The two men shuffled around to get out of the way as a crime scene technician excused himself with a grunt and skirted past them. After a moment, Detective Bailey shook his head and let out a low whistle as he inspected the scene.

“Gawd. Ya’ evuh seen such a thing, cheef?”

The question hung waiting in the thick air. It almost seemed as if it was held aloft by the cloying odor of sweet watermelon, cigarette smoke, and burnt flesh that still permeated the motel room even though the door had been wide open for some time. While Bailey’s tone was more rhetorical than anything, the query still seemed to beg an answer.

Fairbanks grunted, “You mean this week, or ever?”

Detective Bailey chuckled.

“Actually, I was serious,” Fairbanks offered.

“F’true?”

“Yeah,” he continued with a nod. “I’ve seen something a lot like it. Of course, there wasn’t any blood and the guy wasn’t dead.”

“Ya’ lyin’?”

“No.” He gave his head a shake. “True story.”

Bailey whistled again. “Where ya’ see dat?”

“A few years back when I worked a vice detail, we raided a sex club. I hit my assigned door, and when I came through it, this hooker had a buck-naked john all trussed up to the bed. Pretty much just like this guy is.” He dipped his head toward the scene in front of them. “The pro was all dolled up like a Catholic schoolgirl, and she was beatin’ the hell out of him with a yardstick.”

“No way. F’true?”

“Yeah,” he nodded again. “Trust me, I’m pretty vanilla. I couldn’t even begin to make up something like that. I have to say, it appeared that they were havin’ a pretty good time of it too-before I interrupted them, of course. Especially him, from the looks of things, if you know what I mean.”

The younger cop shook his head slowly and grinned. “Gawd! Dressed like a Catlick schoolgirl, huh? Sick bastuhd liked dat did ‘e?” After a short pause he nodded toward the victim. “F’sure, I don’t think dis one here enjoyed it so much.”