

Bruce Howard

Gentleman with Brass Knuckles

Emmanuel Obi, Jr

Copyright 2011 by Emmanuel Obi, Jr

Published by Emmanuel Obi, Jr. at Smashwords

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my son, Daddy loves you

To my family—mom, baby sis and my uncles—I miss you

To my grandma, I miss you and your cooking

To my friends, thanks for the support

In loving memory of Grandmama Coleman

A wonderful woman who was too good for this world

Wish you could have been here for this

You are missed dearly

# The Case of my Missing Love

I was sitting at my desk reading the paper when the kid walked in. I recognized him immediately. He and his mother lived in the apartment across the hall from me.

They were both nice people. The kid's father was killed in the war when he was little so it was just the two of them. When I first moved in to my place Nancy, the mother, and Timothy brought a peach cobbler over to welcome me to the building.

Nancy was a beautiful lady. Not in the trashy cover model way but the classic beauty. Like she woke up in the morning and was ready for filming. Her hazel eyes were the most beautiful things that I'd seen. There were women you slept with and there were women you married. She was the latter.

Once she found out I lived alone she insisted I come by every Sunday night for a warm home-cooked meal. I reluctantly agreed. She seemed in need of some adult conversation. And maybe a little more.

Timmy was a really good kid. Very polite, adored his mother and had taken a shine to me. From time to time I tossed him a couple of bucks to get a milk shake from the corner drug store or some marbles from Jones Hardware.

So why had he decided to walk through the door of Bruce Howard Private Investigator?

"I think my mom is in trouble." Timmy's eyes were wide and filled with terror. He'd clearly been crying and was doing his best to not cry in front of me now.

I immediately got to my feet and knelt down in front of him. I placed my hands on his shoulders.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. When I got home I . . . she wasn't home . . . I" He was so distraught he couldn't find words.

"Calm down. Have a seat and catch your breath."

I sat him in the chair in front of my desk. I walked to the small fridge at the corner of my office and removed a bottle of milk. I poured a glass and placed it on the desk in front of Timmy. I sat on the desk next to the glass. Timmy picked up the glass and took a deep swallow.

"You okay?" He nodded as he wiped the milk from his lip. "What happened?"

He took a deep breath, "When I got home my mom wasn't there. Everything was broken and there was blood on the kitchen floor."

*****

There didn't appear to be any forced entry and Timmy confirmed that the door was unlocked when he got there. Walking into the home it was clear to me that there had been a struggle. There was nothing vastly different in the living room. The couch and the sitting chair had been moved ever so slightly.

I made my way to the kitchen and this was clearly where the foul deed happened.

I walked Timmy to my apartment. He didn't need to see this anymore. I told him to lock the door and not to open it for anyone. I had my key so there was no reason to open it.

I went back across the hall and made my way into the kitchen.

Shattered glass and milk was all over the floor, tons of glass and milk. At the edge of the milk puddle (lake) was a small pool of blood. It had mixed with some of milk into a pink liquid. At the center of milk was a bunch of roses, enough to be a dozen but I didn't count them. I saw a vase and scissors next to the sink. There didn't appear to be any blood on the scissors.

Also, next to the sink was an ash tray. It appeared that a bit of milk splashed into the ashtray. I saw in the tray a partially burned piece of paper. It appeared to be a note that was set on fire and the fire was put out by the milk. The note must have come with the roses.

I looked down at the roses and milk. There was a small, square piece of paper in between the stems. I squatted down and picked out the card. It read:

Thinking of you.

-A.G.

This raised my eyebrow.

I gingerly pulled the milk soaked note from the ashtray. Most of the letter had burned away. The remaining legible words read:

I'll get you, bitch. Believe me, I will.

Love and kisses

-Rebecca

Why did the name Rebecca sound so familiar? I didn't recognize the initials A.G. but Rebecca seemed to be eerily familiar.

I didn't know what worried me more, the partially burned threat or the loving card and flowers.

The Sunday evening dinners with Nancy and Timmy had gone from a nice break in my week to one of the things I looked forward to the most.

The world I was a part of had given me a tough exterior. The faint scar on my left cheek was proof of that. Lately, I could feel that hard exterior spreading. I was becoming harder, colder. I had been betrayed too many times, my heart broken one too many times. I didn't trust anyone and I cared about fewer.

But as the Sunday dinners slowly changed to Sunday evenings I could feel myself change, soften. I really cared about them, very deeply. Timmy was a great kid and Nancy . . . for the first time I felt like I might want to hang it all up and come home every night.

One night Nancy knocked on my door. She looked incredible, a tight red dress that showed nothing but her hourglass shape. It took me a while to move my eyes up to meet hers. I didn't mean to but I am a man after all. If she'd been any other woman I probably would have caught a slap, but she just smiled.

"So, I'm guessing you like what you see?" Nancy asked as she brushed her hair out of the way of those gorgeous eyes.

"I . . ." a muffled sound came out of my mouth. I had forgotten there was a bite of a ham and cheese sandwich in my mouth. Smooth, huh? She giggled. Clearly she thought of it as a compliment.

"I'll take that as a yes." She responded as I quickly swallowed the partially chewed food. It really hurt going down. "Timmy wanted to stay at my mother's tonight, so that means I'm free. How would you feel about taking a lady out?"

"Uh . . ." few things left me speechless. It was then that I realized how I felt about her. She was something special.

"Well?" she asked. Apparently I had forgotten to answer.

"Of course...um, of course. Just give me a minute. I'll knock on your door in a minute." I closed the door and sprinted through my apartment.

