_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     uppin’ your  street cred  to  holla at the shorties    —    you need all the help you can  get,   li’l man.     ’}

_{❛     p’ft.    whatever,  yo.    chicks dig scars.    don’t need t’ show off no  bruises     –––––     that shit’s  weak.      ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     oh,   snap    —    bullet’s got  jokes.   how’s the wrist ?     ’}

_{❛     ain’t that bad.    looks kinda cool.    check it.     ❜     she pushes up the sleeve and holds out her arm,  showing off the bruising that circles around her wrist,  the  tender  skin across her knuckles.     ❛     pretty  badass,  huh ?     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     still yours,   bullet.    they ain’t puttin’  ME  in foster care.     ’}

_{❛    makes  two of us.     ❜     she’d be on the run before you could bat an eye in the direction of her last squat.}

_{❛     …   they probably should,  though.    you’re pretty much jus’ a baby with a cigarette hangin’ outta its mouth,  so.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     you tryna be funny ?    i called,   like,   five times.    you’re lucky there ain’t a  bolo  out on your ass.     ’}

_{❛     ‘cause that’d go over well with  CPS.    then whose ass would be on the line ?     ❜}

_{❛    y’ could’a jus’ called.     ❜     @originalgrilla}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{some nobody,   nothin’ pimp.    call it instinct,   call it whatever you want,   but the way she bristles    —    like she’s trying not to  FLINCH    —    every time goldie’s name crops up speaks for itself.    she doesn’t have to say anything.    he knows something ugly went down,   feels it in the leaden pit that settles in his gut.   shoulders hitch,   free hand slipping into his coat pocket.}

_{‘     –––––––    don’t think about goldie no more,   alright ?    scumbag’s doin’ 15 to 30 for those tapes.    he ain’t stickin’ it to anybody ever again,   y’ hear ?     ’}

_{they don’t like  kid - fuckers  in prison.    if there’s even a modicum of justice left in the world,   someone’ll do to  goldie  what he did to all those little girls.}

_{bullet’s stronger than that.    she won’t break so easily.}

_{‘     c’mon,   li'l b.     ’       the refusal is more or less what he’d expected,   but it’s getting late.    she’s already punching walls and he knows  exactly  where that road leads.       ‘     gotta at  least  let me get'cho skinny ass somethin’ to eat.     ’}

_{she remembers what he said.    you’re just a little bitch that needs to be  broke  like the rest.    how every syllable scraped out and cut her open,  like the serrated edge of a blade splitting her throat.    his hands and where he put them,  the  bruises and contusions  he left behind after the fact     (     after he forced himself onto her,  pinned her and beat her down until she could hardly draw a breath without straining herself.     )}

_{the blood didn’t  stain.    not too bad.    easy enough to wipe off with  wet paper towels  and rinse out of clothing beneath warm running water from an old faucet tap.    she still hasn’t told a soul about that night.    not lyric,  not twitch,  and not the therapist she was assigned to meet with after discharge.}

_{she can talk about the pied piper,  even if she doesn’t like to.    about whether she’s experiencing thoughts of suicide or feeling depressed,  even if she’s only telling them what they want to hear instead of the whole truth.}

_{but not about that.    so,  how is she supposed to explain to holder that  not thinking about goldie  is next to impossible when she’s staring down a broken reflection ?     if fifteen to thirty was meant to be  comforting,  it missed the mark.}

_{❛     whatever.    …  yo,  think you could get lyric ‘n them a burger or somethin’ ?    i’ll take it to ‘em.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     beacon.    her mom’s place.    the hotel,   where she made that,   uh.    that tape you watched.    mama dips said she was cussin’ up a  storm  in the parkin’ lot    —    that’s the last anybody saw her.     ’       a long pull of smoke.       ‘     must’ve grabbed her up after she left.     ’}

_{it’s twenty bucks for a room at that shit - hole motel.    kallie probably thought the killer was a john,    a way to make some easy cash.    somewhere between that night and the next week or so,   she ended up in a biohazard bag at the bottom of a lake.    he swallows thickly,   dares to glance up,   grimacing  at the sight of busted knuckles.    blood on the exterior wall    —    not a lot,   but enough.}

_{anger is an anesthetic.    but it’ll wear off,   and she’ll still hurt,   and kallie will still be dead.    there’s  NOTHING  he can say to make it right.}

_{you feel better now ?}

_{‘     –––––––    you want me to drive you back ?     ’}

_{the tape.     (     are you a virgin ?     )     the tape goldie had in his apartment,  where she  thought  she had heard someone crying,  locked inside one of his rooms.     (     why are you crying,  little girl ?     )     maybe it was kallie inside the room that night.    just not in the way she expected.}

_{❛     goldie was playing it the night i was there.    must have been watching it.    sick bastard  probably got off on seein’ her like that.    kallie wasn’t one of his girls.    twitch said he always wanted to stick it t’ her.     ❜}

