Chapter Minka #2
Smug, he slips a fry between his teeth and grins. “Uh-huh. I think I found a killer today, but convincing a judge he’s a douchebag isn’t the same as convincing him he’s a murderer, so…”
“Did you know the term ambidextrous derives from the Latin word ambidexter?”
Amused, he takes his drink from the cardboard tray and pops the lid off to reveal a thick strawberry shake inside. Rather than sipping the liquid through the straw like a normal person, he dips fries in it instead. “Did you know I’m not surprised you know that?”
I roll my eyes. “Ambidexter means right-handed on both sides. Also, those CT scans we were discussing earlier are how we know ambidextrous people typically have symmetrical brain hemispheres, unlike right-handed or left-handed individuals, and although that symmetry can contribute to higher creativity and problem-solving skills, ambidextrous people typically score lower on traditional intelligence testing.” I watch Archer dip another fry, smother it in thick pink shake, then toss the whole thing into his mouth. “That bothers me.”
“Hm?” He peels his eyes away from the garage. “Ambi folks being dumber than the average Joe bothers you?”
“No. You cross-contaminating your meal like that bothers me.” I scrunch my nose, much the same way everyone did today when they caught a whiff of my new, dead-body-scented perfume, then I bring my focus back to the friends chattering around a car.
“Only one percent of the population is truly ambidextrous. Most others are merely faking it to sound cool.”
He chokes out a silly laugh and offers a shake-loaded fry.
“Ew. No thanks.”
“You’re missing out, babe.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and eats it himself. “This shit is delicious. You got any more cool facts about our ambidextrous fuckwit who may or may not have killed the girl he had a crush on yet?”
“A crush?” I take another bite of my hot dog. “Sounds like you have an update for me.”
“Guess I do.” He leans around me and drops a salty, slightly greasy, icy cold kiss on my lips.
“Josey tutored both Prim kids for an hour each per week. Scott has a girlfriend, apparently, but he finagled a ‘let’s study in my room’ situation to save his dignity since he’s soooo embarrassed about studying with a crowd, but that lasted only half an hour before he tried to touch and she threw on the brakes. ”
“Really? Rejection is a proven motive all over the globe. Statistics show that more than fifty percent of all homicides involving women are committed by men who have, had, or wish they had, a romantic relationship with her.”
“Spitting facts, my darling penguin.” He dips another fry, eats it, and groans his approval. “She said no, went back to the dining room, and continued their tutoring session like nothing had happened.”
“He told you this?”
“No. Her best friend did, but only after Prim’s parents dropped the first crumbs.
So,” he lifts his chin toward the men screwing around in front of a car.
“Dude has big balls and a small peepee. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women.
He gets her alone in his room, grabs her leg, she says no, and now he’s feeling the sting of rejection.
” He silences for a beat, then adds, almost regretfully, “Even if she did it gently. Even if her complete abhorrence of confrontation means she didn’t chew him out or scream in his face.
She just got up and left the room. Later, she went to her bestie’s house and let it rip.
Tairneyy, the best friend, said he’s always been a creep, thinks the general female population owes him, and though I loathe to agree with Detective Banks about literally anything, we’re both calling it: Scott hates his mother and sister purely because they’re women.
They exist, and therefore, he’s angry about it. ”
“Sounds like a peach,” I drawl. “Can we arrest him yet?”
He chuckles. “Not quite yet. We can’t place him at the scene, didn’t pull his prints or DNA from the car, don’t have the murder weapon, don’t have a confession, he does have an alibi, even if it’s weak as fuck, and though I’d like to shove his dick in a blender and hit the button to save his future wife from a life of non-consent and shitty sex, I can’t prove he did this. Yet.”
“Hence…” I exhale a noisy sigh and go back to watching the boy. The man. The asshole. “We’re Turner and Hooch, on a super-secret spy mission to find justice for an innocent woman whose only crime was picking up a side job and meeting him.”
“Turner and Hooch was a movie…”
“Yeah.” I take another bite of my quickly cooling hot dog. “I know.”
“Hooch was a dog.”
I chew, chew, chew, and swallow. “Uh-huh.”
His eyes narrow in my peripherals. “Am I Turner, or am I Hooch?”
“You can be whoever you want, Detective. It’s not the nineteen fifties anymore.” I tilt my head back and press a snickering kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Also, the LRRTM1 gene plays a crucial role in neuronal evolution and guides brain function related to conditions like schizophrenia.”
“Uh…” He considers my words for a beat. Thinks them through. Tries so very hard to translate. But when he fails, his eyes come back down to mine. “Okay…?”
“The LRRTM1 gene is more commonly seen in ambidextrous people.”
“Are you saying Prim might be schizophrenic?” he hedges. “And if you are, do you think that’s why he killed her?”
“No.” I dip my finger into his shake and suckle the icy liquid onto my tongue. “Correlation does not imply causation. I just wanted to show you how smart I was with my fun chromosomal facts.”
“So smart.” He drops his lips to mine, chuckling and kissing so I feel each puff of his breath fill my lungs. “Never knew I’d be so turned on by a brainiac. You weren’t really my type back in high school, Chief, but I can’t say I regret the way things turned out.”
“That’s because your type was big-breasted, small-brained, lacking in spine, and if their name was Miranda London, that typically clinched the deal.”
He dives forward and captures my lips again.
Not necessarily because he wants to kiss me, but because he wants me to stop talking.
“Brainiac is the new sexy.” He pulls back only long enough to sip a little shake onto his tongue, then he returns and shares the rich, creamy dessert with me.
“I wish all stakeouts were this much fun. Fletch just eats my fries, and I don’t enjoy looking at him nearly as much as I enjoy looking at you. ”