01 April 2010
"Two Scoops" #Fridayflash
Jackson sat there in handcuffs, slick as an oil-spill in his sateen getup, feathered black hair, and thin moustache. He'd been around the block a couple of times. Hillcroft was no more than an unbroken bronco: wheat-colored hair and glaring green eyes as he tugged at his restraints. A new dealer to the thug enterprise, an ex-boxer and thief that wasn't all right upstairs, Hillcroft clearly disturbed Jackson.
"And so I opened the trunk, and oh sweet baby Jesus, if Hillcroft hadn't made ten bodies fit in the back of that T-Bird."
"You say ten bodies?" Marilyn (just Marilyn) was a tough broad, one of the few on the force. Her daddy was a cop, so she just walked into the job, but soon proved herself to have bigger balls than the rest of them.
"You told me to get rid of them," Hillcroft shot back and glared across the metal table at Jackson.
"I want him outta here," Jackson said to Marilyn, "He's crazy. I got my rights you know."
"Pipe down both of you," she said and leaned over the table at the younger thug. "This true Bill-Hill? You fit ten bodies in the back of a 1974 Thunderbird?"
Hillcroft grinned. "Ain't nobody called me Bill-Hill in ages. I did."
"You cheated, you little shit," Jackson growled."Bill-Hill. He's proud of that you know."
"I did your record up by a couple."
Marilyn pushed off of the table and smirked.
"And this is why you were found off State 90, scooping parts out of the trunk with shovels like kids with sundae spoons."
"I told him not to cut off the goddamn legs. Not the fucking legs."
"It was more than legs from looking at the photos." Marilyn spread out the 9X11 glossies on the worn surface. "Distinctly Picasso. And to think, if you'd just taken two trips, you wouldn't be here."
Jackson kicked Hillcroft under the table.