Shirt off. Sniff undershirt. Ugh. Undershirt off. Pants off. Underwear off. Should I shower? Sniff pits. Quick shower. Face. Pits. Balls. Underwear on. Black slacks on. White button down on. No. White button down off. Red button down on. Black tie. No. Silk black tie. Black suspenders. Can't brush teeth. Mouthwash. Spit. Breath test. Good to go. Black socks. Black wing tip shoes. Cologne. Two squirts only. Hair check. Faithful fedora.

5 minutes and 45 seconds later I knocked on Nancy's door. Her smile was that of someone impressed.

"You clean up well." She smiled.

"Well ... it's not hard to make a diamond shine." I replied.

We went to Bongos and danced the night away to the sounds of trumpets, trombones and saxophones. We shared a lot of laughs and a few toasts and then a soft kiss. Before I could take another breath we were stumbling into her apartment and ripping off each other's clothes.

That was about two weeks ago. Now I was standing in her kitchen holding two notes, not knowing which one hurt more. I couldn't stop staring at the flowers. The ideas running around in my head were killing me, but one thing was clear. She was in danger and I loved her too much to let her get hurt. Even if she was playing me. Plus, I didn't know where these flowers came from. They could be . . .

That was the first time I admitted to myself that I loved her.

I went back through the clues in my head.

Roses from A.G. The name was a bit harder to decipher than the note from Rebecca. I knew I'd heard that name come out of Nancy's mouth but in what context? Who was she?

I walked into her living room hoping something would jog my memory

The furniture had been moved a little, the carpet was a little disheveled. The furniture was really solid, very heavy. I knew this because I'd helped her move it around one day. There was no way she could even slide it that far by herself.

A few of the pictures had fallen on her bookshelf. I set three of them back up. Timmy. Timmy, Nancy and her mother. Her deceased husband. I bent down and picked up the fourth from the floor.

That's it! Smiling in the photo with Nancy was her best friend and co-worker Rebecca.

I'm guessing that best friend status might be in question at the moment.

I grabbed Nancy's cell from the coffee table as I walked back toward my apartment. I told Timmy that I would be away for a bit and not to leave.

I flipped open Nancy's phone as I walked out of the apartment building. Rebecca Haze worked with Nancy at Miller and Associates; a law firm just outside of downtown. They were both secretaries and they'd been close friends since high school.

As I went through the text messages between Rebecca and Nancy – only for clues of course – I could see that a man, most likely this A.G., had clearly come between them in some way. I was pretty sure I knew what way but I pushed the thought from my mind.

Actually, one message gave me a bit of relief. It seemed that Nancy had only been on a date with this guy. This made me feel better because Nancy and I had never said we were exclusive. If it was just a date and nothing more it would be fine. I was hoping to myself that it was just that.

Maybe it was me; maybe she needed to know how much I cared. Maybe it's not too late. It was just a date, nothing more. I could hold on to that. Something small to hold onto, but still it was something.

All of Rebecca's text messages seemed to indicate that she was jealous that this Allen Gregory had taken a liking to Nancy. There hadn't been anything else, not to Rebecca's knowledge, anyway.

I continued to walk toward the law office. The sun was unforgiving. I took off my jacket and tucked it under my arm. I lifted the fedora, wiped the sweat from my brow and replaced the hat. There had been something of a heat wave the last couple of days. The weatherman said it wasn't officially a heat wave, but if this wasn't a heat wave then what the hell is?

I walked into the offices of Miller and Associates. The air conditioning was heaven sent. I saw Rebecca immediately on entry. She was answering the telephone.

"Welcome to Miller and..." She looked up, noticed that I had walked in and shifted uncomfortably. We'd met a couple times before but only briefly. She clearly knew who I was and what I did.

"Hello, Rebecca."

"Hello, Bruce."

"You don't seem happy to see me." I spoke with a knowing smile.

"I can't believe this." She whispered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing"

"Let me repeat myself," I reached into my pocket and placed the now dry note on her desk. "What is this?" She looked at the paper and rolled her eyes. "You care to explain?"

"I can't believe this! I give her a damn note and she sends her damn guard dog to my office. Like skipping work wasn't enough. I'm running around this place like a headless chicken." Rebecca's disdain was evident.

"When did you give her the note?"

"What do you mean? Yesterday, when we left work." A dubious expression spread over her face. "She would have told you that. Why didn't you know that?" She was genuinely worried.

"Nancy is missing. I'm trying to track her down."

"Missing?" The corners of her eyes held tears. "How? What can I do? Anything."

"What happened to . . ." I waved the note. "'I'll get you bitch...'"

Her mouth dropped open, "That was . . . I was jealous. Upset. I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want her hurt. It was just a stupid fight? Over some damn guy, okay? I'm an emotional idiot. That's why she doesn't reply to my texts or letters. She knows I'll bitch for a few days and get over it. We've been through this before." Rebecca's fear and regret were evident. She thought she might lose her best friend and this shook her to her core.

"Tell me about Allen Gregory." I ignored her emotional rant.

"Why? How did you know his name?" I explained the scene in the kitchen and showed her the small card that came with the flowers.

"That doesn't sound like Allen." She said, examining the note.

"What do you mean?"

"He's not the flowers type. He's a bit of a playboy. Arrogant. The she'll-come-to-me type."

"And she went out with this guy?" Rebecca's look became sheepish at this question. I'm guessing she knew I had feelings for Nancy. To admit anything would be like ratting out her friend.

Her eyes dropped down to her desk. She took a deep breath and focused her light green eyes back on me.

"Yes, but he wasn't the guy she was interested in. There is another guy. That was part of our fight. Why go on a date with a guy you weren't interested in?"

My heart sank further. I fought against making any kind of expression that she could see.

