Just wondering if I could write a crime novel.
The Communion of Saints: A Detective Jingo Khan Mystery (or something...)
Detective Jingo Khan parked in a North Hollywood supermarket lot and observed known pimp and suspected child molester, Leodis Waldo shuck his be bop to a chocolate girl who wore the uniform of the junior high school across the street. Leodis fancied himself an original gangster, a street king who could turn out any woman he chose and once claimed to have convinced a lady judge to turn tricks for him. But the truth was that Leodis was small-time, a snitch and a bitch in the pen. He was a coward with a mean streak who favored fake bling-bling, ankle boots and three-piece rayon sweatshop suits in bright, awful colors that only looked glamorous to the young and the naive.
The pimp stood with his body turned away from the girl, his gaze fixed on the sky, hands raised to his narrow shoulders, palms up like a supplicant. His upper body swayed from side to side as he murmured to her, bumping softly against her with his hip. She stood transfixed, dazzled by his salmon-colored suit and dyed-to-match ostrich skin boots and the ten-year-old, chrome-everywhere Bentley parked at the curb. Leodis leaned toward the girl and whispered something that made her duck her head, cover her mouth with a small hand and giggle. He tilted his head and held her eyes until her they returned to their hypnotized gaze then he resumed his rap, rocking gently to his own jive. His teeth, the upper row a solid line of gold, flashed in the sunlight.
That was fun! It'd be kinda cool. Maybe.