The sounds of humans moving across the floor. The scent of tobacco, their voices ringing across the room. Was I inhuman? Or…..am I human? Their voices ringed and confused me. My hands clenched the cold steel in my hands as pain shot across my palms, only causing me to grip tighter. My eyes darted, the rivers of red separating the men from my corner territory. I’m not human, I’m a wolf. A predator tired of being prey……..yea………..that’s what I am. A predator…….then why are my cheeks wet at the sight of my prey…….or was he the predator…..
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The sight in front of the men fit the gloom filled night. A single bedroom apartment, overlooking the busy New Orleans street where passerby’s laughed, swore, and professed love. It was a little after 1am but the busy restaurant district didn’t seem to notice, and continued to invite all to share in the hedonism. Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad down there, but up here it certainly was. Two men stood back from the frame of the cowering girl. The third foreigner to the room moved in, her voice coaxing…soft and sweet. A social worker that had recently been added to the police department on some government initiative. Bullshit Isaac thought honestly, but he didn’t make the calls. He wasn’t even here officially.
As she spoke, Isaac felt the warm smoke fill his lungs before breathing out, letting the smoke fill the night air at the nearby window. The smell of cigar tobacco wafting. Careful to keep the burning end on the windowsill as to not dilute the crime scene. A tall dark haired man stood next to him. Arms crossed, eyes moving over the room. The sheets strewn about, puddles of blood, and the very dead man with his face on the floor and ass up in the air still propped on the bed. This unflattering death position was well deserved for the crimes committed, so no one was in a hurry to offer respect to the deadman. He hadn’t earned it with his life, so his death would get no preferential treatment.
A light couch on the PI’s part caused the girl to snap her head around, a fresh stream of blood moving down the home made shiv she had created for this very night. A leer from the social worker, and a feigned face of apology on his part. His eyes had already ravaged the room, for any clue and detail. However, his part of the job was done. He’d a little foolishly hoped for a better outcome, but still the job was over. He’d get his payment, and it would be in to the next job.
In total it took 45 minutes before the girl was led away. Draped with a blanket, the social worker would lead her to the ambulance, and eventually to the hospital where her parents already were waiting. Once they left more cops entered the room. Spatter analysts, photographers, and another detective cataloging and capturing as many details as they could. All through this Isaac continued to sit on the windowsill, gently puffing away in the disgusting habit he’d picked up from his cousin. He only smoked at the tail end of a tough case. A reward for himself and a sacrifice of health to powers beyond what he could see. An avid runner, he saw it as a fair sacrifice in the absence of the sacrifice of time for prayer.
Another hour and twenty three minutes and finally it was only Isaac and the dark haired detective. Chewing on the end of the now out cigar he’d lean out the window and spit it out. Pulling his head back in he smiled at the sound of the hipster he’d nailed from a floor up. “Well Jacque case solved I guess…”. He’d say spreading out his arms a half smile on his lips.
If someone saw Isaac Hellsinger they would very likely overlook him. So overt and obvious rarely was he seen as the PI he was. Short cut hair swooped in the front only to touch his shoulders in a mullet 40 some years last it’s time. A mustache and eyes full of laughter decorated his well tanned face from the summer heat. Long and gangly he crossed the room quickly to stand next to the corpse.
“It’s Jake, you know that.” The dark haired man would say kneeling down also beside the corpse. Pushing it over causing Isaac to jump back.”
“Aye that’s not nice Detective Larount.” Isaac would chirp just before a long whistle. Kneeling on the other side his eyes crossed across the deep gashes. From the nether regions to the throat little was left untorn. “Well, not that he didn’t deserve it…..fat bastard.”
A grunt came from the detectives throat. “I’d say so. She is either number 4 or 5. Makings of a serial killer…..among other things.”
Both men stood, a passing car sent a bright light into the room. Visions of restraints, tape, knives flooded the room. Burned into the minds of the two men most paid to pay attention. “Well, it at least makes you rethink the 50 shades of impossibility books aye?” Isaac would say, finally illicitly a chuckle from the more stoic figure.
“Yea……you could say that. Sadists Aren’t really the dream boat type.” The older detective would rub his face. Deep wrinkles moved to only form more crevices. “Alright, do your thing. I’m sure we’d both like to get home.” He would gesture at the body.
“You’re wish my hands detective.” His voice still at odds with the room. Reaching into his pocket he’d pull out a brown ball on a string. Letting the ball unravel it would soon be revealed to be a shrunken head, and the string a nasty collection of hair with tiny animal bones tied throughout. Kneeling once again he’d hold his arm so the head gentle wing his above the mouth of the corpse. The unseeing eyes looking at Isaac, who gave it a wink. “ou sekrè, yo pa pou ou ankò. yo se mond yo, yo se mwen”. The creole words flowed out, and as they did the little shrunken head’s eyes fluttered open. “Care for do the honors Jacque?”
“No” the shrunken head shouted.
“Not you Conan.”
“Hurry up Jacque or it’ll keep answering any of the questions.”
A sigh from the New Orleans homicide unit detective, followed by several questions. The little head answering each one in a monotonous tone. The scribbling of pencil on paper taking notes of locations, dates, and descriptions. Finally, the questions stopped, and without dignity the head was pulled up like a yo-yo only to be stuffed back into the PI’s pocket.
“Damn thing always makes my hand numb.” He’d say shaking his left hand attempting to restore feeling. “Well, any other services I can provide Jacque?”
Rolling his eyes, and giving a shrug the detective headed for the door. “No I think that’ll do it for tonight. Wife’s gonna kill me.” He’d say looking at his wrist watch. Quarter till 4am. Another late night, or early morning. It was hard to tell.
“Well anytime.” Isaac would say holding out his hand. It’d be met with a shake and several hundred dollar bills. On top of the thousand he’d been paid by the family, it had been a lucrative if not depressing job, for a weeks worth of work. The two men moved from the apartment building taking notes of the passing around the door frame to sound proof the small living space.
“Keep your nose clean Isaac.”
“Yea you do the same old man.” And with that Isaac Hellsinger fell into the small crowd disappearing into the night from the detectives view. Making his way across town, he’d eventually call an Uber and finish the adventure. A few stairs, a wave at the old lady who owned the building and was always up, key in the lock, then face first into bed. Harlequin’s eyes looked up only to go back beneath his wing. “Yea yea, must be nice.” Isaac would say to his parrot on its perch bedside. “Ahh fuck.” He’d say beneath his breath, reaching into the bulge pressing into him from his pocket. Unceremoniously he’d pitch the head to land and roll on the dresser. Coming to a stop after bumping into several crystals, pendants, and tarot cards.
His eyes wouldn’t have even fully closed before the old woman scooted into his room, placing down a plate, and steaming cup of coffee. “Ahh granny, your the best.” He’d say to the waving hand leaving the room. Taking a bite of bacon, and a sip of burning joe, he’d lay back, opening the latest issue of Free!. A little reading, then a nap. He has a meeting at 3pm, when one job ends, gods willing another begins.
by 
