Just Another Day

WARNING: This story contains elements of police brutality, , terrorism, , sexual , racism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia and coarse language. Depiction does not equal endorsement, and the attitudes and actions presented in the story do not necessarily reflect the views of the writer.

Recommended reading music: Kid Rock - Bawitdaba (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OrNS2zbTZg)

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"Lovelace is untouchable."

"Nobody is untouchable, Detective Othmani. Nobody."

"Yeah, I mean, in an ideal world. But she's connected, and the whole... thing with her, you know they aren't gonna prosecute unless they absolutely have to. And she's dropped bodies. Two I know about, probably more. The bitch is like Galadriel with a badge. I shouldn't be showing you all this stuff, if she finds out..."

"Only people who know about it are me and you. I'm not gonna tell anyone. So lemme know, Othmani... is anyone gonna find out?"

"...No. Just make it quick. I need to get those case files back to the precinct before anyone notices they're missing."

"It's gonna take the time it takes. Our girl's gotten up to a lot of shit over the years. I'm gonna go over it with a fine tooth comb."

"Fine. Look, I've got places to be. Truss just texted me, we've caught another body. Can you hit me up when you're done?"

"Will do. Got get 'em, tiger."

As the detective departs you take a seat at the formica table. You fan the case files out on the table, nice and pretty, like a blackjack dealer on a riverboat casino.

"It's in one of these files, you hear me, Lovelace?!" you announce to the room. You weren't in the habit of going Clint Eastwood on the furnishings, but it felt appropriate, given the momentous circumstances. "One slip up, one mistake. The one thing I need, to get you that suite in Pelican Bay."

Reaching into your jacket pocket, you open a fresh pack of Juicy Fruit and shove a couple of sticks in your mouth.

Selecting a case file at random, you open it and dive into the filth.