_{the air sours,  expression hardening.    talking about goldie was like rubbing  salt  in an open wound.    one that never heals and continues to ache no matter how you tend to it,  or how you don’t.    she almost feels ashamed thinking about what he did to her that night.    has to snuff out the cigarette against the bottom sole of her boot because she can taste the bile rising in her throat.}

_{❛     …  i got two legs.    i can walk.    don’t need you drivin’ me around like some  chauffeur  from the hood.     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     hey,   yo    —    bullet !    hold up !     ’       he’s three paces behind her when she collides with reddick,   of all people ;   doesn’t linger,   just ducks past his ex - partner before the man can get out more than an exasperated  jesus christ,   holder.    by the time he hits the exit and steps outside,   he’s expecting her to be halfway down the block.    she’s not.    he has  no idea  what to say    —    how to explain that this was never impersonal,   that kallie never left the aft of his mind.    the way his stomach dropped at the sight of that earring.    i wanted to tell you.    it doesn’t count for shit.    he lights a cigarette,   offers the bic.    says nothing.}

_{knuckles split on impact.    blood stipples the masonry and there’s sharp,  shooting pains running lengthwise from wrist to elbow that she can’t shake out.    fuck.    the skin burns when she reaches into her pocket,  withdrawing a crooked cigarette,  the tobacco inside loose and flaking out.    it doesn’t matter.    she’ll light up regardless,  taking one drag after another until it’s nearly halfway finished.}

_{she looks at her hand,  counting  the number of times kallie had taken her by the arm and inspected the damage despite bullet’s refusal to admit she’d been angry over something so small and meaningless.    wonders how she would react now if she’d known about her wrist.    how it’s still tender.}

_{her vision blurs,  but she doesn’t allow herself to cry.    not here,  not on the street.    not even in private.}

_{❛     …  what happened to her ?    that night.    where’d she go ?     ❜}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     i didn’t think  bringin’ that up  while you were in a  hospital  bed all doped up on morphine was the way to go.    we still got a morgue full of dead kids we ain’t ID’d yet    —    you think this shit’s easy ?    huh ?    you think i  WANTED  to find her like that ?     ’       he straightens up,   circles the desk and drops the file on top of it,   palming an unshaven jawline.       ‘     should’ve told you sooner.    at least we  got  the son of a bitch.     ’}

_{no,  she doesn’t.    but she’s  hurt  and can’t understand an impersonal perspective.    but maybe she shouldn’t have expected so much from homicide detectives.    kallie was just another dead body,  fresh out of the morgue and rotting six feet underground to them.     ❛     the  hell  does that matter ?    it don’t change nothin’.     sure as shit ain’t makin’ me feel better.    so who you sayin’ it for ?     ❜     out of her seat and looking him in the eye,  the deep scarring across her throat visible from beneath the collars of layered shirts.    she leaves before he can get another word in edgewise,  spitting a curse to another detective who knocks into her on the way out.}

_{ORIGINALGRILLA :   bugs.}

_{‘     ain’t  enough  cases like that.     ’       police work and paperwork are often synonymous,   but it’s something to be thankful for when things are cut and dried,   no bureaucratic red tape.    as  unlike  rosie larsen or the pied piper as possible.}

_{he almost starts to press her for more intel,   then stops himself.    beat  isn’t the same as  killed.}

_{not that bullet would snitch either way.}

_{the mention of pastor mike is what prompts him to light another cigarette.    there’s still  so much  that she doesn’t know    —    about beacon’s former padre,   about the man who put her in that trunk.    about kallie.    she was in a  coma  when they pulled those bodies out of the water and he knows how  PISSED  she’ll be that he didn’t tell her as soon as she woke up.    there’s no  right time.    there’s never a right time.}

_{‘     –––––    oh,   snap !    you  boutta’  be eatin’ celery sticks ‘n cottage  cheese  for breakfast,   li’l man.     ’}

_{❛     you ever had a case y’ couldn’t crack ?    one of them cold cases or whatever.     ❜     she’s been watching a lot of television.    animal planet,  mostly,  but channel - surfing is a decent alternative when  my cat from hell  plays its third rerun and  dr. dee :  alaska vet  isn’t on until late.}

_{in other words,  crime shows and bizarre documentaries on cold case files have piqued her interest,  even though she thinks some are lacking  authenticity.    law and order  makes the job look too easy.}

_{gaze narrows,  observant of every little detail.    doesn’t like the look on his face,  or that he seems to be holding out on her and biding his time.     (     she hates being the last to know about something,  or anything at all.     )     but instead of outright asking,  bullet throws a curveball and chooses to  ignore it.    she can harass him about it later.}

_{❛     yeah,  ‘n you’re gonna be eatin’ all yo’ meals through a damn straw if you come anywhere near me with some nasty ass cottage cheese  !    c’mon,  man,  quit trippin’ ‘n jus’ fix me somethin’.    i don’t care  what  it is.     ❜}