crime oriented twins.

shalom, bubbies! i’m back from a long hiatus! i’m makin’ some changes to this blog. tiff is still gonna be here, but i’m introducing her twin to this blog ( so i’ll have two muses ) and creating a new url!! stay tuned!

i’m watching the nice guys and i’m getting so much muse back for tiff!

     “H e y, tiger,” she purrs. Tiffany leans in towards the car’s door window. She thrusts her hip out and languidly rests her elbows on the ledge of glass. It was midnight outside of the Kitty Kat Club. A leather jacket was draped over her bare shoulders to conceal her scantily clad stripper’s costume. “Was wonderin’ if you could give me a ride to Cicero. I’d really appreciate it.” 

“I want a new life... So, I got married. Had a kid. ...But we both know that ain’t gonna happen. Just because I put a wedding band around my finger, don’t mean shit is gonna c h a n g e.”

“Yeah, hi, baby,” she greets the boy flippantly. She places her purse down on the counter of the Funeral Home, sighs, and removes her dramatic, tinted shades. “I heard ya got a body here... That, ah, may be one Robert Dimitri Bosko? I’m here to identify him.” Poor son of a bitch was missing for a week. The boys at the Scarpetta family said the Bostons did him in, but she didn’t want to believe it. Maybe, just maybe, the body didn’t belong to him... But her superiors sent her out to make sure. 

    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she mumbled under her breath. “Is this place always this loony?” She rolls her eyes at her accompanying asylum mate. Tiff quirks her brow and scans the room with a disgusted scowl. “Fuckin’ savages in here, I tell ya. Fuckin’ ridiculous,” she mutters fiercely. She places her cigarette between her lips, pats her pockets, and finally lets out a groan. “Ya got a light, bubbi?”

    “Jesus fuckin’----” She stumbles from the back door of the bar she was supposed to be guarding. There was about 20 pounds of pure cocaine in that bar and it was her job to make sure no one got to it. So when she heard some rustling after her fourth drink, she decided to survey the premise to see if there were any lurkers. “Who the hell is out there?” She slurs into the midnight abyss of the alley. “I’ll---Oh, Jesus.... Christ! That’s disgusting,” she spits, nearly stepping onto the corpse of a rat. 

      “Thanks for lunch, baby,” she coos. Tiffany unfolds her napkin bound silverware. She raises her hand to snap her fingers at a waiter. She leans towards the worker to whisper a request for a margarita. Tiff then returns her attention towards him with a cordial smile. “Now... I, ah, needa talk to you about somethin’. I, erm... Well.” A sheepish chuckle wisps past her lips. “I need some help. Wonderin’ if you could throw me a bone, ya know?”

“No, no, no, no, nnno. I’m fine. I’m fine!” Tiff insisted despite stumbling around the back of the bar. “You’re makin’ a scene! Don’t help me. I’m fiiiiine,” she reassured her companion. “Just buy me another drink, baby. I’ll get better, I promise,” she slurs, whiskey nectar lilting from her words. 

“Just wait and follow my lead,” she told her companion. The two of them were sitting on the side of the road. Tiff decided to allow him to tag along. She agreed to teach him how to do a proper ‘hitchhike’. “By Tuesday, we can get to Vegas. We just needa play it quick and sweet, ya dig?” She tapped her cigarette ash on the pavement and watched a car appear on the peak of the road. “Get up, get up,” she hissed. Tiffany stuck her thumb out, blonde hair swinging over her shoulder. 

      “I tell ya--all men are pigs,” she drawled. She coiled her fingers around her tumbler of scotch and tipped it back, allowing for the liquor to travel down the ridges of her throat. She exhaled contently and rubbed her fingertips together, miming money. “All that matters is cash, sex, booze, drugs, and good company. That’s it. That’s all,” she says confidently. Tiffany points a long, red manicured nail at the woman. A smile warmly spreads across her apricot skin. “And lemme tell ya--you’re great company. Cheers, bubbi.”

      “Damn,” she exhales. Her brow arches at the man she has straddled. Tiff turns her head towards Richie and nods once. “He has one helluva right hook!” She wipes the blood from her mouth with the front of her fist. “Tie ‘im up, will ya? Not a big fan of squirmers. Ya dig?” She slides right off her victim and pats him on the shoulder. “Richie’s gonna getcha nice ‘n snug before we get settled in.”