Stems: Short Stories

Coffee & Crime Contest: Suspect in Sight

SUSPECT IN SIGHT

By

Angie

7/14/2021

The knife splintered through the barista, sliding alongside her small arm. A pocket to the inside of her body revealed itself—Finch smiling at his work. Then the next barista—tied up to the chair Finch used to sit at with his elderly mother every Sunday. The sharp tool dripped the blood of the previous victim onto the wooden floors. Finch stared at the teen barista; his mouth too frightened to even scream. The barista could only plea a "Please! Spare me...I won't tell anyone!"

"Promise?" Finch said, his grin reaching to his ear. The barista could only shake his head side to side, wiggling in the ties of the chair. "Then run. Run!" Finch untied him, letting the barista's legs go wild and his mouth to ramble free. As he ran to the glass door, Finch put his hand on his holster, taking his gun off. He aimed it at the barista, shooting him right in the head. Finch adored the sight of the deep, hot, liquid flying out of his victim's head. That barista deserved it. They deserved it all, he thought.

He put his gun back in the holster, looking around at the four coffee shop workers he slaughtered to death. His actions would show the corporation to never mess with Finch Simmons. Because coffee addicts...they have secrets to hide. And they'd do anything to get their daily dose of coffee. But Finch went above and beyond.

Finch Simmons sat on the couch with his roommate, that doubled as his boyfriend. He never cared for his boyfriend, but benefits of being in a relationship convinced Finch to act like he did.

"Babe?" Axel said, lying on Finch's shoulder.

"What?" He paused his favorite show, Real Interrogations, and looked at Axel.

"Where'd you go last night?"

"To grab coffee. I told you that." Finch picked up the blanket that fell off his lap, spreading it out.

"But you were gone for so long." Axel got off his shoulder, waiting for an answer.

Finch closed his eyes before flickering it back open, rolling them back and forth. "Is there a problem? I went to go get coffee. That's all. They were busy, alright?"

"...I know but it was—"

"Let's get back to the show."

Finch clicked the resume button, snuggling back into his blanket. After years of watching the show, Finch knew every in and out of the suspect's lying tactics. If he ever were to be in an interrogation room, proving himself innocent would be as easy as counting to three. Finch consumed criminal psychology like a vacuum. He leaned forward on the couch, knocking the remote off his lap. He craved to one day be on that show—showing the world how lying was a valuable skill to master.

"Babe," Axel said.

Finch paused the tv, staring at his boyfriend. Finch wanted to yell at him for being so tone-deaf and disrupting. But he hated how Axel would ignore him for the rest of the day and sob in their bed whenever Finch yelled.

"What?"

Axel scrolled through his Instagram feed, clearing out his throat. "Starbucks raised their prices! A venti is six dollars now. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"Yeah I know," Finch smiled, his eyes creasing. His head sparked at his good deeds yesterday. Those baristas deserved it, they deserved it all. Finch stood up, stretching his arms and grabbing his baseball cap. "Want something from Starbucks?"

"No thanks I'm good." Axel spread out on the couch, grabbing the remote and scrolling through Netflix. "Be safe. Love you."

"Uh-huh. Love you too."

As Finch walked out of their one-story house, his frame seemed bigger, taller, and stronger. Each step was one of accomplishment—a feeling only one could compare to being a God. 

Innocent civilians walked down the streets with their friends, children, or alone. Finch wanted to do it again...slice...cut...bang! Watching life roll out of his victims only brought more life into Flinch. But it was too early to go for another life. Next time.

He walked into the wooden dressed coffee shop, only to see no one there. No workers or customers, just people in dark blue outfits and black business suits. The swarm of policemen and detectives didn't spur anything in Finch. He practically knew everyone there from his dad's work as a detective.

"You've finally arrived," a detective standing next to Finch said. "I mean about time." He took a long sip out of a plastic cup. "Everyone! Our main suspect is here!"

The detective removed his tinted sunglasses, folding them and placing them on a table. Finch eyed him down, recognizing him as Rossi Daggons. Finch smirked at the blood stains on the menu board and counter. The detectives and policemen all looked at Finch, heading in his direction.

"Mr. Rossi," Finch said. "Rest assured, I'm not a suspect to worry about."

"Look," Rossi said, crossing his arms. "I didn't think you would do a murder like this. Imagine how your father must feel about this."

"He's dead—"

"I know. But imagine how he must feel. Looking down from heaven, watching his son slaughter these baristas. You're sickening."

"And you're sickening—" A police officer reached behind Finch, handcuffing him. "You're all sickening for assuming I killed them! How dare you accuse me?! Why am I being arrested?"

"Suspect of murder. We used the video footage and saw the same mask the suspect was wearing on your doorstep."

"That doesn't mean anything! It could have been my neighbor, my roommate, a stranger on the street!"

"Take him to the interrogation room," Rossi said, sipping his coffee and walking over to another detective.

The policeman took Finch's arm, dragging him out of the coffee shop. Finch did nothing but curl his lips. He lifted his shoulders and chest up to make him appear bigger. The policeman sat Finch down in the backseat, soon getting in the driver's seat to start the car. Finch took out a paper clip from his pocket, undoing the handcuffs using the twist-turn combination he learned from wiki-How. Finch wiggled the barred separation in the car, breaking it down.

"Hey! What are you doing!" the police said, getting out of the car and opening the backseat.

But Finch's reflexes and movements were too fast. He hopped in the driver's seat, speeding off. The police chased down the car, giving Finch an idea. It wasn't too early to go for another life, right? He made a sharp turn, running over the policeman.

After that, they kept flowing out the coffee shop. Handguns pointed at the car, screams to stop driving. And all of it served as a distraction and an additional flame to Finch's spark. He ran over the swarms of people, speeding off the road and onto the highway. There Finch went, all his dreams right ahead of him—to be a famous killer. 

THE END

Word Count: 1156/2000