"Who was this other guy?" I asked calmly.

"She wouldn't tell me." Rebecca's look was that of empathy. She didn't want to tell me this. "It's not that she doesn't love you. In fact, it was because she loves you that she knew she couldn't be with you." My response was a bewildered look." You live a dangerous life. She couldn't handle the idea of sitting up at night wondering whether you'd come home or not."

I felt a stab in my chest. She loved me. She worried about me. I have to find her. I'll change for her. For Timmy. I'll be the man she needs me to be.

I felt my heart race. I felt a greater sense of urgency.

"Is this Allen the kind of guy that doesn't take rejection well?" I asked.

"He doesn't get rejected."

"So he's used to getting his way?"

"With everything." She rubbed her eye. Those words meant more.

"But what if he didn't? Would he have a problem with that?" I reiterated.

"Yeah," she chuckled. "Probably a big one." Why couldn't she have said that earlier?

"Where can I find him?" Rebecca reached into her purse and tossed a match book in front of me. It read: Zebra Lounge. It was a night club downtown.

"He owns the place."

*****

It was early evening and the sun was still murder. The guys at the Zebra said that Allen had stepped out for dinner but he'd be back soon. So I walked to Annie's Diner across the street to grab a soda and wait.

The town wasn't small, but the area, the neighborhood was close-knit. So when I told Annie that Nancy was missing and I was looking for her she was shocked.

She set a coke down on the counter. "Wow, that's crazy. Do you think she's okay?"

"I hope so. There were definitely signs of foul play but not enough blood to suggest murder." I noticed a fresh gauze bandage on her right hand. A little blood showed on the surface.

"Wow, that looks nice." I pointed to the bandage. "What happened?"

"Oh..., uh, it's pretty stupid actually. I cut my hand slicing meat last week." Annie admitted hesitantly.

"And it's still bleeding?"

"Yeah, I know. It's pretty bad."

"You should probably go to the hospital. Get some stitches." Annie nodded in agreement.

"Oh, Carl's in the back," she changed subjects, "I think he made a delivery to Nancy's this morning. Maybe he knows something."

"Good. What's he doing in the back?"

"Reorganizing his truck. Said he needed to sort milk in the back of my place before making his final deliveries."

"Oh, how long has he been back there?"

"About ten minutes or so."

I walked out of the diner with a thought stuck in my head. A cut that's still bleeding...

Carl is the milkman, and he was actually pretty close to Nancy. He was stepping out of his truck when I made it around the corner. He closed the door and nodded toward me.

"How ya doin', Bruce?" Carl was a friendly guy. Very cool. The kind of guy that got any girl he wanted but was still a big shot with the fellas. Often enough he would sit and have a coffee with Nancy when he dropped off her milk. They'd known each other for a while. Even longer than Nancy and Rebecca had known each other.

"I'm alright, Carl." I shook his warm, sweaty hand and promptly wiped my hand on my pants.

"Sorry, man. Can't help it. This heat is killer."

"Yeah it is. Look, I wanted to ask you a few questions." He nodded cooperatively and focused intently. "Nancy's gone missing."

"Very funny." He chuckled and slapped my arm. Once he saw that my demeanor hadn't changed the smile dropped from his face.

"You're serious?" He paused and stared into space for a moment. "Wait. What do you mean missing? She could have run off to Puerto Rico for all you know?"

"Firstly, there was evidence of foul play. Secondly, I doubt she would take off in the middle of the morning to Puerto Rico, especially considering Timmy."

Carl was stunned. He wanted there to be a different explanation other than kidnapping. His denial soon led to shock.

"What the fuck? Who would want to hurt Nancy?"

"I was hoping you could help me with that. You made a delivery to her place this morning, right?"

"Yeah, a half-gallon. Every week. Just like normal."

"Did you speak with her? What was her mood?"

"She was pretty cheerful. We sat down and had a coffee and she told me about her roses and her fight with Rebecca. Nothing that unusual." He rubbed the sweat from his forehead and ran his fingers though his hair. "No. Nothing unusual. I wish I could be more helpful."

"That's fine. You can't remember anything else?"

He tried again. "No... she was happy about her flowers, bitching about Rebecca. But when I left she was fine."

"Thanks. So you're done for the day?"

"Nah, gotta make a few more deliveries."

"Let me know if you remember anything else. You have my cell number, right?"

"Yeah. I'll let you know"

*****

My attention was immediately drawn to Allen Gregory's black eye. Seeing it gave me a strange sense of satisfaction that was quickly replaced by worry. I stepped into the office as he was getting off the phone.

"I don't give a fuck. Just take care of it." He screamed into the receiver before slamming it down. "Hi, Bruce, is it? My guys told me that you needed to speak with me." From threatening to suave, his demeanor changed instantaneously. If I hadn't known he was he was yelling on the phone then I wouldn't have known.

"What do you know about Nancy?"

"Straight to the point, huh?" He pulled a cigarette from a soft pack on his desk, lit it and stared at me for a moment. "What do I know about Nancy?" He shrugged his shoulders, "Not much. Nice girl, went on a date, took her home with me and then sent her on the walk of shame."

It felt like I had been kicked in the balls. My face remained stone.

"And you haven't spoken with her since?"

"No." Allen leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. "Why?"

"She's missing. I'm trying to track her down."

"Sorry, I can't help you." He inhaled and blew the smoke toward my face. "You can go now."

I was tempted to pull Lucy, my revolver, and shove her into his esophagus but I resisted. I turned toward the door.

"By the way, if you do find her tell her to call me. She's a minx between the sheets."

I paused. I took a deep breath, tried to control myself. I walked back to his desk. I leaned forward, put my hands on his desk and stared into his eyes. Please give me a reason...

