Popcorn

Chapter Nineteen

‘Did you see that movie Ordinary Americans?’ the detective, whose name was Crawford, enquired through a cloud of blueberrymuffin crumbs.

‘Please close your mouth when you’re eating,’ his partner, Detective Jay, replied. ‘It makes me sick to my stomach.’

‘You make me laugh, Frank. Most days you get to see the insides of some poor fuckin’ dead guy or a smackhead drowned in his own puke and yet still my spit offends you.’

‘Just because we work in a pigsty doesn’t mean we gotta act like pigs.’

‘So did you see the movie?’ Another deposit of muffin crumbs.

‘Yeah, I saw the movie.’

‘And?’

‘And when they finally blow me away, I hope I look half as good. Look, I don’t care about any movie right now. I’m thinking, OK? Working. Remember work? Or maybe the city pays you to redistribute food.’

‘Oh my God, that’s funny. I can’t wait to have grandchildren so I can tell them how funny you are.’

Detective Jay ignored his partner. ‘These two psychos, they’re in LA, you know that?’ He was looking at the map he had made of Wayne and Scout’s most recent atrocities, plotting their course. ‘Look, they were heading straight down the interstate. Sure they left it after they did the motel murders, but if you plot a path between the caravan park and the 711, they are clearly heading for town.’

‘Maybe they turned around.’

‘Sure they did. They’re in LA, I’m telling you.’

‘Like we didn’t have enough psychos in LA already, for Christ’s sake,’ Crawford said. ‘You think they’re looking to go to ground?’

‘I doubt it. These wackos are attentionseekers. Serial showoffs. I mean, for Christ’s sake, making out against a Slurpy Pup in front of a bunch of bulletriddled shoppers! They think they’re some kind of twentyfirstcentury Bonnie and Clyde. I don’t see them wanting to lose themselves in a big city.’

‘Maybe they’re visiting relatives.’

Detective Jay looked again at the crime report on Wayne ’s attempted murder of the old storekeeper.

‘Bourbon, smokes, pretzels… and a guide to the movie people’s homes.’

On the desk in front of him was a copy of the LA Times , the front page cover of which carried a picture of Bruce holding his Oscar, alongside a picture of a corpsestrewn 711 and the obligatory piece on violence influencing kids and copycat killings.

‘Movie people’s homes,’ Detective Jay repeated. ‘Hey Joe, that picture, Ordinary Americans. Who were the stars?’

‘Kurt Kidman and Suzanne Schaefer, although there were a lot of cameos. Anyhow, I thought you didn’t care about no movies.’

‘Yeah, well, I changed my mind.’