All characters belong to the creators of The District. The title's from Tom Waits. Please send feedback.
And A Broken Shoe... III: Nighthawks At The Diner
Cinnamon
"...And the guy looks up at me, tears brimming in his eyes, and
says, 'I paid fifteen dollars for a prostitute with too much makeup
and a broken shoe.'" Mannion nodded towards Pierce. "Nicky, hand me
the blueberry syrup."
Temple laughed. "And that was his reason for killing his wife?"
"I guess she found out how much he'd been spending on hookers and
they got into a fight. One thing led to another and he beaned her
with a vase."
Pierce buttered a piece of toast. "He couldn't have been spending
that much if he was getting these girls for fifteen bucks a pop. Or
a blow, or--"
Ella slid into the booth next to McGregor. "Watch your mouth, young
man. There's a lady in your midst."
"Ella, I'm shocked." Mannion handed her a menu. "I thought you were
one of the boys."
Ella slipped off her scarf. "I was talking about Temple."
Laughter erupted from the table. Pierce punched Temple lightly in
the arm and McGregor mumbled something unintelligible.
"Man, stop talking with your mouth full." Temple pushed a forkful of
eggs around on his plate. "I can't understand a word you're saying."
Pierce snorted and sipped his coffee. "Don't blame it on the food.
I can never understand a word he's saying."
"Hey, Pierce." McGregor made an obscene gesture.
"Got that one."
Ella addressed the group. "So what's the latest on the Scolesi case?"
McGregor drained his glass of orange juice. "Nothing new since
yesterday. Temple and I are going to talk to the family this
morning, try to put to rest these feelings that we have about them."
Mannion placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands. "What
kind of feelings?"
"That they're lying to us," Temple answered. "At least one of them
is. For all we know, the whole bunch of them could be in on it."
"What makes you say that, Temple?"
"Their stories don't match up, Chief. They're all trying too hard.
The brother sweats all the time."
Pierce stuffed a piece of fruit into his mouth. "Maybe he's just hot-
blooded."
Mannion poured cream into his coffee. "You've got your hands full
with this one, don't you, Nicky?"
He groaned. "We're talking about the murder of a local television
personality. The press eats this kind of shit up with a spoon."
"So sorry that the loss of a life is a PR nightmare for you,
Pierce." McGregor nibbled on a piece of bacon.
"Everybody bitches about their job, McGregor." Pierce used a piece
of toast to wipe up some egg from his plate. "Don't act like you're
the exception."
"I complain about the bureaucrats and the red tape. I don't complain
because somebody's death is an inconvenience for me."
Pierce shrugged. "It's your job to deal with the victims and their
loved ones. I don't have to see the kind of stuff that you guys
see. I just have to keep the press satisfied."
Mannion peppered his eggs. "Their flesh is too much like the flesh
of men, and their perfume has the rotten sweetness of corruption."
Pierce raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"General Sternwood, `The Big Sleep.' Come on, you've never seen that
movie?" Mannion glanced around the table at their blank
faces. "Charles Waldron, John Ridgely?"
Temple chewed on a grape. "Sorry, Chief."
"Come on! Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall?" Mannion shook his
head. "I'm telling you, kids today have no culture. No appreciation
for the things that came before them."
"You sound like an old man, Chief," Ella grinned.
"I am what I am."
"Popeye!" Pierce snapped his fingers. "See, I've got culture."
McGregor pushed his plate towards the center of the table. "Yeah,
pop culture, maybe."
Mannion looked at everyone. "Are we done here?"
Temple, Pierce, and McGregor reached for their wallets and tossed
money next to their plates. Ella rustled through her purse and
grabbed her last two slices of toast. "Let's hit the road."
Mannion slid out of the booth and watched the others do the
same. "Come on, folks. We've got work to do."
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