"You got a problem?" he took another puff as he spoke. "Listen, I have several men in this building alone that would make you or anyone else disappear at my whim. With that said..." he blew the remainder of his smoke into my face, "...you got something you want to say to me?"

I stared at him for a second, then I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it on to the desk and held it there. I pulled Lucy and placed the barrel on the back of his neck.

"Fuck you and your men. If I find out you had anything to do with this I'll cut off your balls and feed them to you. Do you understand me?" He nodded as best he could, I used Lucy to keep his head down and picked up his cigarette from his desk with my other hand. I watched his teeth clench as I ground it out on his cheek. I grabbed a handful of his hair and shoved him back into his seat. I placed Lucy back in her holster and walked out of his office.

*****

I stood in Nancy's kitchen and watched the roses floating on the gallons of milk on the floor. Everything I needed to know was right in front of me. My gut was telling me that I'd already spoken with the person responsible. The room was telling me who, I just needed to listen.

Rebecca was jealous of the attention Nancy was getting from Allen. She threatened her, and even though she says this kind of thing happened all the time, why should I believe what she was saying? Of course she wouldn't say – "Oh, sorry, Nancy's in my trunk."

Annie was acting strange — or was it just me. Allen had a reputation as a playboy. I'm sure they'd crossed paths, especially since her diner was across the street from his club. Who knows what could have been happening between them. She could have easily seen Nancy walking in and out and gotten jealous.

Carl was the last one to see her, to my knowledge. If I'm not mistaken they'd even had a little fling in high school. Could he still be in love with her?

If Nancy had indeed rejected Allen, then he had to be the number one suspect. He's controlling and must have things his way. He wouldn't take rejection lightly and he had means to make someone disappear by his own admission. Plus what was that conversation on the phone about?

I stared at the room. The answer was here, in front of me. I just needed to...

That's it!

*****

I pulled the doors open and light poured in from behind me. As the darkness was pushed away I saw Nancy tied to a chair, her mouth bound with duct tape. She saw me walk in and her eyes grew with hope. I could see the emotions overwhelm her as tears started to fall from her eyes.

I felt the barrel of a gun on the back of my neck.

"Get in."

"So let me guess, you were her friend for years. Secretly you were in love with her but she never noticed you. So you waited, thinking that one day she would notice you and see you as something more. But she only saw you as a friend. This morning when you stopped by to see her trimming the roses she got from an admirer you lost it. You told her how you felt but she said she only saw you as a friend. You were rejected and you couldn't take it. She was supposed to be yours. Right, Carl?"

"You're good. You are good." Carl chuckled to himself. "Get in." He shoved me into the back of his milk truck. "How did you know?"

I turned toward him, staring into the barrel of his 9mm. "There were a couple things. First, the milk. There was tons of milk on the floor. You said you only delivered a half a gallon every week. You'd brought one of your delivery crates into her apartment as you made deliveries in the building. You knocked it over during the struggle. That's why there was so much glass and milk on the floor." He nodded with an approving smile. "But the most condemning thing was your hands. When I came to see you at the back of Annie's Diner you had just gotten out of the back of your milk truck which you said you'd been in for at least 10 minutes. Yet your hands were hot and sweaty. That wouldn't be possible if you'd been in the back of a refrigerated milk truck. You turned off the refrigeration because you didn't want her to be too cold in her summer clothes. Shockingly humane for a kidnapper. But then again you do love her."

"Wow, you are good." Carl stepped back and began to close the doors to the milk truck. I charged him and slammed into the doors before he could lock them. We both fell out of the back doors of the truck and onto the ground. Carl's gun slid across the street. I quickly got to my feet and pulled Lucy as Carl scrambled for his gun.

"Freeze." Carl immediately stopped. The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance. I had called the cops on my way here.

"Love is a horrible thing." He let out a deep sigh and turned to face me. "But you already know that, don't you?"

*****

I finished speaking with Lieutenant Harper and watched as the patrol car pulled away with Carl.

I turned to walk away and saw Nancy standing there. I felt my heart skip and then a flood of thoughts ran through my head, the last of which was of her sleeping with Allen and seeing someone else. I felt myself harden again. I no longer had that warm feeling when I was near her, I no longer imagined what life would be like with her next to me every morning. That kind of life wasn't possible for a guy like me. Heartbroken again... just lucky, I guess.

"Thank you. You have no . . ."

"You're welcome," I interrupted her with an apathetic tone. I didn't want her gratitude. "So when were you going to tell me about Allen?"

A pause. She was never going to tell me.

"I'm so sorry. It was just one night." She struggled to explain.

"And Adam." Her eyes opened wider. I handed her the card from the flowers. "Allen hadn't contacted you since the night you slept with him. The roses were from Adam Garcon, a lawyer from your office. You introduced me to him a couple of months ago. You're seeing him now." She nodded. I saw a tear roll down her cheek. I turned my back to her and left her standing there as I headed back to my office. There was a bottle of whiskey and a tall glass waiting for me there.

I guess Carl was right.

Love is a horrible thing.

# The Case of the Sphinx

When Rebecca walked into my office all I could think about was last night. Her knocking on my door, a deep kiss when I answered and then her skirt dropping to her ankles before stepping into my apartment

This came as a surprise to me. Especially since I knew that she and Nancy had fought over a guy named Allen about 3 weeks ago. Nancy was my neighbor across the hall. A beautiful blonde with an amazing kid, Timmy. Nancy, at one point, gave me hope that one day I could have a family and a normal life. Then she showed me why it would never happen. Love isn't for everyone.

