An excerpt from Red Moon

EXT. HOT GOAN BACK ROAD – ABOUT MIDDAY

Our heroine, Stelf and her best mate in the world, Riff Raff are goddesses firing through the sunshine on their rust-bucket scooter, Little Rocket. They’ve no helmets,  no paperwork and no cares but dance music.

Stelf is a hot, elfin, bad-ass. She’s coming on 30 with short blue hair, a suede tassled crop top, little shorts and fine tattoos of wolves in the moon.

Riff Raff rides pillion – the same age and mixed race. Her eyes are dark brown. She’s quieter – sultry. Men and women the world over weep for her shoulder-length tight brown curls. Her thighs around Stelf are inked delicately with outlines of jasmine flowers.

STELF

Fuck.

Ahead is a half-assed Goan Police road-block with two young cops in white uniforms. The younger one is not much more than 23. Handsome and obviously proud in his uniform. The other is middle aged with shades and looks a bit more brow-beaten. Stelf let’s the throttle off a little.

RIFF RAFF

Fuck.

STELF

Remember what we said, babe?

RIFF RAFF

No eye contact. Keep driving.

STELF

That’s right. We’re in it together.

RIFF RAF

Together, babe.

The cops clock them. The younger of the two, Officer Bobby, puts his whistle to his mouth. Stelf squints and feigns focus on the road ahead. Riff Raff does her best to seem interested in a field.

Officer Bobby blows his whistle and reaches for his baton. The girls try to look deaf. As they’re not slowing, Officer Bobby puts his baton out and signals for them to stop.

Stelf steers to the right and around him. They hold their breath as they completely blow him out. They’re through.

STELF

Remember babe, don’t look back.

RIFF RAFF 

I know.

A nervous moment as they tear through the heat. Once it’s clear that neither Bobby, nor Cajy – the other cop laughing at Bobby – aren’t chasing, the girls laugh to each other and ride on towards the beach.

EXT. FAR END OF A DESERTED BEACH, OZRAN’S BAR – JUST AFTER MIDDAY

Deputy Chief Inspector Arib Thangal’s Hawaiian shirt shows off his heavy, roti and Kingfisher belly. He’s wearing wraparound shades. His receding, oiled-back hair and forehead glistens and sweats awfully in the heat. His moustache and pock marked skin make him seem even more short-tempered. He’s visiting what was a crime scene earlier in the day.

ARIB THANGAL

Pass me a napkin.

He flaps his hand at Ozran like a dog without looking at him. Ozran can’t stand the man but puts a napkin on the table close to where Thangal is stood looking up at the palm-covered headland.

Thangal knows that Ozran doesn’t like him but he doesn’t care – he hates Ozran. He wipes some sandy cow dung from his black leather shoes.

OZRAN

She was just there.

Thangal smears sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and only just bothers to look. Ozran is shaken but he continues.

Her face was all cut up. A hole in her face. Like something had fucking chewed her up. But the dogs wouldn’t go near her.

Thangal cracks his fingers intently. One by one. A showy watch and gold rings on both hands.

Are you going to ask me any questions?

Thangal walks away from Ozran without responding and towards the water. He looks up the deserted beach. Just stray dogs and litter.

Your boys that were here earlier found no clues. Nobody around has seen anything.

Thangal isn’t listening. He throws the shitty tissue into the water and walks away.

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