Free It Sometimes Snows In May: A B.E.A.N. Police Novella by Tope Oluwole

was not taking care of the liability when your poll numbers first began to slide.”
     
    Their sport luxury vehicle reaches the Ispari end of the bridge. Guards at Ispari border gate control scan their passports. The guard reviews the analysis on Elisa’s passport, and then does a double-take when he reads the caste details. “My apologies ma’am.” He quickly waves at the gate sensor to allow them through. “It’s procedure.”
     
    “Well you wouldn’t want to make it appear you’re too eager for a seat at the table of power, now would you?” Elisa asks Aalin.
     
    “ He can’t be trusted to be satisfied with whatever he gets. ” The voice in her heads whispers.
     
    “I’ve paid my dues Elisa. I’m not going to let a ghost from your past take what’s rightfully mine,” Zota says.
     
    “ He means rightfully ours, doesn’t he .”
     
    Elisa turns away back to the glass, looking back out the window as the vehicle speeds into Ispari. Her gaze is haunting and vacant.
     
     
    Zota arrives at the corner of Normandy Avenue and Fifth Street. He scans his surroundings after wiping the sweat off his brow. His chest heaves and falls, and his lungs burn. “Man, I’m out of shape.” Zota begins to dig into the bag while it’s still slung on his shoulder. He drops to one knee, placing the bag on the ground once it proves too cumbersome to attempt a one-handed search. Zota opens the bag up just wide enough to fit his hands. Soon, Zota hears two sets of footfalls approaching. The footfalls slow down and Zota pretends to feel around the bag. When the footfalls stop, Zota looks up. Two large teenage boys are about four meters in front of him.
     
    “You need help,” a teenager sporting a mohawk says.
     
    “No thanks. I’m just looking for my water bottle,” Zota replies.
     
    “That wasn’t a question man,” the other teenage with tatoos on his bald skull says. He laughs.
     
    Zota’s hand brushes over Ryles’ auto-pistol. He stops cold.
     
    Seconds later Guard Practice, swooshes by in a hover cruiser. She sees two teenagers towering over a man stooped over, and pulls over.
     
    “Yo! guardie ,” the mohawk teenage says.
     
    “You’re lucky day pops,” the tatooed tenageer says, “let’s hover.”
     
    Zota hears their footfall move away from him. He exhales and releases his grip on the auto-pistol. He hears more steps from the opposite direction approach.
     
    “Are you okay sir?” Guard Practice asks.
     
    “Yeah.” Zota rises up and turns around. When he sees Practice he smiles nervously. “I’m looking for a rent-a-hover station at Normandy and Fifth. Those kids weren’t much help though.”
     
    “Actually, if you follow those kids through the mall parking lot, you can’t miss them. Look for the yellow signs in the first row,” Practice says.
     
    “Thanks,” Zota replies.
     
    Back in the vehicle the computer broadcasts and calls to Practice. She waves off to Zota and dashes back to the hover-cruiser.
     
     
    Patel and Practice arrive at the address next to Ryles’ apartment. An older woman rushes out to their hover cruiser waving frantically.
     
    Their hover-cruiser hisses to a stop a meter in front of the woman dress like someone interrupted her shower. Patel and Practice step down from the cruiser.
     
    “Oh my God. It was awful, just awful. They just threw him out like a bag of trash,” she says.
     
    “Calm down, ma’am…” Patel says.
     
    The woman waddles to the side of the house she came out from. “This way!” She leads Patel and Practice beside her house, and then to the back. Splayed out over inflatable pool furniture, is John, bloody and bruised.
     
    Patel pulls his auto-pistol and begins scanning the area. Practice sprays on some insta-skin, waits a few seconds, and then checks John’s pulse. “He’s dead.” Practice tap her earpiece, “Med-unit to my twenty, subject dead at scene.” The older woman gasps at the body, and then turns away.