QR Code Murders: Publishing Platform

With the fire stamped out, the three of them vacated the apartment.

“Where are we going?” asked Tamil.

Yawquisha already knew. Kim was taking them to the station to be safe and sound from the rioters. They wanted to deface the department, but knew they wouldn’t have the manpower to resist riot gear and more tear gas.

On the car ride there, Yawquisha whipped out her phone and took in the scenery. Some people danced. Others shouted expletives. Makeshift signs and elaborate ones intermingled with the stomping feet and steady hands. Since the car was not a normal police cruiser, no one paid it any mind when Kim pulled it into traffic. She sped slightly through the streets.

“I know you didn’t want to lose your apartment with all your equipment so we’re going to come back after things die down and grab your stuff. I didn’t want to do it now because we wouldn’t have enough time to get to the station,” Kim explained.

“That’s right,” Yawquisha replied.

The car was a stealth bomber tricking everyone and anyone around it that it was just a regular sedan that smoothed through the Wilmington avenues and boulevards.

Her camera fully engaged on her phone, Yawquisha continued to shoot. She was like a mechanical steadier. She propped her hand under the other to get the best shot and to increase stabilization. The police department was about ten blocks away. People pressed against the car, now. They didn’t care. Cop car or not, the patter upon the vehicle sounded like heavy rain. Yawquisha assured herself that she was doing the right thing. Her intrepid stance against ignorance and subjectivity all found their way to her lens. She stayed in her pose for the rest of the way.

Finally, they arrived. Kim got out of the vehicle gripping her service pistol. Tamil and Yawquisha followed Kim into the building now with the chants and cries growing louder. Yawquisha reviewed her content. She saw the BABs (Blacks are Better) signs rolling down the hill headed towards the station. Like a current, the sign holders hoisted their messages. Inside the department, the three compatriots all continued to be wary about those surrounding them. Captain looked at them with an eye of relief and equal measures of fortitude.

This was his house and he would not allow anyone to besmirch it.

“Sir, you’re familiar with Yawquisha. This is Tamil.”

They shook hands quickly but with regard.

“This is a strange time to ask this but do we still have footage from the original shooting?” Kim asked.

Captain was low and pensive. “Why would that matter now?”

“We need to ascertain whether the shots were fired first by the suspect.”

“Toothpaste is already on the brush, Detective,” Captain retorted.

“I understand that, sir, but if we can just get the news agencies––”

“They’re not on our side. And social media has already supped up the footage, regardless of what may have transpired. Thought has taken a backseat to emotion once more. We can’t get anyone to understand the nuances of that footage. Hell, the trial hasn’t even taken place and people are already jumping the gun on who shot john. It’s a massacre of rationality,” Captain sighed.

Yawquisha reviewed the content and did some light editing because her equipment was much more sophisticated than her smartphone. She reviewed her final touches and then sent the video to the publishing platform.

“Alright,” Yaquisha cleared her throat. “With the images and sounds I captured just being in the car, I can tell that the people who threw that Molotov cocktail through my window were not the same people who are demonstrating in the streets.