MUSTANG KIDS

Zella Day

"Hm," the police said, looking down at the crumpled body at his feet. About 5'2"-ish, with long, curly blonde hair. At the time of her death, she was wearing a spaghetti strapped red dress, with sequins embedded in the collar. She wore that same dress now, however the collar had been cut out, jewels taken with it, and the dress was spotted with dirt.

"What're we lookin' at? Suicide?" Someone— a news reporter, most likely — asked, and the policeman grunted in response before turning to meet the eyes of many excited reporters.

"Nothing to see here. Clear out." He called, but they were persistent. 'What was her name?' One asked. 'How did she die?' Said another.

'Was she murdered?'

"I said move!" He barked, shoving the newsies out before they could drive him crazy. Except for one, with bright green eyes and wild blonde hair.

"Just one question, chief, and then I'm outta your hair." The reporter said, grinning up at the policeman, who scowled in response. "Just one."

"Fine. What is it?" The chief of police gave in with a heavy sigh and an eye roll, causing the reporter to beam in happiness. He took out a dingy looking pad of paper, which seemed to have years of use on it. He flipped to a clean page (or, as clean as it was going to get. There were numerous other notes on it) then set his pen on a blank space, and looked up expectantly.

"What do you think happened?" The reporter asked, and the chief turned back to the dead body sprawled out on the ground, limbs twisted into awkward positions.

"I think she was stupid, and committed suicide." He snorted, turning back with a sneer. "Are we done yet?" He asked, but much to his dismay, the reporter didn't seem phased at his blatant excuse to get him to leave.

"No, no." Said the reporter, actually having the nerve to push past the officer, and stand right up by the body. He crouched down to examine it, leaving the awfully confused officer to gawk at him. There was a moment of silence — spare the sirens, and chatter from photographers and other officers — before the reporter looked up again, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.

"I think, chief, that she was murdered."

The reporter was kicked out then without further question, but he didn't seem to mind. The officer caught a glimpse of his badge — Kenny McCormick, head of NEWS — before he vanished into the streets.

Stan Marsh didn't see him again until three weeks later.

xxx

Town's beloved BEBE STEVENS was found dead three weeks ago at 6:30 PM, Monday night. Chief of police Stan Marsh had this to say:

"It's just another case of suicide. Nothing else has happened here."

He closed the case without any further questions asked.

xxx

The redhead stared at the television screen with a frown, then turned back to the dead body laid out in front of him. Her skin was pale, except for several bruises around her body, and a few cuts on her face. Her once lovely olive toned skin had turned pale, lifeless blue eyes closed. All makeup had been removed since the night of the suicide, and her hair was tied back and out of her face. She looked like a doll.

She looked dead.

"You okay, Kyle?" Someone asked, causing the redhead to jump and whip around to face whoever had spoken. A tall man with clean black hair and blue eyes stared back at him, eyebrows raised in question as he walked over. Kyle sighed in relief once he realized who it was, turning back to the dead body.

"Yeah, just... Shaken up, I guess. It's hard to believe Bebe Stevens — Someone we knew — would actually..." He trailed off, a lump forming in his throat.

He didn't have to say anything else about it, because Stan already knew. The ravenette nodded in understanding, walking around the forensics scientist to the end of the table by her feet, eyebrows drawn together in thought.

"I know that it seems strange, but Bebe was severely depressed. I guess she just thought it was her time." He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hand tiredly. Kyle noticed the bags under his eyes now, and the way his jaw slacked. Stan was exhausted. The crime in South Park just never seemed to end.

"Um, let me grab my stuff, and we can head out." Kyle said, snapping Stan out of whatever thoughts he had been having. Blue eyes snapped up to meet his green ones, and Kyle blushed, turning away from the ocean hues to grab his bag by the counter.

Stan stayed silent as he milled around the room, blue eyes never leaving him. Kyle called them 'detective eyes.' Always searching for something. Always on the lookout.

"Dude, stop staring at my ass!" Kyle croaked once turning around, noticing Stan eyes were downcast. Immediately Stan looked up, a large grin forming on his face.

"Was not!" He argued, and Kyle scowled half heartedly, walking over and shoving the chief of police out of the door. Sparing one last look at the body laying on the table, he flicked the lights off and shut the door behind himself, body forgotten.

The job never got easier. Especially when he had to deal with things like this. There wasn't a lot of murders that happened in South Park — usually the worst they had to deal with was a loitering drunk — but when something this heavy did arise, it was always big news. The press was over it for weeks afterwards, even if the case had been closed long before.

Oh, that reminded him— "have you seen Tweek lately?" Kyle asked, shrugging his coat on as Stan and himself walked down the fairly empty hall of the police station. Stan shrugged, nodding hello to an officer who passed by before looking down at Kyle again.

"No. Why?" The ravenette asked, and Kyle shrugged. "He and some rookie reporter were suppose to come by today for questions about the theft." He recited, and Stan nodded beside him, listening intently. 'Detective senses.'

"But I didn't see them. I thought maybe you did." Kyle finished, and the chief shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Nope. But, if they do come around, I'll give you a call."

The two were fairly silent after that, heading out of the station and into the chilly night air. Kyle zipped his coat up to his chin and slipped his hands in his pockets, leaning against the brick wall that was the Police Station.

It was around eleven oclock now, about time for the drunks to come out. He hated this time of night, because no matter what he did— some stupid drunk guy always hit on him.

"Need a ride home?" Stan offered, nodding down the street to where his car was parked. Kyle thought it over, then shook his head with a polite smile. Being alone with Stan was always awkward. They were good friends, sure, and they worked together every day. But they were far gone from where they had been when they were much younger. They were older, and more mature now.

And Kyle was very jealous of Stan's good-looking, rich girlfriend.

"No, thanks. I'm okay. Ike's coming home from college tonight anyway, so moms gonna pick me up." Kyle replied, and Stan nodded in understanding, patting his shoulder as he walked past him.

"Alright. Well, be safe, dude. If that drunk comes around again, just give me a call." Stan offered without turning to look at the redhead, walking down the street with his keys spinning around his finger. Kyle didn't respond, instead nodded and stared ahead at the nearly empty street.

A cold wind picked up, and he shivered, glancing down at his phone. Eleven twenty-two, and no messages from his mother. He huffed and shoved the screen back into his pocket, closing his eyes.

The second he did, he saw the mutilated body of his friend, and his eyes popped out of his head.

Being a forensics scientist, and being exposed to dead bodies on the daily, was taking a toll on him. But he wouldn't give it up for the world. If they couldn't be put to rest in life, then he'd let them be put to rest in death.

He just wished that it were true.