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Crime of Passion
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May 1st, 1989. Palm Harbor, Florida

A PUDDLE OF CRIMSON LIQUID LEAKS through the fancy hardwood floors of the kitchen. A lifeless body, three bullet holes through the chest. Executed with excellent precision. There's only despair written in the rich man's lifeless eyes. Like the last person he had to see had been the grim reaper himself. Red soaked not only onto the floor, but into his clean, white button up, making a mess of his blazer and pants. Something he would've been extremely upset about if he were alive, but he doesn't have to worry about that, and he doesn't have to worry about anything else, for he didn't need to.

Sixties knee-high boots carefully trail the floor, avoiding the blood that continues to leak through the floor. They stood on the left side of the body before turning toward the blood. The purple skirt, reminiscent of an 1800s saloon girl would almost touch the substance if they hadn't been tall enough. They stayed in that position for a while, the vines and flowers on the side of the boots avoided the gruesome picture. The figure who wore the articles of clothing was looking down, pleased with their work. They scoffed, and a smirk appeared on their lips as they mumbled, "good riddance, motherfucker."

"Frankie!"

The other voice is what made them look up from the body. They immediately ran to the source of the other voice, which came from the basement. They rushed, but they made sure they didn't fall flat on their face running down there.

They made it down the end of the steps. The basement is huge. The white walls made it seem brightly lit. There was a pool table, a singular arcade game in the corner. A TV, some laundry that had been left outside the laundry room. There was also a safe, and a woman standing right in front of it. Her medium length, straight brown hair almost covered her face as she closed the small gray door of that safe. Though, it fell back when she lifted her head up.

"Is he dead?"

Frankie walked up to the other, gun still in their gloved hand. "Dead and gone, honey," they answered, "he's not comin' back."

"You sure?" the woman asked.

"Triple checked, Henrie. We're fine," they reassured her. "You grab all the money?"

"All I could find. I made sure I went through all the safes," she told them, "he's stupid to keep all this money in here."

"Tell me about it," Frankie replied, "for a lawyer, he's not very bright."

They looked at the arcade game that was in the corner of the basement. It's two games combined. Frankie could tell by the sign on top. Galaga? Ms. Pac-man? They suddenly got an idea upon seeing it.

They looked at Henrie. "Think we can take that arcade game?"

Henrie furrowed her eyebrows. "Seriously? You wanna take that heavy ass thing with us?"

"C'mon! It's just sitting there. Bet he didn't even use it when he was alive," Frankie explained.

Henrie sighed, crossing her arms as she looked at the arcade machine. Typical Frankie, wanting to steal something like that. "Oh yeah? And what are you going to do with it, huh?"

"Play with it? Duh," Frankie chuckled. They're already walking toward the arcade machine, figuring out how to properly unplug it. There was no way they were going to leave it there. "Come on, help me take it to the van."

"Is it even going to fit in the van?" Henrie asked, "we don't exactly have much time."

"Then we better hurry then, yeah?"

Henrie said nothing afterward. She walked over to the arcade machine shortly after they unplugged it. "I can't believe you're making me carry this thing."

"It's not like you're carryin' it by yourself," Frankie told her, "now let's hurry up and get out of here."

As quickly as they can, they carry the machine up the stairs. The two of them are back in the kitchen. The blood still stains the beautiful hardwood. Upon seeing the body, Henrie almost dropped her side of the system, though she managed to keep going.

"Don't step on the blood, Hen," Frankie said softly as they went around the man's lifeless body.

"You didn't clean it up?" she asked.

"Doesn't deserve to be clean," Frankie murmured, "want him to be in agony seeing the mess that he made."

Henrie chuckled quietly. "Yeah, he'd have a meltdown seeing this."

"I know."

They managed to avoid the body, making their way to the door that Frankie's van was parked by. It's secluded, other than a few cars parked along the side of the road. The van was nothing fancy. It was black with a white stripe across the middle. Frankie had been meaning to decorate it. Not anymore, as they didn't need any marks on the van that stood out, just in case anyone saw them.

Once Frankie got the back van doors open, the two of them pushed the arcade machine into the van. They slid it flat on its back. Henrie was surprised that it fit in there, but she was more surprised as to how there was still a little bit more room left in it.

"Wow, there is more than enough room in here," Henrie mumbled.

"See? Told you," Frankie chuckled.

Henrie looked back at them. They're near another car, twisting something off the back of it. She raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Getting this license plate of the car," Frankie said, "that way, I can put it on this van and keep mine! They can't find us that way."

"You've watched too much crime television it's scary," Henrie muttered.

"Hey, it helped out, didn't it?" They asked, grabbing the license plate from the random car before walking back to the van.

Henrie said nothing afterward. She crossed her arms. Though in Florida, there was still the cold breeze that flew through the hot weather every now and again. Her fingertips ran up and down her arms as the goosebumps started to rise. The temperature started to dull down as the sun disappeared from the sky.

It doesn't take long for Frankie to replace the plate on the back of the car. They planned to keep the other one, now holding onto it. They looked up at Henrie, about to say something when they heard the sirens. They came from a distance, but still close by. Henrie and Frankie immediately look at each other.

"C'mon," they told her, opening up the passenger door for Henrie. Once she got in, Frankie rushed into the driver's seat, immediately starting up the fan. Frankie made sure to drive where the cops wouldn't see them. The back of the house had been secluded, perfect for that very reason.

She was free. Free from the man that made her miserable. A lawyer who didn't abide by the law that he preached. If he couldn't, then neither could she. Henrie looked out the window to check and see if they were being followed. The wind blew freely into her brown hair as did so. No cop car in sight, which was a good thing. With a wide smile, she cracked into laughter, the adrenaline kicking in as she put her head back into the van. She ran a hand through her hair as she leaned back in the seat.

"I can't believe that just happened! I can't believe we did that!" she giggled.

"Well, believe it, sunshine," Frankie said back, glancing over at the other before keeping their eye on the road, "you're free from that bastard. That shithead."

Freedom never looked this good. That man hurt Henrie. Even though, he was dead, Henrie would still have to deal with that trauma. But Frankie wasn't going to let her deal with it alone, that was for damn sure. They looked over at her again. She's already smiling. They hadn't seen her smile like that in forever.

"I believe this causes for a celebration, yeah?" Frankie asked, a chuckle escaping their lips.

Henrie looked over at them. "Hell yeah, it does!" she giggled.

They drove down the road, the night sky surrounding them. The stars seemed to shine brighter now that Henrie was free from the lawyer. For now, there's no worries, only the newfound freedom that she gained, and the adrenaline that both of them felt.