Rebecca sat in the chair in front of my desk. Her tight white dress showed curves that would drive any man wild. She crossed her legs and pulled her silky brown hair over one shoulder.

I smiled, "So, how can I help you?" I couldn't get the image of her naked breasts out of my mind. Her long hair covering her face as she sat on top of me. My smile got a little wider as I remembered something. She was a screamer.

"I wish this visit could be a little more informal, but I'm afraid I have a problem." Her sassy, confident demeanor had changed and I noticed something in her light green eyes. Fear.

"What's wrong?" I was genuinely concerned. Though I knew that I could never love her — for any longer than an hour, at least—I would be lying if I said I didn't care.

She placed a folded piece of paper on my desk.

"This was waiting for me on my doorstep when I got home this morning." I unfolded the paper and saw that it was a letter constructed with words cut from magazines and newspapers:

How many words are in the English language?

Thursday, Midnight.

"So you have until tomorrow." I replied. This note came from a serial killer, one that the police had been chasing for three years. He'd already killed six people and it looked like Rebecca was next.

The first victim hadn't taken the note seriously and was found with his throat slit and the riddle shoved in his mouth. Since then each of his victims had gone to the police with their riddles, but somehow the victim always ended up dead. No matter how many police were around. Throat slit, riddle in their mouth. No one was able to answer the riddles correctly, I guess.

"So why come to me? Why not the police?"

"Yeah, going to the police really helped the guy's last victims." She rolled her eyes. "Listen; on top of being a P.I., you're the smartest guy I know. If anyone can solve this, it's you."

"Thanks. I hope I'm as smart as you think I am." I chuckled a little. I picked up the note and read it again. "So, I guess you're taking the day off work."

"I'm off all week, actually"

I checked my watch. 9:15.

"Let's go to Annie's and grab a coffee."

*****

"Does your apartment building have cameras?"

"No." She took a sip of her coffee.

"Have you spoken with your neighbors about whether they've seen anything?"

"No, not at all."

I looked up as I heard the bell over the diner door ring.

"Right on time." I whispered to myself over my cup. Rebecca gave me a look of confusion. She turned and looked toward the diner door.

"Sergeant Sharper?" She asked.

"Yeah, every day she comes to the diner at 9:45 and grabs a cup of coffee and a thin slice of apple pie. No ice cream. She's also one of the officers in charge of the Sphinx Case." Rebecca gave an impressed smirk.

I stood up and walked over to Sergeant Sharper.

"How ya doin, Sarge?" I took a seat next to her at the counter.

"Hi, Bruce." She replied with a mouthful of pie, she didn't bother looking up. She wore her long, fire red hair in a tight bun. Her features were more delicate than her personality. In fact, she'd even been suspended a couple of years ago for roughing up a perp. She'd actually had that problem several times.

"I wanted to ask you about the Sphinx case." That got her attention. She looked at me with contempt, as if I'd challenged her.

"Why?"

"Just curious."

"Then Google it." She returned to her pie.

"Why would I do that when I have you right here?"

"Because maybe I don't want to waste my time explaining this shit to you." This mouthful of pie sounded annoyed.

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and with a few touches I pulled up a picture. I slid my phone next to her pie. Her eyes went wide.

"How about now?" I replied.

She put down her fork and wiped her mouth. She looked at me like she wanted to strangle me.

"Fine. What do you want to know?" I put my phone back in my pocket.

"Everything you do."

"There isn't much. He delivers a riddle to his victims and gives them two days to solve it. He calls and if they don't know it he slits their throat."

"The last couple of times the cops were around the victim, yet they always died on time. How?" Sergeant Sharper definitely didn't like that question.

"He knocked out the officers in the room." She replied through gritted teeth.

"You were there when this happened, right?"

"Yes."

"Yet somehow the killer knocks out you and your fellow officers and then kills the victim without being detected?"

"Animal tranquilizer." She replied in disgust.

"Animal tranquilizer?"

"Yeah, Fernalithal."

"That wasn't in the news."

"That's because it wasn't released to the press. We all woke up with that shit in our system."

"How did anyone get close enough to drug you?"

She stared at me.

"If we knew that then the guy wouldn't have done it twice." She replied coldly. "Are you done?"

"Yeah." I smiled. "Don't be a stranger."

I nodded toward Rebecca and she got up. Sergeant Sharper looked at her then at me, bewildered. Sergeant Sharper grabbed my arm. She was freakishly strong.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" She asked sternly.

I gently pulled away from her grip. "Why do you ask?" Her eyes narrowed at the question. I met Rebecca at the door and we left.

"What did you show her?" Rebecca asked as soon as we were out of the door.

"Let's just say you're not the first woman I've seen naked."

"Where are we going?" She ignored my reply. It was better that she didn't ask questions.

"To the vet."

*****

I could see through the window that the secretary was young, early twenties. I told Rebecca to go to the park and wait for me there. I didn't know if she was hesitant because of fear or jealousy.

I walked in with a broad smile which was returned.

"Hi, how can I help you?" I usually didn't get involved with girls this young but I could see myself... enjoying her company.

"Yes," I handed her a business card. Bruce Howard, Private Investigator. Her eyes widened with fear and a little excitement. I had her. "I wanted to know if you would be free to answer a few questions."

"Sure, what do you need to know?" Her excitement was slowly overcoming her fear.

"Well," I looked at her name plate, "Courtney, I wanted to know how many veterinarians work here."

"Two, Dr. Adler and Dr. Lathum. Dr. Adler is actually on vacation."

"Is he on vacation often?"

