Delilah had a hangover. She had spent the previous evening with her usual man-tourage, the entire membership of which would commit heinous crimes for a chance in her bed. She remembered a drunk stranger in a suit approaching her in the vibrating rutilant haze, You gonna let these guys finger bang you with their dicks all night or do you wanna wake up with some self-respect all over yer face? She had laughed into his nose as her cadre of brown boys with their slick black hair and full curriculum of thuggery rose to her defense. More so to their own defense, she thought to herself. She had grown bored with them early and as a result, imbibed far too much sake.
She slumped over the short little bar in her apartment, drinking coffee with her eyes closed and her extremities tingling ever so like barren foliage. Her homely little roommate sat curled in feline vogue on the divan behind her, working the remote to the large television hanging on the wall. Delilah winced at each diverted channel. On the brink of eruption, she turned to her roommate with her head swimming and her annoyance charged but before her rage could pour forth, a voice on the television uttered the words, Calvary Fellowship... Stop right there. Her roommate released the button and gave her a rolling study of disgust. Bitch, I wanna hear this, Delilah told her and moved to the vacant space on the seat near her roommate’s feet. It’s the fucking news, Dee. Just let me watch it.
So, here we are three months later, Mr. Dawson, the crisply manicured female said, what more do we know about the thieves, or is it thief? It’s thief, Wanda, her guest responded with a chuckle, one person; and to answer your question, we know no more now than we did three months ago; by all accounts this has turned out to be a perfect crime. Perfect? aside from the death of a church employee, you mean. There has been a lot of speculation about Mr. Hightower’s possible involvement but there’s just no evidence to link him or his death to the robbery; it’s pure speculation; his death was just a strange coincidence, drug overdose, that’s all. Wanda, that’s just not true, a third person boxed next to Dawson in the frame interjected, both of their heads floating above a thin news ticker. We have several people who contend that Mr. Hightower had a grudge against the church. But does that prove he was involved in the caper? asked Dawson. He has a point, Mr. Simms; just because Hightower had issues with the church doesn’t necessarily equate to his involvement. Well, I’m interested in how Mr. Dawson would explain how one person could’ve put a dated seal on the handle of an enclosure that this one person was supposedly locked inside of; and how does he explain the convenience of the timing of Mr. Hightower’s death? I honestly don’t see how anyone could possibly believe that one person could’ve committed this crime. First of all, Mr. Simms, we have video of the crime. No, sir, we have some video of the crime, some that suggests that, yes, Hightower was obviously involved. Oh, here we go with the trashcan theory. I’m not a trashcan theorist, Mr. Dawson, but there’s not one person, not one expert who sees anything crawl out of that money drop on the security video. But there are a lot of experts who say if the emergency vehicle lights hadn’t blinded the camera, we would see the thief crawl out of that hole. If and we would see are strange words with which to build a hypothesis. It’s the only workable theory. Can we back up? because I contend that the video shows two people running across the parking lot that night.
As the argument continued, Delilah’s attention faded into solemn retrospection. She looked into the screen but the tidy pathways of her crystalline mind flooded with all the muddy details she knew about Dagwood Hightower and Marcus Hatchet, awash in conversations with Woody about Hatchet’s good looks, drowning in the many questions Hatchet had asked about Woody’s employment at the church. The moment she heard of the robbery and Woody’s death, she knew what had transpired. She knew Hatchet had been lying to her from the moment she met him. She remembered calling him over and over that morning and cursing him daily in the following weeks. Even though she felt compelled when police began asking any citizens who might have information to come forward, she never contacted them. Unnatural as any predator fighting the urge to kill, she curbed her craving to correct inaccuracies in conversations overheard at restaurants and parties.
She slumped over the short little bar in her apartment, drinking coffee with her eyes closed and her extremities tingling ever so like barren foliage. Her homely little roommate sat curled in feline vogue on the divan behind her, working the remote to the large television hanging on the wall. Delilah winced at each diverted channel. On the brink of eruption, she turned to her roommate with her head swimming and her annoyance charged but before her rage could pour forth, a voice on the television uttered the words, Calvary Fellowship... Stop right there. Her roommate released the button and gave her a rolling study of disgust. Bitch, I wanna hear this, Delilah told her and moved to the vacant space on the seat near her roommate’s feet. It’s the fucking news, Dee. Just let me watch it.
So, here we are three months later, Mr. Dawson, the crisply manicured female said, what more do we know about the thieves, or is it thief? It’s thief, Wanda, her guest responded with a chuckle, one person; and to answer your question, we know no more now than we did three months ago; by all accounts this has turned out to be a perfect crime. Perfect? aside from the death of a church employee, you mean. There has been a lot of speculation about Mr. Hightower’s possible involvement but there’s just no evidence to link him or his death to the robbery; it’s pure speculation; his death was just a strange coincidence, drug overdose, that’s all. Wanda, that’s just not true, a third person boxed next to Dawson in the frame interjected, both of their heads floating above a thin news ticker. We have several people who contend that Mr. Hightower had a grudge against the church. But does that prove he was involved in the caper? asked Dawson. He has a point, Mr. Simms; just because Hightower had issues with the church doesn’t necessarily equate to his involvement. Well, I’m interested in how Mr. Dawson would explain how one person could’ve put a dated seal on the handle of an enclosure that this one person was supposedly locked inside of; and how does he explain the convenience of the timing of Mr. Hightower’s death? I honestly don’t see how anyone could possibly believe that one person could’ve committed this crime. First of all, Mr. Simms, we have video of the crime. No, sir, we have some video of the crime, some that suggests that, yes, Hightower was obviously involved. Oh, here we go with the trashcan theory. I’m not a trashcan theorist, Mr. Dawson, but there’s not one person, not one expert who sees anything crawl out of that money drop on the security video. But there are a lot of experts who say if the emergency vehicle lights hadn’t blinded the camera, we would see the thief crawl out of that hole. If and we would see are strange words with which to build a hypothesis. It’s the only workable theory. Can we back up? because I contend that the video shows two people running across the parking lot that night.
As the argument continued, Delilah’s attention faded into solemn retrospection. She looked into the screen but the tidy pathways of her crystalline mind flooded with all the muddy details she knew about Dagwood Hightower and Marcus Hatchet, awash in conversations with Woody about Hatchet’s good looks, drowning in the many questions Hatchet had asked about Woody’s employment at the church. The moment she heard of the robbery and Woody’s death, she knew what had transpired. She knew Hatchet had been lying to her from the moment she met him. She remembered calling him over and over that morning and cursing him daily in the following weeks. Even though she felt compelled when police began asking any citizens who might have information to come forward, she never contacted them. Unnatural as any predator fighting the urge to kill, she curbed her craving to correct inaccuracies in conversations overheard at restaurants and parties.
Edit 12.1.2018