Fascinating Villains

{57} - Baby Blue

Foul Play has moved to a chest of drawers and is rifling through its contents. I'm adamant not to think about my colleagues and their partners. Even making meticulous mental notes of every object I observe in the assembled piles of garbage cannot deter my thoughts about Colin completely.

~

"What? No, no way. If you're feeling sick, I'm coming with you."

He was so worried. "Would you like to sit down? I can ask Leah to get you a glass of water!"

Every word was keen with the best of intentions and his heartfelt concern cut as deep as where he sourced it from.

"Colin, no. I'll be fine, but I need to rest. On my own. You have to stay here, this day is so important to Scott and Mi-Young."

I tried to hold his hand, but my guts lurched before I even could graze his fingers.

The paramedic smirked. "I know what you're doing and I'm not gonna have it. You're not disturbing anyone, especially not me. If you're feeling unwell, I know for a fact that all of us care more about that than eating a fancy coleslaw salad!"

"Maybe you..." I erased the doubt from my statement. "I know you do. But you're more needed here."

"We paid to be here and these guys are our friends, I get it..."

They're your friends, I thought, impotent against my worst thoughts.

"At least, let me drive you back to your place, Tanza. Then, you can do whatever makes you feel better."

While we walked to his automobile, he made one last joke, before realizing that I really seemed to be too miserable to be cheered up instantly by a clever remark.

"You know, I'm wearing this tux and all, you've got to let me be a gentleman for once!"

~

I almost step on something with my boots, because it blended into the gaudy carpet under the amalgam of rubbish I'm analyzing. I kneel down over the discolored slips of orange paper to read the convoluted and blurry printing on them. They look like fake dollar bills, not counterfeit, they're purposefully low quality and tacky. An embellished "666" decorates the top of the bill as its main feature. Underneath, lewd drawings replace any imagery and the 1 symbol has testicles. Instead of the name of a country, I find what I could have guessed from this tasteful design alone: The Devil's Touch.

How many "dollars" from this strip club has he purchased? And are most of them also lying idly between cans of liquor and soda pop, old hamburger wrappers and filthy socks?

I get back on my feet, scouring the other clusters of trash. I find one more stuck to a tissue I will not be touching - it's not like I have touched any of the owner's possessions, evidently. However, Cheryl interrupts my search.

"We're not here to investigate! Let's hurry up and find it." Although she always has that same playful lilt in her voice, I know she means it. 

Yet, that only reinforces my curiosity. My friend never rushes anything and I cannot remember her ever telling me on any occasion that we were in a hurry or that we should act hastily. She takes her time, because like everything else, she apparently seems to have an endless supply of it.

I change positions, looking under an unsightly sofa, wondering momentarily if I have UV lighting incorporated in my lenses; turning a black light on in this room would be horror movie worthy, I'm sure. Without needing to turn on my night vision lenses, I glimpse baby blue lace panties in the partial obscurity.