Passion Victim
Kim closed her locker door, mind on her next class. Startled by a looming shadow, she stepped back and looked up into the dark eyes of…
"Officer Twill." She sighed, briefly noting the glen plaid double-breasted suit he was sporting, with its expertly folded pocket square.
"Miss Possible." He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
She glanced over her right shoulder. As expected, Tweed stood behind her, impassive in a ventless gray windowpane.
Kim looked back at Twill, her eyes narrowed. "So…what is it this time? More celebrity fashion crimes to pin on me?"
"I'm afraid not, Miss Possible," Tweed replied, walking around to stand side-by-side with his partner. He paused. "Was that a fashion pun? You'll want to be careful with those – in the wrong hands they can be quite dangerous."
Twill nodded, then looked intently at Kim. "We've got a different kind of problem."
"You ain't kidding, Yves St. Low-rent," interjected Monique as she came around the corner and caught sight of the pair. "Still with the fauxhawk, Twill? Did you have a time-travel mishap and get caught in 2002?"
Tweed glanced at Twill, who looked away.
"We can't talk about it."
By this time Ron had joined them.
"Hey-hey! The couture cops! Okay, I got somethin' for ya: Knock knock."
"Who's there?" asked Twill, deadpan as ever.
"Police," replied Ron, shooting a sly smile at Kim, who cocked an eyebrow.
"Police who?" asked Tweed , scribbling in his notepad.
"Police don't ...hey…," as a worried look began to cross Ron's face, "hey, why are you writing, what's with the writing?"
"Police don't hey hey why are you writing, what's with the writing," Tweed repeated, then looked up from his notepad and exchanged a glance with Twill.
"I don't get it," Twill said, his voice utterly affectless.
"Ah, never mind," said Ron, sourly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the row of lockers.
Kim had had about enough.
"Ok, thanks for that little interlude, but I'm late for AP history, and today's topic is not fashion mis-steps through the ages. So, are you going to tell me why you're here this time?"
"Certainly, Miss Possible. It's about… this." Tweed reached inside his jacket and withdrew a polaroid. "It's got us worried."
Monique and Ron gathered around Kim to get a better look at the picture. In what was clearly a prison yard – basketball court off to one side, multiple layers of chain-link fence and barbed wire visible in the background – was a couple, kissing. On the left: a tall, slim woman, in a bright orange one-piece prison jumpsuit. On the right…
Kim gasped in recognition. "Hoodie. And…Frugal Lucre?"
Ron shuddered at the image. "Makes my skin crawl."
Twill gave him a look. "Probably just the synthetic fibers you're wearing."
TBC