Updates EVERY Monday | Wednesday | Friday
Chapter 6
People struggle to understand what life is like for me.
They do not understand how vastly my world perception differs from theirs. There is a chair in the reception of the Police Station. You see a piece of furniture made of wood. It’s coarse to the touch, has four legs and a place to sit your fat behind down for a rest.
I see so much more it is frightening. Scents float like colours around it – one of the multiple ways my brain digests the information passing through my olfactory glands. Light purple smoke curls around the front left leg of the chair. It means a colony of ants has gone up and down that leg in the last 2 days. They navigate by pheromones and scents; therefore they are very easy to pick up for as long as a week – if I decide to look for them.
A mixture of browns, yellows and greens float around the seating area and back rest. A pregnant woman, a hooker and a drug user who is not long for this world have all sat there today.
The wood smells like cheap stock-standard pine and the frame is at least ten years old, judging by the odour of the rusted metal. This chair has seen a lot of ass, none of it the good kind.
The Captain snaps me out of my furniture fascination by handing me a fresh cup of coffee and escorting me to the police gym. He wears bargain bin aftershave, has three kids and a wife who loves him. Her scent would not cling to him so if she didn’t. No woman holds a man that long while he is sleeping if she does not have profound feelings for him.
Trust me – I know.
I wonder if I should tell him his oldest is smoking weed.
Nah, he’ll figure it out soon enough, he seems like a smart guy. The detective, the one who smells like pancakes is walking out in front. Yellow and gray surround him. He is afraid of me and of what I can do. He is keeping his distance. Good. Sometimes an air of mystery can be beneficial.
Myra is by my side, as always. She smells like new spring rain on a hot pavement. Her aroma stands out in the damp Police station from a million other smells like a diamond would stand out between stones.
She is… special to me.
Dusty is next to her, smelling like mischief. He always smells like mischief.
Walking through the locker room is like slow torture to me. Not just the sweat, unwashed towels and two-day old socks bunched up in corners, but the sheer testosterone emanating from all these macho cops. If only they knew their secrets were like an open book to me maybe they would not stare. That one is as gay as the day is bright. The guy next to him has a fetish for woman’s feet. The green blobs that some girl – possibly a prostitute of some kind – left under his nose are a dead giveaway. That one has haemorrhoids. That one still lives with his mother. He smells embarrassed. I could go on and on…
Thankfully the locker room is criminally small and we have proceeded to the gym. The Captain with the loving wife calls all the monkeys to order. I count ten of them, eight male, two female. All of them standing in a neat little row, like ducks at a carnival shooting range.
I wonder; if I knock one of them over will I win a prize? Getting a whiff of the scent emanating from the muscled blonde with the grimace, I might have to do just that. He is built like a granite statue and he is muttering something under his breath as Captain Family man speaks. I cannot hear what he is mumbling, but it does not matter. All I see are mixtures of red and yellow and that is enough.
Rage and Fear.
Captain Family man keeps on addressing his troops but it becomes obvious the blonde Statue cannot hold his tongue any longer. I suppose I have to start paying attention now as he is going to have his say about yours truly.
“Captain Smalls – with all due respect – we don’t need this freak to help us out with this investigation. We can solve this case ourselves.”
Captain Smalls’ face flushed red: “With all due respect Beukes, I think you should shut the fuck up and mind your damn manners!”
“But Sir…”
“Did I stutter Beukes? Did the deeper meanings of my command escape your pea-sized brain? I asked Mr. Bannerman to join us on this investigation and therefore join us he will. Any more opinions you have on the matter will only get you the graveyard shift for the next three months, do I make myself clear?”
I didn’t want to do this, but I suppose an example should be made. They just won’t respect me otherwise. And a team that does not respect you is more a hindrance than a help. I casually step forward and tap Captain Family man on his shoulder.
“No need to be so harsh Captain. I think the Statue and I can settle this like men in the boxing ring. Don’t you agree?”
The Statue’s expression in that exact moment was similar to one I once saw spreading over this lady’s face as she was explaining the almost borderline holiness of chocolate fudge brownies on a daytime cooking show.
He wants this, I want this. No reason to waste time.
The Captain whispered to me: “Are you sure about this? Beukes is the station champ. In fifteen fights he has never lost. Ten K.O’s in total; under three minutes each time. He’s an animal.”
Dixie just waved this away: “Don’t worry Captain; I’ll go easy on him.”
The Statue duly strapped on his gloves and changed from his trainers into boxing shoes. I pull on my gloves but decide to stay in my pink beach sandals and Hawaiian shirt. No reason to change for what will be a short fight.
We both get in the ring and the Statue starts to circle me like a lion stalking prey. I breathe in deeply and get a complete sense of his essence. He grunts under his breath:” I am going to fuck you up you freak!”
I could not resist a retort: “Please, whatever you do. Don’t break the nose.”
With an inhuman howl he charged me.
You would think that having a bloodhound-like sense of smell would not be of much use in a fight and you would be completely wrong. As he punches with a strong right hook he displaces the air around him. I “see” swirls of yellow and red moments before his fist reaches my face. Avoiding such a telegraphed move is child’s-play. The boxing lessons I took from five years old doesn’t seem to hurt either.
I dance around with him a little bit more, avoiding all his laborious blows. None of them lands. He gets tired quickly. I would hazard a guess that he has never been in a fight which lasted more than three rounds. For all his muscles and bulk he has no stamina. Patches of purple and brown are already oozing out of his pores mixed in with the sweat. He is getting frustrated now. Good. Time to give him a taste.
I land a strong hard right to his temple that he tries a counter to no avail. I am getting in the zone now.
Feint right.
Feint left.
Duck.
Left Jab to the nose.
A flash of white-hot pain obscures his features for a second. It is almost criminal how much I am enjoying this. I didn’t even hit him that hard, it’s all about knowing your opponent’s pressure points. Time for the coup de grace.
One.
Two.
Duck.
Jab to the kidney.
Jab to the temple.
Right cross to the nose.
He falls like a sack of potatoes.
All under two minutes. Hardly worth my time to be honest.
I look at the policemen surrounding the ring. They are in awe. Mission accomplished – they’ll do whatever I ask of them now. Especially the Statue.
In fact, I’ll take a guess he’s my new best friend.
Can’t Wait for it to finish? Buy for 99c on AMAZON (kindle), SMASHWORDS (multiple devices), Sony E-Bookstore
