The interview was over. Constable Jenny and Constable Jackson got what they needed, alibi as well as some hair samples from the Tucker resident. The two officers leaned against the wall of the fifth floor hallway, waiting for their elevator. It was slow, stopping at every floor before theirs.

While waiting, Jenny gave a small sigh. Then busied herself by swiping a backhand across Jackson’s chest. “I – cannot – BELIEVE YOU!”

Jackson looked at where Jenny struck him. With a flat face, he brushed the dust off his shirt, “Look. Jeans. When you got to go, you got to go! What? I ain’t gonna toot my trombone in the middle of the room and say ‘Sorry had breakfast burritos this morning’. That would be too awkward.”

“Could you, at the very least, hold it until AFTER our duties!?” Jenny resisted the urge to full tilt yell in the apartment hallways. Not wanting to scare any children inside, she could only suppress her frustration with a groan and covering her eyes with shame, “The man lost his wife, his company is hitting a slump, relies on an inhaler, and he cried during the interview! I feel absolutely TERRIBLE for this man – and you go and leave a stinky in his toilet!?”

“Gurl,” Jackson raised a hand to adjust his fedora hat that slipped on a tilt, “if you have a habit of holding in number 2 for hours, you got health issues. I’m an officer of the law, not RoboCop.”

Jenny spun on her heels to turn her back on Jackson. One, it was the most polite way of saying go screw himself. Two, she can’t handle the intense feeling of embarrassment in her small body.

“Relaaax, Jeanny Jeans. The guy is fine, I’m sure. He’s already got a back up plan.”

“My brain hurts too much to understand your cryptic sarcasm. What are you suggesting?”

“Be thinkin he’s got another girl in mind,” Jackson would rub his chin with a cheeky grin, “I mean, I noticed he switched out his wife’s old towels with a brand new one. Even her own toothbrush is fresh from the box. Guessing he’s got an opening for a new babe...or boy if he’s a switch hitter.”

Jenny closed her eyes. She would take several deep and calming breaths, before swinging her police tablet to smack Jackson all over. A game of whack a mole!

“YOU – ARE – THE – WORST!”

“OW! STOP! AAGH! POLICE BRUTALITY! POLICE BRUTA—AAHG!!”

“Pfffft.” A sound came around the corner, suppressing the urge to laugh. Both Constables stop their war, and peered around.

A housewife was hiding behind the corner of the hall. The mole on her upper lip curled up with her sly smirk, full lips painted in velvet quivered to keep from laughing, and her extended eyelashes battering. She took a moment to carefully wipe a tear before it ruined her eyeliner.

“You two married?” the housewife asked in a teasing tone.

Jenny covered her mouth, “Please miss, no.”

Jackson tipped his hat over his eyes, “No way ho-zay, lady.”

“Gooood.” The woman laughed and pulled out a cigarette, “If I were you, sugar, I’d thiiink real hard before either of you be gettin hitched. Don’t want to see you warring like them Tuckers every day.”