I mean, sure, I killed her; I had to. Besides,
I wasn't the one who fixed, then stole, the world's only octocontrabass clarinet.
Sharon.
That was her name.
(It wouldn't be my first choice)
(It wouldn't be second choice either)
(It wasn't even in my top hundred)
She was taller than I was, heavy enough that I struggled to carry her across the stage, grabbing awkwardly at her thin form wherever my hands could find leverage.
I didn't want her paint to chip. Even with a name like Sharon the world's only octocontrabass clarinet deserved better than that. But I didn't have a case
(it had been stolen, remember?)
and it wasn't like carrying the separate pieces would be any easier
(or less heavy)
(and it would just make it more likely that I'd drop something)
(I did not want to drop anything)
so I struggled with the instrument, resting the bell on the toe of my shoe when I needed a break to breathe or readjust. Danny said he'd be here by now, but I was seriously starting to doubt he'd show. Local cops, always with an excuse to get out of doing actual cop work.
(Danny was nice)
(he'd given me a parking ticket my first day in town)
(I hadn't known that "taking Mrs. McKinnon's spot" at the local diner was a ticketable offence)
I lifted the clarinet and took another three hobbling steps across the stage, to my car, where I could take her home. Job complete. Item found. Thief, unfortunately, a casualty, but what else could I do?
It wasn't like my backup was reliable.
There were two cars in the parking lot: my beat up Lincoln station wagon, and the more-rust-than-car Toyota that was here when I'd arrived.
(the thief's)
(probably)
(Danny's police cruiser was still absent)
I sighed and continued my inelegant hobbling walk across the cracked and faded blacktop. I was so ready to get this thing back to its owner, so that I could go home and maybe use the bounty
(13k)
(13 thousand dollars)
(for a
clarinet)
to buy a new Switch. Mine had gotten smashed on a stakeout near Boston last year, and I missed my animal crossing island. "Damn, Sharon, you could really stand to lose some weight," I muttered to the instrument.
The octocontrabass clarinet, being made of wood and whatever else made up a woodwind and which, despite having a name, probably didn't have a soul, or sentience, or anything of that kind, didn't rise to the insult.
(it didn't have a reed)
Thank you for making me look up this ungodly creation of a woodwind. I played clarinet in middle school and this beast def will give me nightmares. Imagine how much your lungs must hurt to get enough air into it. And how big the gaps between the fingers are???