❛ ARE YOU READY, LISTENERS? ❜ | Kate Blackwell is a rich, beautiful, good girl with friends, flings, and a glamorous future in front of her. Karma Kane, on the other hand, is a Nancy Drew-wannabe who only exists in the 1's and 0's of the internet. N...
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— 'ADMIRAL'.
"IT WAS ALL, REALLY, TOO EASY."
Kane watched the red and blue lights in the distance, all blurring together into one rather pretty colour show. If she squinted enough she could completely forget that there was a crime scene behind said lights, and a man screaming bloody murder at his poor old mother because he couldn't fix himself.
She sighed and shoved her left hand into her jacket pocket. Her right hand, holding her iPhone to her lips, trembled. "It's particularly cold tonight, folks. A miserable night, honestly, to expose the heinous crimes of a gambling son who refused to work for what he wanted. Though, considering the bitter nature of his actions, perhaps we're due for the chill."
A distant squawk hit her ears. She smirked into the faux-fur collar of her bomber jacket.
"I guess I should fill you in, because the last time we left off, we were short a couple very important pieces to this puzzle." Kane paused for a couple seconds, exhaling into the late autumn night, before continuing. "This one...of all my cases, I think this one might have ruffled my feathers the most. And that's not just 'cause of the birds, I swear."
To most, the sight of a teen girl hovering on the edge of an active crime scene in the middle of the night, would be considered odd. But the tall, dark-haired, girl in muddy Doc Martens and shadows wasn't just some gawking adolescent avoiding sleep or her overbearing parents. She was a thinker. An observer. A problem-solver, if you will.
And in that moment, she was soaking in the giddy glory of problem solving the perplexing case of the Parrot Perpetrator. Just another crime solved by the infamous, intrepid, truly ineffable, Karma Kane.
"So. It's been twenty-four hours since our last talk, and I'm standing just outside of the scene where forty-four year old Jimmy Avondale is getting thrown in the back of a cop car, screaming and kicking and covered in feathers. Who's Jimmy, you might ask? Well, remember the son of poor Sharon Avondale, the one she hadn't heard from in ten years, the one I foolishly brushed off? Well. Turns out our Parrot Perpetrator is Jimmy, a gambling addict who decided he'd try the easy way out of his problems - which to him, meant stealing his mother's beloved 'Admiral' and using him to get back his inheritance."
Kane toed at the dirt with her worn combat boot, still smiling wanly. "Little did this asshole know, Sharon would do anything to get Admiral back. And, of course more importantly, he didn't know she'd be calling me in to help." She paused, squinting at her recording device.
"Okay. Note to later me? Redo that line in post. Too frickin' cheesy. Anyways."
She looked up again to the flashing lights. The carousel's garishly painted horses glowed in the police lights, looking desolate without laughing, screaming children riding them around and around. She imagined a young boy amongst them all, freckled and grinning from ear to ear. Spinning around on the same horse he always did. And a younger Sharon in the crowd of parents, who had seen him on the carousel a thousand times but every time made a point to cheer her dear little boy on.
