She's on the run... but she actually likes the chase. A short story about an agent who has to get Toxic off the streets before she kills yet another.
A$AP Rocky short.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I kicked a tire on the car before banging my fists onto the roof. "Bryan, stop tampering with our evidence!" I sent the middle finger before sighing extremely loud. How the fuck was this bitch moving so fast? Her last body was found three days ago, and now she dropped another one? I tugged on the ends of my braids as I tried to regulate my breathing. "Chill out, man. You're gonna catch her." When I felt a hand on my shoulder I turned around and pushed the shit out of one of the CSI's. "Don't fucking touch me, or talk to me." I walked around his shaken up body and over to Sarah. "Tell me you've found something in the past five minutes."
"No, I have not. Now, why did you have to put hands on my intern? Can you not scare members away from my team, please?" I grumbled no promises, before walking away from her and back over to the 2011 Infiniti truck. I licked over my lips as I stared inside the crime scene. The only evidence of a crime was the dark blood dried up on the leather seats, and on the carpeted floors of the car. One of my two cellphones vibrated. I groaned when I realized that it was the department issued Blackberry. "What?"
"Bryan we just got a tip from the girlfriend of the deceased. Apparently he told her that he was going to Club Onyx last night–" I ended the call before Self could finish her sentence. I blew Sarah a kiss goodbye and then chuckled when she rolled her eyes to the heavens. She wanted me and it was too obvious. I arrived at the club in less than fifteen-minutes, thanks to the sirens on the Escalade. Since it was only 10:30 in the morning the club was practically empty; except for Self, myself, a bartender, and a DJ that was most likely practicing his set for tonight. "You seen this guy last night?" I overheard Self ask as she flashed a color photo of the victim. She was already here when I arrived on the scene, and I was a little thankful that she awaited my arrival before beginning her questioning.
I didn't want to miss anything.
"Yeah, that guy left here with the baddest chick I've ever seen! (laughs), all the guys had eyes on her." My brows knitted and before Self could get another word in I was standing at the bar with the two. "If we call an artist down here can you give an okay description of her?" When he shrugged his shoulders I nodded over at Self, and she reached for her cellphone. "Yo, you seen this man last night?" I called to the DJ as I walked up the few steps that led to his turn tables. He removed the silver pair of Beats headphones from over his ears to look at the large photo of the African American victim. He eyed the photo for a couple of seconds before replying with a, nah man. Sorry.
About an hour later the bartender, Jim, was filled in on the severity of the case and was just wrapping up his description to the forensic artist. "You sure that's her?" I asked as I peered over the artist's shoulder at the image on his sketchpad. Jim smirked as his eyes danced over the image. "Yeah man, that's her. Don't worry she's even badder in person." I chuckled at his dumb ass because even after I let him know how dangerous this woman was, he still had heart eyes.
Typical nigga.
—–-------------------
"Send this image out to every news station, newspaper, blog, motel, hotel, I don't give a fuck! I even want her face up in every club in Philadelphia." I pointed to the blown up drawing of our suspect before turning on my heels and starting to my office. Before I could place my hand to the door knob my Captain was calling for my presence in his office. "How you doing, Captain Brooks?" I took a seat in one of the two leather chairs propped in front of his desk.
"I'm doing good, Bryan. How's the case going?" I shrugged before pulling on the ends of my braids. "Not moving as fast as I hoped but we're getting somewhere. Can you believe that the bitch has been tampering with security cameras to the clubs? Like how else can she move unseen?" He nodded before sorting through some papers on his desk. "At least we finally got a witness to ID her. That makes this case 50% done." I smirked because the identity of this woman was the most difficult thing to crack, so I was proud that it was my department that got a clear ID on her before she moved on to another state.
"What's the next move?" I rolled my eyes because I hated when he did this shit. Captain always wanted to know exactly what I was doing when it came to cases that I was in charge of. "I want to have some men watch Nuvo tonight. That's the nearest club to Club Onyx so I have a feeling that she might hit up that spot either tonight or over the next couple of days."
"And how do you know that she will be at Nuvo? How are you so sure, Bryan?" See what I mean by him always wanting to know some shit? Like just believe in me and let me handle this shit on my own. "Because, sir, BLAKK Nightclub was the only club in a fifteen mile radius to Club Onyx and–"
"Club Onyx is in a fifteen mile radius to Nuvo..." I smirked when he finally caught up to speed.
"So what's this chick's issue with the number fifteen?" My face contorted when he said that.
"What you mean?" I asked since I was lost now. He rubbed his white hands down his wrinkles before letting them fall onto his messy desk. "So far she's killed fifteen men in each state. On her very first victim there were fifteen bullets found in his body–"
"And she's moving from club to club depending on a fifteen..." My sentence fell short and I quickly sprung up from my seat to exit his office. " Agent Bryan!" I groaned when he called me back. "What?"
"You can't look past these key details. You have–" I fanned him off before continuing my swift dash back to my office. How did I not notice that number before? What did it mean though?
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••Toxic••
My teeth ground together when I seen an impressive sketch of my face posted all over the t.vscreen.I shook my head from left to right as my eyes studied the picture. It was good... impressive actually. The only thing off about the picture was the length of my hair. The fuckboy or dumb bitch that ID'd me to the cops got the length of my hair all wrong. While I sported a shoulder length bob, the sketch on the screen had me with hair stopping well past my shoulders.
Powering off the t.v., I went into my closet and pulled a 30 inch, wine red, wig from the first of the three mannequin heads. After strategically placing the wig over my own hair I took a look in the mirror and smirked to myself. Since I didn't plan on ever being ID'd by anyone I now had to speed up my process. I couldn't stay in Philly for much longer if my face was already revealed to the public.
