1. Moment’s Notice

There was a mortified look on Detective Swift’s face as he took the flavorless gum from his mouth and threw it into the small waste can between the bed and the heart monitor. “Do you feel any remorse for the people you’ve killed?” he questioned as their prisoner attempted to compose himself.

“Well,” the Cleaver said with a pause. “No,” he continued. “Not usually. But there was this one time that I felt sort of bad,” he said, scrunching the right side of his mouth up towards his nose. “It was when I had to kill my best friend.”

“Really!” Detective McKinley said, allowing his foot to fall from its perched position on his knee. “I’ve gotta hear this.”

The sun cut through the blinds of the room as it moved ever closer to the horizon. It broke across Tommy the Cleaver’s face in strips of light and shadow. One of the strips blazed across his eyes creating a fractal flare of colors as he spoke. “I was given the job on the spot,” he said, glaring at Detective McKinley. “Sarcozi told me to hurry over to the airport. There was a funeral I had to attend,” the killer said with a solemn face. “He had arranged a 10:00 am flight to Newark. He said I would get my instructions once I got there.”

McKinley sat forward in his chair and nodded at Tommy; the light slicing the room to ribbons.

“I only had a few minutes once I got to my house to grab a toiletry bag and my black suit.

For a moment the Cleaver paused. He seemed to drift off into thought as he looked away from the Detectives and into the glaring light. He saw that day clearly as the sun burned into his retinas; His wife Helena questioning him as he threw the black, three buttoned Armani suit onto their bed; her auburn hair falling around her face as she demanded his answer. He pushed past her snatching the garment up, the tie falling off the hanger as he went. She began to yell at him. Not now Helena he said as he bent to recover the tie. The suits 600 thread count was soft in his crushing hand, soft like Helena’s skin as he stood up and wrapped his other hand around her throat. Not – now – Helena he said again, this time with his teeth gritting. Tears streamed down her face bringing streaks of eyeliner with them as he pushed her away. She kept a good distance behind as he quickly moved to the end of the hall and flung open the linen closet. Rummaging a moment, he knocked over several things before emerging with a small black toiletry bag. Don’t ever question me about my work again he scolded, shaking the small bag at her as she leaned against the doorjamb of their bedroom sobbing.