| �I want off the case.�
Portia was in Chief Rollins office sitting in a chair in front of his desk, the following day. Her ankles were crossed under her chair with her feet out of her flip-flops, her toes brushing back and forth against the side of her bottom foot. Though she�d given them a thorough scrubbing, her soles still had a yellowish tint to them. �You can�t get off the case,� said Rollins, not looking up from the folder that he was studying. �This guy�s fucking with me,� Portia wailed. �He probably gonna keep fucking with you until you catch him.� �It�s too hard.� �It�s not hard,� said Rollins, looking at her now. �Stop whining. Do your job.� �I am doing my job. All I get out of it is yellow feet.� Rollins chuckled. �That�s not funny.� �No it�s not funny,� said Rollins, sobering. �The only way I can get this dude is to be where he�s gonna be before he gets there�but that�s fucking impossible.� �Portia, have you noticed any patterns with the victims?� �No.� �Have you thought about it?� Portia was silent. �Just think about it.� �Okay,� said Portia, pouting. Portia returned to her desk and sat to think. She shook her feet out of her flip-flops and curled her toes at the backs. Staring off into space, Portia tried to come up with some similarities between the victims, herself included. Were they all black? No. There was that one Latina on the train. Ethnic types? Perhaps. That hardly narrowed the field, however. Tall? All the girls did appear to have a little height to them. Getting closer. Portia put her head on her desk and mulled over each of the incidents that she�d witnessed. Nothing was clicking. She sat up and pushed back in her chair, stretching her bare feet out in front of her. She crossed her ankles and stared at her wiggling toes�and there it was. It took her ten minutes, but she finally figured it out. �Big feet!� Portia screamed, as she burst into Rollins� office. �Huh?� said Rollins, with a furrowed brow. �That�s the common thread�big feet.� Rollins smiled. �Well congratulations.� �So how does this help me?� Rollins shook his head. �You�re extremely lucky today, Portia.� He handed her a newspaper open to a full-page ad. �What�s this?� �Read the ad.� Portia glanced over the ad. �Ana Sui show Saturday?� �What�s bound to be at a fashion show?� Portia�s blank expression prompted Rollins to answer the question for her. �Models�with big feet. Your boy ain�t gonna be able to resist.� �Sooo . . .� �You�ll probably need to go undercover�as a model, I mean.� �Oh, okay.� �You can get backstage so you can keep an eye out.� �Okay.� �I�m like, solving this whole case for you, aren�t I?� �Nooo! Ay, you think I can pull it off? The model thing?� �Well, you only gonna be there for a few hours. You should be okay. I don�t think you gonna have to walk down the runway or anything.� �Psss. I hope not.� |
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| Saturday, as Chief Rollins had predicted, Devon had indeed managed to finagle his way backstage of the Ana Sui fashion show. A press pass hung from the lapel of his black suit jacket. He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a fake bushy mustache. So far, no one had paid him any special attention. His trusty can of Krylon was tucked away in the inner pocket of his jacket. Devon walked around, looking over each of the models, making some final decisions as to who would have the pleasure of serving as his victims.
There were three models over at the make up table being worked on. He took special notice of a Dominican model with short hair named Omahyra. Omahyra�s toes rested at the backs of her black mules, occasionally tipping the fronts of her shoes into the air. |
| Omahyra |