Chapter 2
Quinn
Cameron lived in a tiny two-bedroom home he inherited from his dad and stepmom after they passed away two years back. The rain was little more than a drizzle as we rushed to the porch.
The moment I stepped into the living room, I was greeted by the chirping of a pet raccoon. “You’re not going to let that little shit out, are you?” I asked, shivering a bit.
“Don’t act like you don’t love him,” he teased as he walked towards his bedroom. It wasn’t until I met Camer on that I found out a person was allowed to own a pet raccoon as long as they were bred in captivity and not caught in the wild. The critter was cute, but he liked to play bite worse than any puppy I had ever met and was absolutely obsessed with long hair. Any time I would sit down, the little shit would climb the chair and start playing tug-o-war.
“Put something dry on,” Camer on instructed as he tossed me a blue t-shirt. Without hesitation, I yanked off my soaked shirt. I should have taken off my bra as well, but I figured that might be rude. My friend may be gay, but there was something weird about showing off my boobs to someone I wasn’t intimate with.
Camer on walked to the kennel and unlocked the door, releasing the critter. With zero hesitation, it bolted towards me with happy chirps. Groaning, I practically jumped onto the nearest seat. The little guy would get some lovin’ with or without my permission. It was better to be sitting so he could climb the chair instead of digging his claws into my legs.
A second before the animal reached the chair, Camer on snatched him up. “I’ll go put him in his room.”
It was comical to watch the raccoon struggle, his little eyes begging for me to show him attention. “We’ll play later, Rudy, I promise,” I said, scratching the critter behind his ears before he was tossed into the other bedroom.
“I’m going to the Rez to visit my grandparents for Christmas. You’re still good on babysitting, right?”
With a low grumble, I nodded. My friend came from an Indigenous reservation in Oklahoma. His mother passed away when he was ten, and his father met a woman online and moved them across the country. Despite living paycheck to paycheck, the man made it a point to visit his grandparents and other relatives at least once a year. I don’t know what I would have done had I not been charged with watching Rudy the first Christmas without Luke. The crazy little critter made it almost impossible to wallow in my sorrow.
“So, should we pick up where we left off?” asked Camer on, taking a seat on his ugly green recliner.
Looking around for something to fidget with, I realized we left our coffees in the Jeep. It would have been the perfect way to dodge the subject, but I felt like I owed it to Camer on to speak up. He was Luke’s best friend and wanted justice just as much as I did.
“I’m not even a real reporter. I work for a tiny little online news blog.”
“That covers stories on social justice. Which is why digging up dirt on this cop is right up your alley.”
“What am I supposed to find that the big-time reporters won’t?”
“You still have that friend that works at the police station, don’t you?”
I grimaced. “I haven’t spoken to her since Luke died. She actually stood up for that piece of shit that killed him!”
Twisting one of his long braids, Camer on sighed, “I just feel like there is more to this story. The killer’s note said, ‘The first little piggie.’ The first thing that comes to my mind is the story of the three little pigs. Which means there are going to be at least two more. This can’t be random.”
“It could simply mean the guy is going after some cops who locked him up. It doesn’t mean that specific cop was crooked.” The next words to come from my lips left a sour taste in my mouth. “Not all cops are bad.”
Camer on rolled his eyes. “He shouldn’t have gotten away with it, Quinn. At the very least, he should have been kicked off the force. If someone is that trigger happy, they have no right to have that kind of power. If a person is so afraid for their life that they don’t take the time to notice if it’s a gun or not, they don’t need to be a cop.”
I was so done with the conversation. Every part of it was causing me anxiety. I could feel my stomach acid churning; all of the stress was bound to give me an ulcer. Getting to my feet, I grabbed my wet top. “I’ll bring you your shirt tomorrow. I really have to get going.”
He nodded without saying anything. I wasn’t sure what more he expected from me. There was hardly anything I would find out. Most news articles I wrote were barely considered news. Most of the time, my stories were based on some viral video that had gone around. I was lucky if I could snag an interview with the person who originally posted it. Other than that, all I wrote was nothing more than click bait to keep getting a paycheck. I wasn’t a real investigative reporter.
Besides, I didn’t really care about this female officer. Was it shitty how she died? Yes, but the only cop Ireallycared about was Officer RickMoralles. The man who pulled the trigger and killed my soul mate.
I headed to my apartment, which was only a five-minute drive from Cameron’s. I had moved out of the place I shared with Luke, unable to withstand the loneliness. Without a roommate, I had to settle for the cheapest apartmentI could find. It was a shit hole filled mostly with meth heads, and my door had been kicked in more times than I could count, but at least it wasn’t where he died.
Eventually, I had to buy several padlocks just to keep people out. I didn’t bother locking my Jeep, however. I’d rather have them open my door and find nothing than smash my window and still see nothing of value.
I could hear my neighbor’s music blasting through the hallway. There was no point in calling the landlord; he never did anything. Honestly, it wouldn’t even be such a big deal if wherever he was playing his music wasn’t right next to my bedroom.
After unlocking all my extra padlocks, I entered my apartment and practically fell onto my couch. This morning had been so draining. If my shitty neighbor would turn down his music, I might have tried to take a nap. Instead, I decided to dive into the fan fiction I was writing. It was based on a book about a fairy prince and his human mate. It was a fantastic book, but I had fallen head over heels with the villain. He should have been the one to get the girl instead of the prince, and I decided to create my own world based on the story. So far, people loved it. I published a new chapterevery week, and my fans were eating it up.
I spent the entire day writing. When I looked at the time, it was already nine o’clock. My neighbor’s music had finally dieddown, but I didn’t feel like sleeping. In fact, I yearned for a change of scenery.Scrolling through social media, I sawa couple of acquaintances were outpartying at a local bar.A drinkdidn’t sound half bad.
I changed into a cute little green dress with matching heels, fixed my makeup, brushed my hair, and decided to hit the town. Part of me wanted to call Cameron, but I ultimately decided against it. I didn’t need him bringing up that dead cop again. No, I needed to go have fun, not get dragged down into the abyss by sad memories.
I parked agooddistance away before walking to a bar called The Nutcracker .The place was a local favorite, with good music, food, drinks, a pool table, and, of course,a super-hot bartender.The bar’s sign, a woman grabbing a cowboy between the legs, flashed with neon pink and blue lightd. As I walked inside, I noticed there was nobody I recognized, but I shrugged it off as I ordered a drink.