"No more than normal. Once every five or six months he takes off to San Diego. To be honest, I think he has a girlfriend out there." She said in a whisper and then looked at me as though I should be shocked. She realized that I was missing a piece of information. "He's married. But honestly, I think his wife has a boyfriend too"

"Do you have the number of the doctor's hotel in San Diego?"

"Oh, yeah," she searched her desk then scribbled down a number. "Here you go."

"And the name of the hotel please."

"Oh, sure," she replied, still bubbly.

"Thanks for your help." I tipped my hat and turned to leave.

"Oh," she wasn't ready for me to go just yet. "Well, is there anything else I can do"

"Actually, do you have any clue what kind of tranquilizer you use here?"

"Yeah, Fernalithal." I smiled. "It's the industry standard. Everyone uses it." My smile faded.

I thought for a moment. "Has any of it gone missing?"

"No," she shook her head as she thought. "But there was something about a year ago. Last year an intern stole a crate of it. The cops had an investigation and everything. He denied the whole thing of course, and the police were never able to find anything so they dropped the case."

"Do you remember his name?" Damn, that was a good lead. A crate of the animal tranquilizer used on the cops was stolen from here last year. That's too good to be true.

"Yeah, Jason Carr."

I gave her a broad smile, which was returned.

"Okay, well, I have to go. You've been a great help."

"Thanks. Um, here." Courtney wrote her name and number on a piece of paper. "If you have any other questions feel free to call me and I'll help you if I can." She bit her bottom lip as she handed me the paper.

"So I should only call you if I want to ask you some more questions."

"Yeah, or whatever. I'll leave that up to you." Wow, that was forward.

"Thanks." I left the office and saw Rebecca sitting on a bench in the park.

I pulled out my cell phone to make a quick call before I got to her.

"Sergeant Sharper speaking."

"Hi, Mary. It's Bruce."

She let out a sigh of frustration. "Now is not the time."

"Just a quick question. What do you know about Jason Carr?"

"How do you know that name?" she shouted. I'd clearly pushed one of her buttons. She was trying to keep that bit of information from me.

"I'm following a lead on the Sphinx case."

"Oh, really." Her tone had not relaxed.

"Yeah."

"So you just happen to call on the day, at the very moment I'm standing next to Jason Carr's dead body?"

I guess that lead was too good to be true.

*****

Next to Jason Carr's body was a syringe and an empty bottle of Fernalithal. Apparently one bottle was enough to put down a bull elephant. Looking at the size of this kid, he was just a few pounds shy.

"So who was your source?" Sergeant Sharper stood over me as I crouched down and examined the body.

"You know I can't reveal my sources. Just know that I found this information about two minutes before I called you." Something caught my eye. On his front door, right above the mail slot, was a small dent. "So what do you think?"

"I'm thinking suicide. A few drops of this stuff could knock a guy out for half a day. So a bottle would make short work of him. He'd just been in trouble with the law for stealing this stuff. We were looking at him as a potential Sphinx suspect. Maybe he thought we were close. His game was coming to an end so he killed himself. Clearly he had the stuff even though we couldn't find it. We searched the house to find some evidence but I'm pretty sure this guy is—was—the Sphinx." Sergeant Sharper scribbled in her pad as she spoke.

"So you think the guy thought the game was coming to an end so he killed himself." I noticed rashes on his wrists. Looked like an allergic reaction.

"Yes." She replied.

"Did you not search the place before, when you arrested him?"

"As I said, we did. We flipped this place upside-down and couldn't find a thing, but clearly we missed something."

"So, you're ruling out the idea of homicide?"

"Not completely. It's possible but there was no forced entry. The house appears to be in order. Seems like he's been the only one here for days. Neighbors said they hadn't seen him leave the house in two or three days." She looked up from her pad. "You think its homicide?"

"Yeah." I stood and headed to the door.

"Why?"

"Because it looks too much like a suicide." I replied before closing the door.

*****

As we walked up the stairs to my apartment I could hear yelling coming from Nancy's apartment. Nancy and her son Timmy lived across from me and I couldn't help thinking from time to time about what could have been. How Nancy made me want to settle down and how Timmy was such an amazing kid.

Nancy had started seeing a lawyer from her job while I was involved with her. Adam. That's who she was yelling at now. It had only been a month and she was already at his throat. I had to admit that it was satisfying, but I did feel bad for Timmy.

"You know what? You're not worth this headache. We're over." Adam burst out of Nancy's apartment as Rebecca and I made it to my door. She was right behind him.

"Good! Do me a favor and fall down the stairs!" She noticed Rebecca and me in the hall walking into my apartment. She looked hurt to see me with her best friend. The tension in the air would have rivaled the first time Clinton had been asked about Lewinsky.

"Try to keep it down tonight." Nancy stared at Rebecca with disdain. Rebecca's eyes narrowed.

"Glad things are working well between you and Adam. Looks like you picked the right guy." Rebecca spit back at Nancy. Nancy turned red with anger. They both took a step toward each other. I grabbed Rebecca's wrist and pulled her into my apartment.

"Whore!" Nancy screamed.

"Bitch!" Rebecca returned fire as I closed the door. "Can you believe her?" She exhaled as I chuckled a little. "She goes after the guy I like, then rejects you for a completely different guy and then gets pissed at me when she sees me with you! What a fucking hypocrite!" My chuckle turned into laughter. "And what the hell are you laughing at?" Her aggression turned toward me. Like any other woman.

I took a step toward her and placed my hands on her hips. She folded her arms and looked away.

"I..." a knock on the door interrupted me. I dropped my head and let out a sigh. Seconds out, round two.

I opened the door.

"Hey, Timmy." I was happy to see him. He clutched the football that I had gotten him for Christmas last year. That made me smile.

"Hi, Bruce. Where have you been? You haven't been over to our place in a while."

