying close attention to her with a friendly chuckle. Jenny tried not to cough too loud and pulled out her phone to start taking notes. The housewife took another long drag, giving out a happy and relaxed exhale that filled up the hall.
“Them Tuckers. They’re always at it. They’ve lived here longer than me and my hubby and there hasn’t been a day I don’t hear them yelling at each other. All that arguing would make even court case drama look like a cheap soap opera.”
“You know them well?” Jackson wondered as he adjusted his fedora, “how close?”
“Oh heaven forbid, I don’t even wanna go near them.” The housewife makes a huff and folds her arms, the cigarette in her fingers dripping ash on the polished floor “Just your regular hi and good bye, they don’t even give me or my hubby the time of day. Every time the Tuckers leave their apartment, they can’t even look at each other in the eye. I even seen Mr. Tucker take the stairs and Mrs. Tucker the elevator at the same time.”
“Do you know what they argue about?” Jenny asked as he typed on her phone, waving her hand to fight off the smoke, “Other than meeting them at the door way what else do you see about them?”
“Oh honey, wait till you see them reaally go at it,” the housewife laughed, but covers her mouth when she felt she was too loud and continued in a gossiping hush. “I see them duke it out. Yeah, I watch them through my kitchen window. When they get reaaal angry, they start throwing fists and slaps. They always cause a ruckus. Seen Mr. Tucker throw a chair at the ground to threaten her. Reaaal bad. It gets so wild, I couldn’t take my eyes off them while I have some popcorn.” The housewife paused when she sees Jenny staring at her, “What? Can you blame me? Sure married life is all posh, but it can sometimes be just boring. I woman’s got to have her entertainment to keep the family together, no?”
A shrug and the woman waved her cigarette hand to the other apartment doors. “My guess everyone here must be used to them Tuckers. No one here made so much as a peep to management to complain. Not gonna lie, them Tuckers look like a real mess no one wants to touch.”
The housewife took another puff, already halfway through her cigarette. With one tap of her finger a large clump of ash would drop on the floor
Jenny cringed at the sight. In the end she composed herself to ask, “When was the last time you saw them argue? Did you see Mrs. Tucker ever come back?”
“Hmm...about two weeks ago. I caught a glimpse of Mr. Tucker coming home alone around that late at night looking mighty exhausted. Since then I haven’t caught a beep of Mrs. Tucker and—Wait wait wait.” The housewife then realized something and put the cigarette to her lips in defence, “Which unit number you say you’re from again?”
The Constables exchanged glances, then pull out their police ID to say, “C.I.D.”
“O-oh my would you look at the time. I have to go pick up the kids.” The housewife rush to the elevator to press the buttons. When it was too slow she returned an awkward laugh and booked down the stairs. Nothing but the sound of her stiletto shoes tapping wildly down the steps could be heard, like nails rattling a keyboard.
It was in this moment, the elevator finally arrived. Jackson stepped in first and pressed the ground floor. As it closed, he suddenly reached out to stop it from shutting. “Yo. Jeans, you coming?”
When he poked his head out from the gap, he could see Jenny crouched down to pick up the ashes and cigarette butt with a tissue, throwing it out to a nearby garbage can with an ash holder. Wiping her hands with sanitizing alcohol, she would step into the elevator and stand in a corner in silence all the way.
“Clean freak.”
“Slob."
== TO BE CONTINUED ==>