Peter followed Route 39 from my apartment in New Orleans, to wherever the body was. I stared out the window, watching as the landscape changed from sprawling city to small towns and swamp land. I disliked the swamp, but not nearly as much as I disliked Peter right now. I was pulled from my musings when Peter snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“Jasper, you there? We’re almost at the dump site. My guess is, whoever did this has to be local. I doubt a tourist would venture this far out, what with the alligators and water moccasins.” Peter said, as he parked his car near the other crime scene and police vehicles.
Peter got out of the car and made his way to the opposite side of the road, leaving me to motivate myself. I dragged my ass out of the cloth seat, thanking God silently that it was only 85 degrees, instead of the 92 degrees it had been the past couple of weeks. I stopped Peter as he walked away from the responding officer and toward the actual site.
“Peter, is all this shit really necessary? It’s a dump site for Christ’s sake, there can’t be that much that crime scene can get here that they can’t get back in New Orleans.”
Peter rolled his eyes, pulling me towards the site, mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like stop being a baby.
“I don’t get how you are still afraid of the damn swamp, you grew up here.” Peter said as he slowly walked through the row of trees that separated the town from the swamp.
I followed after him at an even slower pace. “I did not grow up here. If you search that long memory of yours you will remember that I moved here from the middle of Texas, where the only thing that could kill you, beside your neighbors, was a coyote or a cougar and you could see those fuckers coming for you.”
Peter worked with me through the site and we brainstormed a few different scenarios while he drove me back to my apartment.
