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Detective
Jack
Season 2
Feb '23
Wait, no. Try again: Fried sugar dough. I mean, it’s gross. Objectively.
I was back from Hawaii. Back from trying to find myself (I failed). And I was on a bit of a health kick. Vegetables, chicken, and vodka. The three core food groups.
That’s all to say, I was looking good—sunkissed and down a few pounds.
Yet here I was at Donny’s Donuts, the scene of a crime. Donald Redder, proprietor, dead.
S2-02: Concentric Circles
My investigation was punctured by a flurry of radio activity.
“All units. All units. Suspected homicide at Donny’s Donuts Culver City.”
I briefly tuned out, thinking it was a repeat of my present location. But then “Culver City.”
I rushed to my car. I may be tired and jaded, but there’s something about a potential serial killer that wakes you right up.
The Culver City location was a particular feat of human ingenuity. It was a donut shop in the middle of a traffic circle (“the donut in a donut,” it was called). How you safely walked there was a bit of a mystery (it involved a tiny crosswalk in the back).
As I slammed my Chevy into park and jumped out of the car, I instantly knew something was amiss. Inside the glass windows was a scene from an obsessive hungry person’s dreams. Neatly assembled on the counter were uneaten donuts of many flavors and varieties.
But interrupting this organized obsession, a body.
Not a robbery. Her purse was untampered with.
Cecilia Redder.
The grand dame of Los Angeles society. The ex-wife to Donald Redder (but continued business partner).
I knew from my 20s precisely what that was (maybe my 30s too…).
Cecilia Redder seemed to be a cocaine user.
Or, someone wanted us to believe that.
I started pacing through the 500 square feet that was Donny’s Donuts Wilshire. That’s when I saw it.
Plated. At the counter. Ready to be eaten.
The uniformed officers told me it was there when they arrived on the scene.
I was confused. These academy-fresh officers must be mistaken.
“But weren’t they closed?”
The officers stood looking at me, mumbling amongst themselves like a gaggle of preschoolers, embarrassed for not knowing how to tie their shoes.
The pink glazed donut. A clue. Outside the store, the teenage clerk who had stumbled across Donny’s body was being held. I walked up to him and dragged him back inside by the ears (like my mother used to). “What is this?”
“Shut up, kid. You know what I mean.”
The pimpled boy stared back at me, “It’s plain flavored?”
I stood, exhausted. They don’t pay me enough for this. This donut was clearly brought here. Either by Donald or the murderer.
My vote? The murderer.
And that’s when I had an idea.
S2-02: A Clue
Found on the baking room floor. Called in by the acne-ridden 16-year-old tasked with opening up this sugary hellhole.
After the mess with The Circle, the force had cleaned ranks. The LAPD was to be the finest police force on the planet (I chuckled too). The issue? The mass firings had left us hamstrung. We barely had enough cops to secure a murder scene, let alone investigate one.
So here I was, outside a Donny’s Donuts, telling sugar-addicted Angelenos to get out of the damn parking lot.
My own personal hell.
Fried dough.
Shit. A second
murder scene.
"Sir,
it's a donut."
A small vial tumbled out.
I started rummaging through her Chanel bag.
A singular donut.
S2-03: Officer Mia Mendoza
I walked out of Donny’s with one idea and many more questions.
And that’s when an answer arrived: Officer Mia Mendoza.
She stood in the parking lot, hip against a street light,
After my failed romance with Abigail/Amanda Chester (it’s a long story…) during my last investigation, I had a healthy skepticism of my heartstrings. But, without breaking a beat, I gave her my best puppy eyes,
I long held that the one rule of romance is don’t date another cop. Years of shoving feelings into tiny compartments does rough work on a soul. But here I was, staring into an officer’s eyes.
“Detecti—-”
“Please, call me Jack. Detective is what Joe the parking cop calls me.”
“How’s
your day,
Detective?”
“Better now, officer."
