Page 29 of Bazooka
The blonde giggled. “Oh, I’m a sketch artist. The LD doesn’t have the budget for one, and I can draw quite well. I’m also a translator in case you have a text in Portuguese and…” She raised a box in her hands. “A delivery girl. Chief Bibb sends some documents he wants you to look at.”
Bazooka laughed and took the box from her hands.
“Got it. Please come in.”
He pulled me by the collar (with his third hand?) so I would let her pass because I just stood there.
“Are you by any chance a fan of hats?” I asked her, smiling sweetly as she passed by me. The hats were so… flammable.
“No. Erm…” She glanced at me before looking at Bazooka, seemingly puzzled. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other so well.”
“Intimately,” I said in a saccharine voice when Bazooka cut in.
“Shut up, Luz. Patricia, can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Soda?”
“No, thanks. Maybe later.”
After the blonde intruder sat on the sofa, Bazooka spoke.
“Okay, let’s start again. Patricia, this is Lucius Zablonsky, called Luz. He’s the victim of the attack I’m investigating. He helped us catch the infamous Butcher of Smitsville way back when, so the LD considers him a friend.”
A victim? A friend of the LD? Was he really introducing me likethat?
“Luz, this is Detective Patricia Vile. She’s new to the LD, so you don’t know her. She will do a composite sketch of your attackers. Please try to behave.”
Vile, I thought, grinning diabolically.Her name suits her.
Patricia Vile gave me an awkward smile before taking a sketchpad out of her bag. I glanced at Bazooka, who was drinking coffee in the kitchen and reading the documents she’d brought. And I kind of missed him, although he was justthere. I didn’t feel comfortable talking about what happened without him by my side, but I didn’t want to admit it to him.
A bunch of questions followed, which I struggled to answer, although they were fairly simple. What was his skin color? Age, height, build? Any distinctive marks like moles, tattoos, or scars? What type of face did he have? What about his hair? Style,color, length? Any facial hair? Eye color and shape? What kind of forehead did he have? Eyebrow length and height? Length of the eyelashes?
As more questions followed, more memories came back. The sneakers, hitting my face. My body, getting pummeled from all sides. My muscles, screaming in pain. I tried to think, but it was getting more difficult to concentrate. I tried to answer all those questions, but I couldn’t breathe. My face felt hot, then ice cold, then sweaty. I was here, but I was also there… in that parking lot, begging them to stop.
I closed my eyes, struggling to breathe, because all the oxygen in the room wasgone.
“Drink this.” A soft voice said, and I felt something cool on my lips.
I knew that voice. It meant Bazooka was here, by my side. It meant I was here, too, and not there.
“Luz, drink this,” he repeated.
I parted my lips and took a sip of… water? It tasted good, so I kept drinking greedily. Only then did I open my eyes. Only then did the oxygen return to the room.
“C-can you please stay?” I stammered.
I hated myself for begging, but I couldn’t do this alone.
“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” Bazooka said, sitting down beside me.
More questions ensued. The length of his nose? Shape of nostrils? What about the shape of his mouth? His jawline? His ears? His neck?
“You’re doing well,” Bazooka said at one point, and I nodded, grateful for the backup.
Was I doing well, though? I wasn’t sure about that. My memory was hazier than I thought. The stuff I couldn’t remember scared me more than I wanted to admit. Thememories that resurfaced made me sick to my stomach, as if I weren’t hurting enough.
“What is it?” Bazooka asked me as if he could read it on my face.
“My ankle hurts,” I replied, shifting my foot with a groan of pain when he stopped me.
