Hipster Holocaust

 

Hipster Holocaust Chapter Four

Dummy McCarthy and Julio Torrez were standing at the autopsy while the Medical Examiner made an incision down the breastbone of the almost albino body on the table. Pale and thin she was a big boned girl who must have kept the weight off by subsisting on the hipster diet of premium coffee and menthol cigarettes. The stark evidence of her white privilege made her numerous tattoos stand out like a dog shit on freshly fallen snow. She had the usual tribal band on her arm and the ubiquitous tramp stamp. A large cartoon mushroom was growing out of her pubes. Or where her pubes would have been if she had not been freshly shaved. Funny that she would shave her twat and not her armpits.

“So how did she die Doc? I take it she didn’t drown? Unless the big hole where her throat should have been made her swallow too much of that Canal Water?” asked McCarthy while he idly scratched his balls. Torrez did not complain because he had his finger shoved up his nose as if he was mining for a gold nugget. They were both famous for their couth.

“Cause of death was exsanguination Dummy. She bled out almost before she hit the water. There was no water in her lungs so she must have been dead when she hit the water.” “Shit Doc that ain’t water in the Canal” Torrez joked. “Did she have any oil slick scum in her lungs?” “No, it was the throat cutting that did the deed. The perp might have some knowledge of anatomy because he hit the exact right spot on the jugular that meant almost instant death. There was no slashing or hesitation marks. Just one slit nice and neat.”

Doc Isaac was short and frizzy haired under the dirty surgical cap he wore. It was extra-large because he had pushed up his curls to keep them out of the miasma on the table. He was a rotund Hebrew in a dirty ill-fitting suit covered in dandruff and lint. The Doc was sloppy in his personal hygiene but fastidious in his professional life. He squinted through a thick pair of wire rimmed glasses as he ripped out her heart and placed on the scale. He weighed it and called out the specifics to the tape and to the silent tiny Asian girl who was his assistant. She hadn’t said a word so far today. She rationed them. No more than ten sentences a day. Which was all right with Isaac. That was the whole reason he loved to work in the morgue. The corpses talked to him. Just not with words. The solace of silence was his haven before we went home to his wife Rivka and their ten kids in Borough Park. The life of an Orthodox Jew was many things but one thing it was not is quiet. Still and all he enjoyed the dynamic duo of the loud-mouthed Irishman and the sardonic Puerto Rican. They were like a comedy team. They took him back to the old Brooklyn he had grown up in. He enjoyed their nonsense. It was his guilty pleasure. He wouldn’t want to make a diet of it but now and again it was some welcome comic relief. 

“Did you identify her Dummy?” “Yeah. My excellent police work told me her name was Sunshine nee Karen Eastman. I shit you not. Stone hipster moved here from upstate. Works in a boutique up on Court Street. That’s our next stop.” “That’s impressive. Quick work” said the Doc as he stripped her liver out and replaced the heart on the scale. May Ling had already put the heart in a specimen jar for later examination.

“Don’t let him pull you dick Doc,” laughed Torrez. “He found her wallet in her pants. Her driver’s license had an address from upstate and she had a pay stub from that vintage clothing store on President Street,

“Well time of death is not a mystery. It was three am yesterday give or take a few minutes. Her blood alcohol was pretty high, and she had pizza in her stomach. She must have been drinking before she died so there is that.”

“Yeah, I figured she was boozing Doc,” said Dummy. “Why else would you be wandering around at that hour. Unless you were trying to score and there is nobody dealing around there these days. We will be hitting the bars around the neighborhood tonight after we finish with you and report into the Twat.” Torrez shook his head. “You keep saying that and it is going to get back to her Dummy. You don’t want her on your ass any more than she already is dude.”

“He’s right Dummy” said the Doc as he leaned over the body and peered into the cavity as he poked around with his fingers. “She is a klafte for sure. Everybody knows that.” “Why you know her from up around Jewtown Doc?” asked Dummy. “I thought she lived in Jamaica Estates not Borough Park.’ “She moved there now but she came from Borough Park. In fact, her family used to belong to my shul. Nobody wanted to have anything to do with her. She was that nasty.”

“I hear you, but we still have to deal with her. Fuck it. I got twenty-five years in so I don’t have to kiss her pimply fat ass. I just have to do enough so she doesn’t have cause to shitcan me.  Let’s go Torrez. Might as well get it over with. Doc shoot me a copy of the autopsy as soon as you can all right? A prelim is fine. I got to get a handle on this quick.” “I will Dummy no worries.”

