Introduction of Dylan Kelley

Monday 7:30 am

Overcast skies loom overhead, as the rain beats down hard against Dylan’s old, black Continental. Carelessly, he pulls to the side of the road at a blocked off intersection on the corner of 13th and Maddux. It’s usually a calm spot for the big, little city of Camino. Yellow tape is strewn about haphazardly. Dylan stumbles out of his car. Nonchalantly, he ducks under the tape. A uniformed officer rushes towards him. He’s screaming, “This is a crime scene!”

Dylan slurs his words, as a faint scent of bourbon wafts off his lips, “Yeah buddy, man, guy… huh?” With his shoulders slumped deeply, he sways a bit as he continues, “It sure looks that way. You want it?” Dylan’s awkward disposition has clearly distorted the officer’s preconceptions.

“Officer Kelley?” He inquires. 

“Fuckin’ A-skippy. Were you expecting someone prettier? Trust me. I wish I was too.” Dylan takes a deep breath in. “You holdin’?” The officer stammers, as another spots the two men and makes haste towards them. He pulls his hat off his head. The pouring rain slowly inches down his bald head, as his heavy frame produces a waddling jog. With a slight shortness of breath, he asks, “Fresno, you giving Kelley a hard time?”

The young, uniformed officer looks surprised, “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t know who he was.”

The bald cop turns his glare from Fresno to Dylan Kelley. “Hell, I don’t think he knows half the time.” He jokes, chuckling, as he nudges Dylan on the shoulder. Dylan appears rather stoic.

“Right.” Dylan brushes his shoulder once, and then unenthusiastically he continues, “It’s Monday and it’s early. What is it?”

The bald officer motions towards the tape. “Fresno, keep it secure.” Fresno quickly pops alert and eagerly rushes to secure the perimeter.

Dylan grins and wryly he quips, “Nice little lap dog ‘ya got there. Is he potty trained?”

“I’m not amused, Kelley.”
“That’s the spirit, Chief.”
The Chief shakes his head, as he scoffs, “One of these days you aren’t gonna have a job.”

Dylan shrugs, as he motions towards the sheets that lay over cold bodies in the middle of the intersection. “Same to them, huh?”

The Chief starts his list- “Two bodies. One male, one female. Multiple stab wounds. No weapon. No phones and no wallets, which means no IDs. We did find a small bag of white powder on the female that our boys are field testing on the back of that cruiser right now-”

Dylan interrupts, “Which cruiser?” The chief points to one of three marked police cars blocking off the scene. “I’d better check on that.” 

Dylan casually wanders towards the cruiser. The Chief follows along and continues, “we found a few vicodin loose in her jeans pocket. We’re not ruling that these were just some run-of-the-mill junkies, but we’re not ruling it out either.” Dylan pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. Still closely listening, he pulls out a worn out twenty dollar bill and a credit card. As he palms the card, he begins to roll the twenty between his fingers into the shape of a tube. The Chief glances scornfully, but continues as if uninterrupted. “It looks like someone dumped these bodies, and they obviously wanted someone to find them.”

As the two near the cruiser, Dylan yells to the analysts, “you guys can get out of here for a minute.” The Chief nods and the small crew of three disperses. Dylan grabs the very small bag of white powder and lightly pours a quarter sized amount onto the polished finish of the cruiser’s trunk. He pushes it into a line with the credit card. Then he puts his crude twenty dollar-tube to his nose, pushes the other end to the line and takes a big deep breath through his right nostril. “Wooh! That’s blow.” Dylan squints, as his eyes tear up a bit and through a wince he goes on, “but, it isn’t good blow. It’s been cut. A lot.”

The Chief shakes his head disapprovingly. “Jesus Christ, I’m right here, Kelley.”

“Good.” Dylan replies, unnerved. “Then you can you call ‘em. Tell headquarters to search for electronic music concerts, raves, festivals…the like. Any that have taken place within thirty miles of the city, anytime within the last week. Get your undercover guys off whatever they’re wasting their time on and have them focus on a missing couple- or a couple that went away, or did something really bad- or pissed someone off. Anything. Run tox screens on both of ‘em. I’m guessing we’re gonna find more than coke and vicodin.” Confidently, Dylan pauses and takes a deep breath. “Get me a list of missing persons posted within the last thirty days. And give me those vicodin, we both know how this goes. We got 48 hours, man.” Dylan flashes a friendly and mischievous wink towards his commanding officer. “We better make the most of it.” 

(WORK IN PROGRESS)