Mark M Bulmer

"And it smelled bad."

The two of them nodded at each other vigorously, the enormous up-do bun things atop their heads swaying dangerously. Feet tall, each of them.

"So bad."

"Like … bad."

"Annnnnnd … what did it smell like?"

They looked at each other. They nodded to each other. They looked back to me.

"Buttfarts," they said at the same time.

It took me a moment to process the word. I'm pretty damn sure any spellcheck on the planet would flag it as a bullshit, made-up piece of crap.

"Buttfarts," I repeated. "Which smell like?"

"Oh, no."

"She didn't just ask that, did she?'

"Ewwww."

"You're so gross."

"I'm not!" The words were out before I knew I was thinking of considering saying them. Leftovers of high school hell digging deep into my soul.

"Whatever."

"So … farts."

"Buttfarts."

"Pfft."

"Pfft.

"They smell different than sandal farts."

"And armpit farts."

"Croc farts."

"They're the same as sandal farts."

"No, they're not! Crocs are different."

"Pfft."

"Gasp!"

"Cheek farts."

"They don't smell."

"Some try lip farts."

"Pfft."

"So too long ago."

"Hang on." I raised my hand. "Something smelled like buttfarts. Got it. Written down. Let's move on."

"K."

"K."

They stared at me.

"What happened next?"

"People went all screamy."

"Screamy and yelly."

"So yelly."

"This one guy, pfft, so so yelly."

"This is when you shot everyone?"

"Shot?"

"I don't think I shot."

"My phone was in my pocket."

"She was dancing."

"Oh! It was that new song from The Puma. So hot."

"Hott with two t's."

"Got this thump. Mmmth Mmmth Mmmth."

"Maybe I was shooting the blonde."

"With the long hair?"

"He was cute, but the one with the ass implants."

"Oh. My. God. Serious?'

"He was doing this thing."

"Pfft."

"Gasp!"

"Please!" It was too loud. I knew it as soon as the word left my mouth. They turned startled and heavily mascaraed eyes on me. "A group of men were shot down with automatic weapons fire."

"Automatic?"

"Like …"

"… the guns shot themselves?"

"Witnesses report you two opened fire on a crowd trying to protect a man, now deceased, identified as a high-ranking member of the Jones family."

"What's a Jones?" one half-whispered to the other.

"It's a last name."

"Pfft. I know."

"Are they important?"

"The Jones family," not as loud, but enough to make them shut up, "run a very large number of questionable businesses in the city."

They both blinked at me.

"He was a criminal."

"Do we know criminals?"

"Well … maybe."

"Jimjimjim sells … stuff."

"Jimjim?"

"Pfft."

"Oh! Him with the purple bag."

"Ssh!"

They stopped and turned to look at me. I wanted to strangle them. Both of them. A few times each.

"This was a coordinated effort. At least four people were involved in the murders."

"Is it murder when someone kills a criminal?" one asked the other.

"Like I know."

"It is," I told them. "Eleven murders, so far, and two more who were shot look like they're going to die."

They turned to each other with wide eyes.

"Thirteen!" they exclaimed.

"Stop!" I slammed my palm down on the table. "You're in it. I know you are. You know you are. You are."

"Pfft."

"Pfft."

"We're working the video now. You have maybe three minutes to give me enough to save your asses."

"Video?"

"Oh! Get me when I was dancing."

"Shut up, you twat." Her voice changed.

"Don't! Not now!"

"I knew it wasn't going to work with the stupid words and shit."

"Hang on." I stood up.

"You're an evil bitch."

"I'm not! Fourteen on duty tonight?"

"Ugh. Says the shift roster."

I was slow. I knew it soon as they moved. Hands darted into gigantic hairdos and came out with blades and guns. I almost had my hand on my pistol when the first round took me in the chest. Three more shots and, even as I was falling, I knew the two officers in with me were as dead as I was gonna be in a few seconds.

"Ready?" She tugged the key badge from my belt.

"So hot."

"Ha! Shut your stupid mouth."

"Let's kill 'em all."