"I'm sorry, little man. I've just been super busy lately." I didn't have the heart to tell him what had happened between me and his mother.

"Is it because of that jackass who's over all the time now?" He whispered to himself, loud enough so that I could hear.

"Hey, watch your mouth." I faked a harsh tone.

"Sorry."

"Besides, I don't think you need to worry about that jackass anymore." I smiled.

He smiled back, then noticed Rebecca was in my apartment.

"Why is she here?" It had been obvious that Timmy wanted his mother and me to be together. He didn't like Adam because of that—and the fact that he was a jackass—and he wouldn't like Rebecca anymore if he thought she'd be replacing Nancy.

"She's helping me with a case." My reply received a dubious look. "How about this? Tomorrow the three of us will go to Annie's and have a cheeseburger, fries and a milkshake."

"Promise?" Timmy smiled.

"My word of honor."

"Cool! See you tomorrow! Bye Rebecca!"

"Bye Timmy." Rebecca replied. He ran to his door as I closed mine. "He's a sweet kid." Rebecca said.

"Yeah, he is. You want a glass of wine?" I walked to the wine rack in the corner of my living room.

"Sure." She answered. I selected a merlot and two glasses. We sat on the couch and I filled the glasses. "So, what are you thinking? Where do we go from here?"

"Well, the most likely suspect right now is the vet, Dr. Adler, which means it probably isn't him. I'll call him tomorrow."

"So, you don't think it was the kid, Jason Carr?" She took a sip.

"Nah, it doesn't make sense. The Sphinx starts a new game and then commits suicide. Not likely."

"So he was murdered?"

"Yeah," I replied as I put my glass on the coffee table. "Most likely by the Sphinx. He somehow framed Jason Carr for stealing the Fernalithal so that it couldn't be traced back to him."

"Or her. I think Sergeant Sharper has something to do with it. How else could someone get close enough to the cops to use that tranquilizer?" She made a fair point. "Plus, doesn't she have a record of being a bit rough?"

"If only you knew." I whispered to myself. Rebecca shot a menacing glare toward me. She put down the glass of wine and pushed my back against the couch. She straddled my lap.

"So you like it rough, huh?" She said it as though she had been challenged.

"Be careful. We can't be too loud, remember?"

She whispered into my ear, "Fuck her."

*****

The call to San Diego was fruitless. Apparently Dr. Lucas Adler and a Ms. Stacy Kent checked in a few days ago. They even connected me to his room.

"My assistant knows not to give out this number." It was hard to hear him, the connection was terrible but the irritation in his voice was clear.

"Well there is an ongoing investigation. Don't blame her. I can be pretty manipulative. So, how long have you been in San Diego?"

"A few days. I come here every few months. California is hard to resist."

"I'm sure it is. I am looking into the Sphinx case, on my own time, and I was wondering if you could tell me about animal tranquilizer."

"Fernalithal?"

"Yeah."

"It's a pretty powerful tranq, but it's pretty standard. Used by pretty much anyone that deals with animals. Zoos, vets, animal control, everyone." He replied

"Who has access to it in your clinic?"

"Pretty much everyone. Employees know we—Dr Lathum and I—are the only ones permitted to use it. But it's just in a storage closet. Anyone could get to it."

"Could you say that last part again?" I couldn't hear because of the static.

"Yeah. Anyone can get to it. It's just in a storage closet." He spoke a little louder.

"Okay, well thanks for your help."

"No problem." I hung up the phone on my end table and shouted to Rebecca in the shower.

"I'm gonna grab the mail."

"Okay." She responded as I walked out of the door.

The mailman, Phil, was just finishing when I got downstairs.

"Hey Phil."

"Hey, Bruce. How are you?"

"Better than some, worse than most. You?" I asked.

"Can't complain." Phil was eccentric. He was a good enough guy but a little weird. Despite being extremely social and easy to get along with, he spent most of his time at home. Probably in front of a computer playing a game or with his boxers around his ankles. There was no doubt that he was a bit of a geek. I'm pretty sure his current girlfriend was inflatable. But he was still a nice guy.

"Did you hear about Jason Carr?" he spoke to me in a hushed tone as he looked around. He leaned close, "They found him dead last evening."

"Really, how do you know that?"

His eyes went wide, "I deliver to the police station before I come here. I hear all sorts of things."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like, did you know they thought Jason Carr was the Sphinx? Yep, because of some tranquilizer he used against the police. Probably used some sort of tranq gun to take out the police before he . . ." Phil slid his finger across his throat.

"You heard all of this just from delivering the mail?" I replied curiously.

"No. I hear bits and pieces and I fill in the gaps."

"Hm. Maybe you should have been a detective."

"Oh, no. Couldn't do it. I hate guns." He smiled. "Anyway, I gotta go finish up my deliveries. Catch ya later."

"See ya, Phil."

*****

I believe most adults eat slowly when they eat something good. If the taste is great then adults want to savor every bite and enjoy the food in their mouth. Annie's Diner had amazing cheeseburgers and fries. And the milkshakes were known all over the city.

Children have a different approach to eating good food. They can't wait to get the next bite into their mouth. I watched Timmy shovel his food into his mouth at a speed that would make a competitive eater marvel. Now he was trying to fight the brain-freeze from his milkshake. I chuckled to myself. Man, I loved that kid.

"So, tell us about this Lindsey at summer camp." Rebecca smiled.

"Rebecca!" Timmy pleaded.

"Lindsey? Who is Lindsey?" I inquired curiously.

"Our boy Timmy here has a little crush." Rebecca teased.

"Oh, really?" I couldn't fight the broad smile on my face and I didn't want to try.

