Chapter 6: Moonset and Sunrise
author's note: sorry for the long wait! I plan on finishing the story, just very slowly. Also, I changed the title of the story from 'As The Snow Falls' to 'South Park Confidential', as a reference to the movie that inspired me to write this: L.A. Confidential. :-)
The bloody red sun was sinking further beneath the horizon behind Tweek as he shuffled down the freezing sidewalk, head down and hands stuffed into his pockets. He glanced at a small clock tower- 6:50 p.m. In a few minutes, Clyde Donovan would roll down the street in his cruiser, heading back to the station after a long day patrolling the streets.
Tweek and Clyde had been good friends since elementary school, though they began to slowly drift apart after the war. Tweek suspected that Clyde felt guilty about this because whenever they saw each other Clyde had this pitying look in his eyes, his eyebrows slanted down and a sad smile on his lips. Sweet, gullible Clyde- he would be so easy to manipulate, all Tweek would need to do is make the cop feel sorry for him.
The previous day, Tweek had asked his neighbor to punch him in the face (a favor his neighbor was a little too eager to do), and now a deep, purple and black bruise smothered his left eye and stretched down the side of his face like dark storm clouds. It would probably take two weeks for the bruise to disappear, but Tweek didn't mind.
The gentle drone of tires drifting over the street hummed behind Tweek. Craning his neck to look behind him, the dizzying bright headlights blinded him for a moment until the car pulled up closer. Through the dark, Tweek could make out the unmistakable black and white of a police cruiser. Clyde was right on time.
Tweek stopped walking as the cruiser halted next to him, Clyde manually rolling down the window. He stuck his head out the window and flashed a bright smile.
"Tweek! How you doin'?"
"Oh, I-I'm fine," Tweek forced a nervous grin and clasped his hands tightly together.
Clyde's brown eyes narrowed and a frown fell upon his face. "What happened to your face, man?"
Tweek decided to look shocked, brows carefully raised. "Oh, you don't know? Your chief did this. I wasn't even doing anything."
"Oh," Clyde pursed his lips and glanced down for a second. He didn't ask what happened or why Cartman would do such a thing, instead accepting Tweek's answer without hesitation. The air was thick between them, and the evening quiet. Then, Clyde raised his head and smiled. "Hey, I get off work in a few minutes and me and some buddies are going to the bar tonight. Why don't you join us?"
Tweek straightened out his back and scratched his head. "Er, I don't know."
"Come on, we haven't hung out in a while."
After mulling it over for a second, Tweek shrugged and nodded. Clyde gestured to the back seat of the cruiser and Tweek slid on in. He wasn't really listening to Clyde chattering from the front seat as they sped down the quiet streets, instead choosing to knead his hands on his thighs and stare at the metal divider separating him from the cop.
Eventually, they made it to the station and Tweek waited in the car for about ten minutes while Clyde went inside to finish off his shift. The first few stars began twinkling in the dark purple sky when Clyde came out again, coat lazily unzipped and hat balancing at a jaunty angle over his brown hair. Trailing behind him was another cop, tall, fair skinned and dark haired.
They hopped into the front seats and turned around to look at Tweek. Clyde wore a goofy grin, but the other cop was expressionless. The darkness inside the car contrasted sharply with his light skin, and the divider formed crisscrossing shadows over his fine features. To complete his eerie look was a pair of pale blue eyes, colder than an arctic glacier.
Tweek gulped and twitched his head while Clyde introduced the cop to him.
"Tweek, this is Craig."
"Uh, n-nice to meet you," Tweek's voice was hardly above a whisper.
Craig nodded slightly, then asked "What happened to your eye?"
Before Tweek could answer, Clyde cut in, leaning his head close to Craig. "Cartman did it," he growled, voice dangerously low.
Craig shrugged and twisted his body around to face the front, staring coolly out the windshield. As they pulled out of the lot and onto the streets, now lit up by blinding streetlights, Craig took out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to both Clyde and Tweek, but both men shook their heads.
Tweek stared intently at the back of Craig's head, his black hair shining under passing streetlights, as the man lit his cigarette and took a long, slow drag. Smoke radiated from his parted lips and flowed out the open window. Tweek suddenly got the feeling that it was going to be a very long night.
The angle was absolutely perfect. Stan and Kyle were tucked away in Kyle's old jalopy, hidden behind rows of other cars in the motel parking lot, a camera resting on Kyle's lap. In one motel room with a large window that allowed its occupants to peer out at the snow covered streets, Kenny rested inside. He had been instructed to draw the curtains close, but leave a centimeter wide crack between. It was just enough for Stan and Kyle to see through, getting a perfect view to whatever would happen inside.
In the room, Kenny was lying on his back on the filthy bed, shirtless and sipping from a bottle of beer. Kyle, sitting in the driver's seat, lifted the camera up and snapped a quick picture. Stan quirked his eyebrow at this, glancing at the camera as Kyle fumbled with it.
"Just getting a clear shot of our setup," Kyle explained, bowing his head away from Stan.
