Unthinkable Cramps | Murky. Bloody. And Drunk.

The darkness plays tricks on Detective Murky’s detective eyes as he searches for his house key. He doesn’t like solving mysteries in the middle of the night. Especially ones so close to home on his keyring. It’s a quiet night off from copping. A night he was planning on drinking away down at the pub. But the live band playing tonight overloaded the circuits and caused a power outage. He had enough to drink anyway. The beer in his body equal to the amount of blood on his body. Such is the life of a real detective. 

Murky fumbles along the furniture in the living room and up the stairs to his room. The door’s closed. He raises a fist to knock, but remembers it’s his own bedroom. He can do what he wants. At least he thinks he can. He doesn’t know anymore. He could be a better husband and respect his wife’s privacy a bit. Give a gentle knock and make sure it’s okay to enter. He can’t stand in the hallway forever. The black hair tie with Rosinda’s hair tangled around it is already becoming best friends with the bottom of his boot. A hint of raspberries and vanilla coming from the door makes his mouth water as he remembers that there’s a hidden box of chocolates in the garage he’s been keeping to himself. Only a few pieces missing from it. He contemplates putting them in a new container, maybe a Ziploc bag, and bringing them to her. She would like that. And he would feel good knowing that he’s trying harder. Knowing that he still can. But he’s drunk and the garage seems so far away. Maybe next time, he thinks. 

He opens the door and peeks his head in. 

“Who’s got ten bloody thumbs and is home early to see his wonderful, middle-aged wife?” 

Rosinda is taken by surprise as she jolts upright from under the bed sheets in only her underwear. “Hank! What are you doing — I thought you were staying out all night drinking and becoming incoherent?” 

Another body moves beneath the sheets next to her. It squirms up toward the pillows and pops its head out.

“Sanchez?” Murky squints, trying to focus his drunken eyes. He looks back and forth at Sanchez and Rosinda. Her in her underwear and them with no shirt on. Hairier than Murky would imagine them to be. He thinks it’s odd that he never imagines the amount of body hair on other people. He makes a note in his mental detective pad to begin imagining how much body hair everyone has. 

Candle smoke drifts over Rosinda’s bra that Murky has never seen before, but maybe it just looks different with her hair down.

“I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you two! I can’t believe I’m out at the bar drinking away all the horrors of my detective work and you two are in here half naked under the covers foraging for food. For just whatever cookie crumbs I may have left behind sitting in bed eating at night.”

“Hank…” Rosinda begins getting dressed under the covers.

 “I’ve been so busy on this case I completely forgot to buy food for this house. I’m such a terrible husband. I didn’t mean to make you scavenge like a peasant for food.”

Sanchez combs their chest hair as they climb out of bed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Murky.”

 “Thank you, Sanchez. You’re a great partner. Coming in here, willing to get dirty searching through those filthy sheets so my wife can survive another day. It’s beautiful. It’s good to know you always got my back. And Rosinda’s. Us cops really gotta stick together. A brother…or…sister…or…themhood?”

“Are you sure you’re not angry at us?” Rosinda asks. 

“I am a bit angry…that we’re not a restaurant yet.”

Hank, Sanchez, and Rosinda sit at a table in an empty Italian restaurant. The sign said they were closed, but Hank was able to get them in because he was a detective. And because he kicked the door in. 

Hank eyes Sanchez and Rosinda across the table from him. “I know what’s going on with you two and why you’re so hungry.” 

Rosinda lets go of Sanchez’s hand under the table. “I can explain. We—.” 

Hank interrupts, “It’s because it smells so good in here.” He stands up and looks around. “Where is everyone? I’m starving.”

In the kitchen Donny and his Italian mother, Pearl, shovel bones into the oven. 

“Come on, Donny boy, the oven says he’s a hungry. We can’t let him go to sleep on a empty stomach. Eh?”

“Ma, we’ve been feeding this thing for an hour. I’m dripping sweat here. I’m supposed to go out with the guys tonight.”

“With the guys. Always with the guys. Why not with the girls? Is Mindy gonna be there? Don’t ya think I want grandkids?”

“Don’t ya think I want to go and make you some grandkids?”

“Yeah well you’re not getting Louie and Paulie pregnant. Talk to that Mindy girl. She’s a sweetheart. Beautiful hair just like your mother. She has my eyes ya know? She’ll take good care of ya. I can just tell.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Mindy’s…I guess you could say, she’s not talking to me right now. She’s going through one of her moods or something. You know how these broads are nowadays.”

“What did you do to that poor girl? What’s the matter with you?” Pearl begins beating Donny with a bone. “I raised you to respect women. What are ya doin’? Trying to make your mother die without any grandbabies.” 

“Stop, ma! Stop! Take it easy! Would ya?”

She stops beating him for a moment. “You look so skinny. Did you eat today?”

Hank bursts through the kitchen doors. “Detective Murk…Murky here. Get food in my mouth.”

Before he can finish his sentence Donny and Pearl flee out the back door. 

“Hey Sanchez! Come watch this ov —“ Hank burps. “Oven. Make sure it doesn’t go anywhere. Things are about to get a lot bloodier. Mostly me. It’s — I’m the one gonna get bloody again. I don’t even know where all this blood — I mean look at it all. I should look into that…”

*** ** *** **

For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Published by tony espino

a human. for now.

3 thoughts on “Unthinkable Cramps | Murky. Bloody. And Drunk.

  1. Tony, your stories are fun and quirky.
    The characters exemplify weirdness and the limits to which it can stretch.
    Hank is a detective with a higher purpose and that’s why he can’t see what others can.
    Searching for crumbs in bed…how crazy and hilarious is that!
    And these appliances and gadgets just can’t get enough.
    Great concept. Looking forward to the next one. 🙂

    1. Yes exactly Hank is one of those detectives totally consumed by the case that he neglects his family and doesn’t pay attention to things unrelated to the case. But instead of serial killers it’s talking appliances.
      I guess my stories are a little quirky. If they could act they would be Zooey Deschanel.
      Thanks for reading, Terveen! Appreciate your feedback as always!

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