McCarthy and Torrez went out into the rain and got into their car. As they drove through the rain slicked streets Torrez stared pensively out the window. “So, waddya think? Lover’s quarrel? Robbery? Crime of passion? Lots of room for speculation here Dummy.” Dummy sat hunched over the steering wheel as he tried to see out of the dirty windows. They had to get this fucking shit box cleaned one of these days. “Don’t know Beaner. We have to see. Let’s go into this with an open mind. And don’t say too much to this cunt. The less she knows the better.” “Okey dokey,” Torrez agreed.

They pulled up Union Street and stopped a few feet away from the front door of the 76. The Toyota slid up on the sidewalk and they parked it sideways like the rest of the hotshots in the precinct. Cops didn’t have to parallel park like regular people.

They walked slowly in the door and greeted the desk sergeant as they ambled up the stairs to the Detective Squad room. Battered green metal desks were set up in two lines that had not changed since the forties. The only innovation were the computers on each desk. They were archaic models which about five years out of date. Some of the detectives had their own personal laptops or tablets to augment the lack of support. The City of New York was a harsh mistress. Defunding the police was a reality not just a slogan. The 76 was at the end of the supply chain. What they had was better than nothing but not by much.

They both went over to the stained coffee urn and poured a cup of mud like coffee. It was the lube that kept the gears moving in this joint. Or at least it kept some of them awake.  No sooner did they sit down then the captains butt boy came scurrying over.  He was a yapping little weasel who looked like a half ass Poindexter. The fucker even sported a bow tie over his plaid shirt and a sweater vest that he even wore in the summer. He was all of four feet ten and weighed about ninety pounds. This was the future of the department. Jesus wept.

“The Captain wants to see you now McCarthy. Right now.” “Take it easy you little shit or I will hold you out the fucking window until you piss down your pants into your mouth.” The weasel almost foamed at the aforementioned mouth.  “I’m going to report that McCarthy. You can’t talk to me like that.” McCarthy flicked some imaginary dust off his sleeve. He didn’t touch any of the actual dust because that was stuck on like glue. “Fuck you…you little pissant I will talk to you any way I want. Tell the Captain we will be there in a few minutes. I want to take a leak so unless she wants to follow me into the crapper, she has to wait a freaking minute. You know what? Fuck it. Let’s just go in and piss all over her desk instead. 

The two detectives went to the back of the second floor to the Captain’s office. Torrez knocked on the door jam twice. “Enter” shouted the diminutive precinct commander. All of five feet tall and round as a bowling ball she was 200 pounds of resentment and bile topped by a curly Jew fro and a schnozzola that went out of style when Jimmy Durante retired. It made sense that she was so small. You could only stack shit so high.

“So, what do you have to say for yourself McCarthy” spit the midget sized commander. “Not much Captain. Twenty-five-year-old woman name Sunshine Eastman. From upstate but she works at the boutique on President and Court. She had her throat cut and was tossed in the Canal off the Carroll Street bridge around three in the morning. She was drinking so we are going to hit the bars tonight to see what’s up. That’s all we got so far.” The captain sniffed like she smelt something bad. But then she always did that around these detectives. They were not her kind of cops. Not her kind of people. She planned to get these dinosaurs out as soon as possible to get some diversity into the unit. She had her eye on a couple of Latino lesbians from patrol to promote into the Detective bureau as soon as she could get a chance. 

“See that you get this cleared as soon as possible McCarthy. You hear me? None of your bullshit or I will have you out of here so fast you won’t know what hit you.” “Sure thing Cappy. Whatever you say. Why don’t you let us get on with it? Ok?” “Don’t give me your good ol’boy white supremacist bullshit! I am the Captain and you will respect me or you will be fired. You got that McCarthy?” “What does being white have to do with it?” “Don’t talk back to me you shit. I will write you up and call in Internal Affairs. You are on a tight leash. I want a written report every night, make it the first thing I see on my desk in the morning. You understand McCarthy? You are on thin ice here. Your day is done in this department.” 

“Sure thing Captain. Written report every night. You got it.” “Get out of my office and get this done.”

They left the office and walked back to their desks. They looked at each other and both detectives mouthed the same word at the same time.

 “Cunt.”