Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Connor grabs Randy by the back of her head, his big hand curled in her riotous red mane. It’s not technically how anyone should be held, but she one hundred percent deserves it and more. I turn a blind eye as he marches her toward the cells, complaining the whole time about her rights, etcetera.
“I’m going to protect my sources!” She declares. “I don’t care what you do to me. You can beat me, you can…”
“Beating you is a damn good idea,” Connor growls, and spanks her ass. Hard. The sight of his big palm meeting her deserving round ass is so damn satisfying I have to stuff my sleeve into my mouth to stop myself from busting out laughing. The sound it makes is even better, a harsh crack that echoes around the largely empty precinct. I wish Sally were here to see this. I miss her so damn much.
About twenty or so minutes later, Connor comes into my, our office, shuts the door behind himself and leans back against it, giving me what I can only describe as a haunted look. I’m going to guess his prisoner gave him as much trouble as he gave her.
“Tell me you got a lead on Sally. I have Randy Carrot in a cell, but I’m not going to be able to hold her legally for more than twenty-four hours.”
“Why do you have Randy Carrot in a cell?”
I pretend I hear the yelling or see the spanking. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s something going on between the chief and Randy. I hope there isn’t. He’s far too good for her. She’s worse than a vulture. Vultures just want to feed. Randy isn’t happy unless she’s humiliating someone.
“She knows something is happening,” he says. “She’s telling me she has pictures of moth creatures, and she knows that one of our detectives is missing.”
“How could she possibly know that?”
“She’s nearly supernatural in what she finds out,” he says with a growl and a sideways glance.
It’s not supernatural. Someone in the department is leaking. It’s obvious and simple and it doesn’t make it any easier to find. Chief’s been dealing with this for months now. At first it was a minor annoyance, but now it feels like lives could truly be at stake.
“Maybe we should interrogate her instead of looking for leads, if she already has the information.”
“I’d put money on her getting more out of you than you do out of her.”
He’s probably right, but those words are a challenge to my ego. I am a professional detective, looking for a close friend. Randy fucking Carrot is not going to get the better of me.
“Put her in an interview room, boss,” I say. “Let me at her.”
“Last time I saw you, there was a lot more of your insides on the outside.”
That’s Randy’s opening salvo as I walk through the door. I want very much to hit her with the clipboard I’m carrying, but I’m a professional and I manage my impulses.
“Hello, Ms Carrick,” I say, taking a seat on the other side of the table. “Chief tells me you have some information on the whereabouts of a missing NYPD detective.”
Randy smirks at me, her eyes dancing with a secret. The secret to interrogation is finding a pressure point. Usually that is the threat of imprisonment, but Randy is far too comfortable around officers of the law and in the system in general. She knows we don’t really have anything on her.
“I’m going to make the Brooklyn Mothman as legendary as the Point Pleasant sighting,” she says. “I have a story dropping any day now.”
“Here’s the thing, Randy,” I say. “Nobody cares about monsters in Brooklyn. Point Pleasant is a sleepy little rural backwater. They get excited by fast food chains. You’re never going to make a name for yourself trying to panic people around here.”
“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe not. Maybe I have sources who swear that they saw an NYPD detective half naked in the sky, having sex with a monstrous mothman.”
“Alright, so your theory is we’re down a detective because she’s off having sky sex. And that’s the story you think is going to ignite Brooklyn.”
“No,” she says. “I think the picture I have of that event happening is going to ignite Brooklyn.”
“So you’ve got some weird photoshopped porn.” I sigh. “Dammit, Carrot. I thought you might actually have something of use, but all you’ve got is the usual tabloid trash. We might as well let you go.”
“People are going to care,” she says, defensively.
“They’re not going to, though, are they? We both know it. You could risk your life for years getting scoops and making enemies, all for most people to pay more attention to a fifteen-second video where an attractive twenty-two-year-old performs lackluster dance moves demonstrating nothing.”
Randy’s face falls. I’ve hit her where it hurts. Even trashy exploitative journals like hers aren’t immune to the ongoing media collapse. People are tired of news. They want entertainment. For a while that worked in her favor, but now they’re turning away from her brand of trash too.