Six ways to Sunday: idiom, meaning in every way possible.
Wendy says, Carlos put up a fight. He was very brave. But what could he do. There were five of them, see.
Good Cop says, five?
Wendy says, yes. Five black guys. Men, not boys.
Bad Cop snorts. Shakes his head.
Wendy says, may I finish, please?
Bad Cop smirks. Let’s hear it, he says.
Wendy says, they rushed through the door. Big black men with guns and knives. We want money, they said, and Carlos told them, we don’t have any money.
Good Cop says, okay and then what.
Wendy says, well then they went crazy. Maybe drunk, or on drugs. They killed poor Carlos. Shot him and stabbed him.
Bad Cop says, five big black guys burst through the door, murdered your boyfriend six ways to Sunday and left you there standing. That’s what you’re saying?
Wendy says, I think it was five. Might have been three. Or maybe just two. I was so upset. And it was dark.
Bad Cop says, it was afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky.
Wendy says, look. All I know is, they said if I went to the police or told anyone, they’d come back and kill me.
Good Cop says, I’m sorry, Wendy. But this story of yours, it doesn’t ring true. We’ve talked to your friends. And his, and Carlos’ family. They all say the relationship was rocky at best.
Wendy says, we had our problems, like any couple. We were working them out. I loved Carlos. We were going to be married.
Bad Cop says, we already know Carlos called off the wedding. You loved him alright. Loved him to death.
Good Cop says, look at me Wendy. You took a knife. And you stabbed him with it.
It slipped, she says.
Bad Cop laughs. Twenty-eight times?
Good Cop says, you cut the man’s throat, from ear to ear. Shot him twice in the head with a gun that you stole.
Borrowed, says Wendy. Carlos could be quite abusive, at times. Violent, even. I made up the part about black men with guns for his family's sake. It was self-defense. What else could I do.
Bad Cop says, let me tell you something, Wendy. I’ve been a detective fifteen years, and I’ve talked to way better bullshitters than you. Those big eyes of yours. You twirl your hair and count on your luck. That’s how you get by, isn’t it Wendy. But not this time. Lucky this time if you don’t get the needle.
Wendy says, yeah?
Bad Cop says, yeah.
Good Cop says, would you stand up please.
Wendy says, why?
Bad Cop says, you’re under arrest.
Good Cop says, we found Carlos this morning. The rain last night washed him right up. How deep was it Wendy? That hole you dug.
Wendy smiles. She says, not deep enough.