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The fist pounding the door let Aiden know everything he needed to: this is a business call. Which means it can't be Tony because he would pick the lock to get in. And sure as shit it's not Bridgette because she'd have to be crazy to come back. Then again...
This inconveniences him. He has things to do. He can only hope that his deal with Miss Satan follows through.
Opening the door he finds himself half-wrong. Bridgette stands behind Bensinger, himself poised and ready for anything. Bridgette's eyes give that look of hurt, annoyance, and embarrassment. Bensinger looks as if he may get his prize turkey.
“I didn't think either of you would show up.”
Bridgette moves forward, her arms crossed and staring at the ground. “I would like my stuff.”
What stuff did she want? Aiden's mind reels back for a moment. Maybe some stiletto's. A pair of black underwear with shit stains. One of those barrettes that held her hair back...
“Give me a moment.” He begins to close the door but Bensinger's hand stops it.
“Keep it open if you don't mind.”
“Not a problem, Officer.”
Aiden does a quick one-eighty and rushes back to the bedroom. He nearly trips over the six-inch heels while trying to find them, which lead to him picking up the hair barrette sitting inches away. Dropping them both on his bed he quickly walks into the kitchen and grabs a plastic zip-lock bag. Like a crime scene vet he carefully places the undergarment evidence in the plastic bag, hermetically sealing it.
Grabbing the load he can see Bensinger eagerly awaiting his return. Passing the bathroom he realizes why Bensinger is there: she still has some dope under the bathroom sink. The crazy bitch. She wants me to go in for possession. Nonchalantly he continues to the front door and stops in front of Bensinger.
“Alright. We got ourselves one pair of six-inch 'fuck-me' pumps. One hair barrette, good for holding hair back during blowjobs. And finally I present to you exhibit 'C', one pair of black, shit-stained underwear.”
Aiden gives a big smile. Bensinger looks at Bridgette who's trying hard not to look at Aiden or him. She gives that low look before thrashing her arms out and grabbing her shit, holding it close in comfort and humility.
“Is there anything else, Officer?”
The bounce left Bensinger's bungee and Aiden hopes that this chick, no matter how bat-shit crazy she may be, won't mention the dope thing. Then again her fingerprints would be all over it and not his, and Bensinger would find himself duped and even more pissed-off than he already is if that's possible.
“Can you step outside so we can talk?”
Talk about what? The weather? “Sure, let me grab my keys first.” Aiden walks over to the counter, grabs them and walks outside, closing and locking the door behind. Bensinger moves to the staircase railing and Bridgette positions herself as far away as possible with room to run.
“Just so you know it's none of my business to get involved...” Aiden has no clue as to why Bensinger would be running down this script. Maybe she wants to see if he would get jealous and do something stupid. Maybe she tipped Bensinger off on the DVD. Maybe she just wants to stand and watch him squirm, which he'll never do.
“Did you murder Steven Lucas Hitchcock?” Bensinger stares through Aiden with the magnifying glass in his mind ready to call him out on any details.
“No.” Flat. Plain. Unemotional. The only way Aiden knows to play it.
Bensinger wants to nail him to the wall; beat a confession out of him. Aiden imagines that Bensinger thinks himself a Bobby Fisher-wannabe. Only problem being that Aiden is closer to Kasparov than Bensinger is to Fisher, or even a guy really good at playing checkers.
“Is there anything else, Officer?” Time for Aiden to go.
Bensinger finds himself caught off-guard. He clears his throat. “Don't go cruising around her. And you're not off the hook with Hitchcock's death.”
“I have better things to do with my time. Good day.”
Aiden breezes past Bensinger without a care. He looks over at Bridgette who stares intensely at the concrete floor.
“I got better things to do with my time.”
He steps down the staircase and goes to his car. As he sits inside two tricked LTDs with giant rims and blacked-out windows pull into the lot. Their sound systems THUMP the apartment complex. Aiden pulls out of the lot and drives a moment before looking back to see the two cars blocking Bensinger in.
He smiles and laughs. He would have to give the Devil her due.