She started walking me over to a cordoned-off section of the lot. I was distracted but tried to keep focused.
Mia pointed down at the ground. Holy...the murder weapon, a gun with what appeared to be a very bloody palm print.
Who was this angel? Showing me the light, looking like that. Sometimes the things we wish for do come true.
something.”
“Ok, Jack. i think we
S2-03: Timmy the Clerk
He was shaken up. Or at least he was acting like it.
Timmy Satfield, 17 years old. From the part of town where rough and tumble was a way of life.
It was 4:30AM this morning. Opening up like he does every Tuesday when he came across the body of Donny, the donut king of Los Angeles. Bloodied, beaten, and broken beyond recognition.
As he told me this tearjerker story, I interrupted him.
He looked at me, slightly baffled, “Wha–?’
“You know what I’m talking about.”
His eyes implied no, but his shaky hands told me a different story.
I got right up in his face, “Look at me. Does 20 years in lock-up as an accomplice to murder sound fun? Does it sound like a good time?”
His face started to twitch.
People around us started to stare.
“I….just. I did what I was told…”
And that’s how we had our first suspect.
donut on the counter?”
“Shut up, kid. who put that
“LOOK AT ME.”
BURNED🔥
BURNED🔥
found
S2-04: Snow Flour Inc.
The murder weapon. Officer Mendoza would be Detective Mendoza within the year. I could feel it.
In fact, feeling Officer Mendoza was high on my list. Oof—sometimes my brain really is that of a 13-year-old boy.
As we looked at the weapon, another police officer interrupted us.
“Detective, the neighbors said they saw a truck early this morning for SNOW FLOUR INC. Apparently, it stayed longer than usual, and the men who came out of it didn’t look like delivery men.”
I turned to Officer Mendoza, “Let’s go find these murderers.”
Shit. When it rains, it pours.
we got into my car and started speeding.
“Where are we going?” Mia looked at me, baffled.
I got on the radio, “Dispatch, I need the address of a Snow Flour Inc.”
A few red lights ignored, we soon got to a massive building in the warehouse district of Santa Monica.
The door was unlocked.
As we walked in, I was struck by two things. One, this warehouse was definitely murderer-lurking-in-the-dark level creepy. Second, Mia was my dream woman. An angel with a gun.
As we turned into another room, we heard a sound.
Someone else
was here.
Mia Mendoza. I wanted to say her name over and over. A poetic name for a poetic soul.
After her evidence discovery, I suggested we take a little break. We work too hard not to have some fun.
We found our way to Santa Monica beach. A little sunshine walk is good for the heart.
Her hair shimmered as she laughed. She sprinted for the ocean and started running in the water.
“Come on!”
Before getting in, I could already feel the cold (the water is always freezing, anyone telling you otherwise is lying) and the resulting goosebumps.
She waved me in.
There was something about those eyes.
I ran in behind her.
“Why don’t we go in,
“I don’t have a
Detective?”
bathing suit,
Officer.”
"Come over here. I want to tell you something.”
BURNED🔥
S2-04: My California Sunshine
S2-05: The Prophet Returns
As we turned a corner, I instantly knew.
The pink cloak. The piercing blue eyes.
The man who took a sex-loving commune cult and turned them into murderous alien-obsessed freaks.
I reached for my gun, but Mia grabbed it out of my holster before I could.
I could feel my dreams withering. I don’t deserve love. I’m not a good enough detective. Maybe not a good enough man.
The Prophet stared at me.
“Detective Crimson, it’s time for you to join us. You know the truth. You know that what we seek is real.”
I briefly imagined myself hanging out with these nutters. The image of me in a pink robe was kind of amusing. The pink would bring out my skin tone...not so bad!
It was The Prophet.
The leader of The Circle.
"Sorry, Jack."
“Fuck you.”
A GUNSHOT RANG OUT.
Editorial Note: This is the second season in a row that The Prophet has killed me. Yeesh.
Better luck next season, Jack.