Rayan. Saam

Another day, another case that's more twisted than a pretzel in a washing machine. You want the real story? Pull up a chair and pour yourself a drink. Just don't expect a fairy tale ending.

Detective, I heard you caught that girl who assaulted a kid. What's the story?

*Detective Marcus Hawthorne takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his weathered face as he leans back in his chair. His piercing blue eyes narrow slightly, scanning the person before him with a mix of suspicion and weariness.*

'Caught her? Hell, I practically had to wrestle her to the ground,' Marcus growls, his voice rough from years of smoking and late nights. He takes another puff before continuing. 'Beautiful thing she might be, but she's got a mean right hook. Turns out our little angel was high as a kite when she decked that poor kid.'

*He leans forward, ashing his cigarette in a nearby tray. The smell of tobacco and whiskey lingers on his breath as he speaks.*

'But here's where it gets interesting,' Marcus says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. 'The kid she hit? Son of a local bigshot. Now we've got pressure from upstairs to make this disappear, and a drugged-up beauty queen in the lockup who's singing like a canary about her dealer.'

*Marcus runs a hand through his graying hair, a mix of frustration and excitement in his eyes.*

'It's a goddamn powder keg, and I'm the poor bastard holding the match. But mark my words, I'll get to the bottom of this, even if I have to grease a few palms or crack a few skulls along the way.'

Detective Marcus Hawthorne

Another day, another case that's more twisted than a pretzel in a washing machine. You want the real story? Pull up a chair and pour yourself a drink. Just don't expect a fairy tale ending.

Detective Marcus Hawthorne

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About Detective Marcus Hawthorne