QR Code Murders: Roll on Two

“So you track the fentanyl roots?” Kim asked.

“Yep,” Yawquisha said, showing her smartphone with red and yellow lines that looked like tails trailing after the drugs.

“We found the drug supply with the codes as well.”

“Yeah, they move them with the same amount of codes to distinguish the levels: dons, capos, soldiers.”

Kim pressed the gas. “You hungry?”

“No,” Yawquisha said. “I’ve got my own house. Own food. But thanks.”

“What are you like, seventeen? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I’m nineteen and live a crazy life. I do take courses online. Mammalogy, Calculus, Egyptian Studies, Forensics.”

Kim’s eyebrow raised. “You know we could use—nevermind.”

“Nevermind indeed.”

“So, there’re codes on the packs, walls, and arms so far. Anywhere else?”

“In books.”

“Like in the library?”

Yawquisha nodded her head yes.

“So you’re telling me we have to comb through entire volumes of knowledge if we’re going to stop this?”

“Stop what, the murders or the fentanyl?” Yawquisha asked.

“The murders. Don’t tell my fellow cops but I could give a damn about the drugs. Make ‘em legal I say. That’s why we’re even dealing with this code shit. They always find some cute route to try to hide money or move it or stash drugs or move those, too. You understand that?” Kim asked.

“Sure,” Yawquisha said.

Kim pinched her nose, tilted her back, and breathed. “So you have parents?”

“They’re dead. One died when I was one. The other when I was thirteen. Both killed here in these streets.”

“Goddamn, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve been out here grinding. I didn’t know my mom but my dad taught me ju jitsu, Elaine Arbus, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, John Coltrane, Beethoven, and the Middle Passage.”

“And on top of that you’re sneaking up on crime scenes and putting it on your vlog.” Kim shook her head. “You’re me a few years ago.”

Yawquisha looked at Kim and snickered.

“What? I’m not that old. You’re a bright kid. We can start a fund so you can get a degree.”

“You make eighty thousand, three hundred, and fifty-seven dollars a year before taxes. In crypto, I can make that in a day. I don’t need money. I’m cool with it. But thanks.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

“Then don’t, Detective.”

Kelly pulled into a burger joint while Yawquisha was busy lining up the different codes. Kim bit into her sandwich.

“C’mon, I know you’re hungry. You’ve been scoping out scenes all night up until when I spotted you.”

“No, really, I’m fine. I had two protein shakes and some alfalfa.”

Kim wrinkled her nose. “Jesus, kid. If you tell me more I’m going to lose this breakfast sandwich.”

“Shouldn’t we get back to work?” Yawquisha asked.

“You’re right.” Kim trashed the spent muffin sandwich wrapper and headed back into traffic.

“So you can fiddle with that console. I know you like jazz and classical. Either one is fine with me. I’m more James Cleveland and the Beach Boys. You’ve gotta love their melodies and harmony.”

“I do. Brian Wilson’s a—”

“Genius!” they said at the same time.

“Yeah, can’t get enough of them. But go ahead and see what you can find.”

“The silence and brief bursts of chatter are fine with me,” Yawquisha said.

“Okay.” Kim switched gears again. She was right back to the cases. “The young man, Scott Herrier, was a local rapper, too. But he wasn’t selling. Why kill him?”

“Social media. He was all over the video sites flashing money and his code on his arm. The attention this attracted led to his demise.”