Stan shrugged and then stretched his neck to look out the window. An ordinary brown car was rolling into the parking lot, smoke chugging out the muffler and dissipating into the cold air. Stan straightened out his posture and motioned for Kyle to grab the camera. The redhead obeyed and started taking pictures of the car, making sure to get the license plate in a few shots.
They watched with bated breath, Kyle snapping pictures as Cartman lumbered out of the car, his large frame a stark silhouette beneath the white light of a streetlamp. All was quiet, except for the small clicks of the camera.
Cartman knocked at the door to Kenny's room, glancing behind him and tapping his foot. When the door opened, Kenny leaning against the frame cloaked in shadow, warm light poured out onto the black parking lot and washed over Cartman's front. With his face perfectly illuminated, another picture was taken- irrefutable proof.
Quickly, Cartman shoved inside the room and Kenny closed the door behind him with a smirk. What happened played like a scene in a silent film, the shuttering of the camera like the microsecond of black between each frame. Inside, Cartman was shrugging off his coat, talking with soundless words.
Kenny, however, wasted no time. He sprang forward to undo Cartman's tie, fingers working with expert speed. A wide grin spread across Cartman's mouth as he leaned in close to Kenny's ear, whispering something.
Then, Kenny went still as death, his face growing bone white and eyes widening slowly. Kyle and Stan glanced at each other, brows furrowed, before continuing their observation. Kenny started shaking his head, his mouth making out the word 'no' repeatedly. Next thing they knew, Cartman was holding a handgun, placed just underneath Kenny's chin.
Almost immediately, Stan jumped up and opened the car door. Before he could get out, Kyle grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back in.
"Stan, are you crazy? He's got a gun, you can't go in there!"
Stan gritted his teeth and slid back into his seat, hands tightly gripping the handle and muscles tensed. Kyle continued taking photos.
"The best thing we can do," he said, taking a deep breath as he focused the camera on Cartman. "Is take pictures as evidence and hope that Kenny gets out okay."
It was only a few minutes, but seemed like hours. Their heartbeats pounded in their ears with a violent rush of cold blood filling their veins with each thump. Cartman was speaking to Kenny calmly, his eyes narrowed and posture controlled. Kenny was shaking, eyebrows folded back in a pleading expression and his neck stretched out from the cold metal of the gun.
Finally, Cartman got tired of talking. He removed the gun from Kenny's chin, but then quickly grabbed him by the hair, forcing the gun into his mouth. Kenny obediently wrapped his lips around the muzzle, brown eyes locked into a thousand yard stare.
"We have to do something, dammit!" Stan slammed his fist on the dashboard, mouth twisted into a grimace.
"Do what, Stan?" Kyle hissed through clenched teeth. "We can't go in there, Cartman'll shoot us!"
"I can't let Kenny die."
"It's him or you."
Before Stan could reply, a loud bang sounded from the motel. They snapped their heads back in the direction, and saw the window splattered with crimson blood, Cartman standing cool behind the glass and tucking his gun into his holster, then wiping off some blood from his face with a tissue.
Stan and Kyle dropped their jaws, frozen to their seats. They were silent as they watched Cartman put on his coat and walk out of the room. He whistled a jaunty tune as he stepped out into the winter air and hopped into his car. The headlights flashed over the motel room window, briefly illuminating the dripping blood, before he drove away into the night.
As soon as Cartman was gone, Stan and Kyle bolted out of the car and raced to the motel room. Stan practically ripped the door off its hinges and stumbled in. He crumpled to his knees when he saw Kenny lying motionless on his back on the floor, a dark bloodstain pooling around the back of his head and sightless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. When Kyle came rushing in a second later, his first instinct was to take a picture of the dead body.
"Shit," he mumbled, kneeling down next to Stan.
"Oh God, Kenny. I'm so sorry," Stan began crying, burying his face in his hands.
Kyle wrapped an arm around Stan and drew him in close. "Listen, you have to calm down. What if somebody hears you? We don't want to be caught here."
However, Stan wasn't listening. He was suddenly back in Europe during the war, machine guns firing with a ratatatat and bullets grazing the air. Screams and shouts sounded from soldiers around him as he struggled to reload his gun. The scene played in his mind like a flip book, slow and unnatural, slightly distorted. In front of him, a young soldier let out a sharp cry and collapsed onto his back, a bullet lodged neatly into his forehead, brown eyes hollow.
Kyle forced the trembling, sobbing Stan to his feet, supporting him with his shoulder. He dragged him outside and back to the car, where Stan was able to get himself into the passenger seat.
Breathless, Kyle collapsed into the driver's side and placed the camera in Stan's lap. Stan had calmed down and was now slumped in the seat and staring straight ahead.
"Develop those pictures tonight," Kyle said, running a hand through his hair. "And tomorrow we can anonymously submit them to the police."
"No," Stan's voice was shaking as he reached for his pack of cigarettes. "They're corrupt. We'll give them to Wendy. She can publish them for everyone to see."