"Rebecca!" Timmy pleaded again. My eye was caught by the television on the wall behind him. Jason Carr's picture appeared on the screen followed by a generic female reporter.

"Police are reporting that Jason Carr was found dead in his home last evening. The cause of death has been confirmed to be an overdose on Fernalithal, an animal tranquilizer. Jason Carr has been in trouble with authorities recently due to the suspicion of stealing a delivery of that same substance. He was also the leading suspect in the Sphinx Case..."

I didn't hear the rest of the report. I had everything I needed. I knew who the Sphinx was. I knew who was trying to kill Rebecca.

*****

I received a call from Sergeant Sharper. The police had found Dr. Adler in a rundown hotel outside of town. Once I made my case to Sergeant Sharper she convinced the DA and the judge to issue a search warrant for his home. Like a lot of serial killers, Dr. Adler kept mementos from each of his kills. A lock of hair and a newspaper clipping, tucked away neatly in a scrapbook. It was put in a re-sealable bag and hidden in his cat's litter box. When the police asked if he was worried about his wife finding it he replied:

"The only pussy she cares about is the maid's."

Funny enough when the police executed the warrant Mrs. Adler answered the door a little flushed.

I hung up the phone and collapsed on the couch next to Rebecca.

"So, did they get him?"

"Yeah." I leaned forward and grabbed my glasses of merlot.

"How did you know?" She seemed amazed.

"There were a few things really." I took a sip. "What caught my attention first was the fact that when I asked about the Fernalithal and the Sphinx Dr. Adler never mentioned Jason. Jason was arrested for stealing the tranquilizer and thought to be the Sphinx. But Jason never crossed Dr. Adler's mind because he knew that he wasn't a factor. Dr. Adler knew that Jason was already dead. The only way he could know that is if he killed him. The police didn't announce Jason's death until after I spoke to him on the phone. Once Jason was cleared of the charges, Dr. Adler had a problem. Jason was supposed to be the scapegoat. So Dr. Adler put some mail through Jason's mail slot, waited for him to pick it up the mail and slammed the door open, knocking him out and putting a dent in his door. Dr Adler tied him to a chair—explaining the rashes or burns on his wrists—and had a little fun before injecting him. On top of that, there was no way Jason could have injected himself. With a tranquilizer that powerful he would have been unconscious before he could finish pushing the syringe. But Dr. Adler needed the cops to think that Jason really had the Fernalithal and that the Sphinx was really dead."

"But he was in San Diego. You called him." Rebecca asked.

"Call forwarding. Fly to San Diego, check into a hotel with a call girl, set up call forwarding to his cell phone and fly back. That's probably why the phone connection was so bad."

"But why?"

"That's a question for a man smarter than me." I replied and took another sip. Rebecca stood up and pulled me off the couch.

"You seem pretty smart to me." She walked backwards, guiding me to the bedroom.

"Liar."

"Oh yeah, then answer the riddle. How many words are in the English language?

"Three." I replied quickly. "The - English - language."

"You sound pretty smart to me."

"So, you're staying here tonight?" I asked with a smirk.

"Yeah," Rebecca replied. "But only to be on the safe side. Make sure you got the right guy."

"I always get the right guy."

"Shut up and take the hint."

# The Case of the Dead Pediatrician

I was sitting at my desk finishing a Sudoku puzzle when the body crashed through the window behind me. It slammed into my back, driving my stomach into the desk before falling down behind me.

It took me a second to recover. The desk hit my sweet spot and knocked the wind out of me. I stood up and looked at the body that had just been delivered to me. It was Dr. Henry Greene, the pediatrician from the fourth floor. There was a noose around his neck and the rope led back out of my window and was attached to a chair that was right outside. His lab coat had several cuts that looked like they came from a knife. His lips were blue, his face was completely white. I felt his neck for a pulse. None, not to mention he was ice cold.

If this was someone trying to make his death look like a suicide then they failed miserably. This was meant to be a message. The good doctor had crossed someone.

I pulled out my cell phone and made a call.

"Lieutenant Harper speaking."

"Hey Frank. It's Bruce."

"Hey, what can I do for you?" He asked pleasantly.

"There's a dead body in my office. I just felt like you should know."

*****

I found myself standing in Dr. Greene's office looking out of his shattered window. Several police officers were processing the room, in search of evidence.

I had a bit of an understanding with the police. Most people wouldn't be allowed on a crime scene if they weren't a cop but I had helped solve so many cases with the police that they gave me a pass most of the time.

The office had been demolished. Dr. Greene's desk had been pushed against the wall, almost like it was thrown. File cabinets were turned over. Clearly the attacker didn't want this to look like suicide.

Lieutenant Harper approached me, "So, what do you think?"

"Well, it's not suicide," I joked. Harper nodded with a smile in agreement. "I would like to say it was a murder that was supposed to send a message. We find out the message then we find the killer."

"What about a crime of passion?" He suggested. "You won't get any more passion than a parent with a sick child."

"Good point. We definitely can't rule that out." I noticed that on the desk there were two files:

Jill Bridges

Bryen Russillo

I assumed they were the children's names so I flipped the files open. The top page was a form. On the form was the name of each of the children's parents. Only the mother was filled out for Jill, Vanessa Bridges. Bryen's parents were Scott and Amanda.

"Can I take these files?" I asked.

"You know I can't even let you touch them." He looked down at my hand and I moved it. "And don't worry, we'll contact those people." He raised his eyebrow. Although the police were friendly with me and appreciative of my help they definitely weren't 100% welcoming of my assistance. I guess they felt like sometimes I was telling them how to do their job.

"Okay, well, I'm glad you have things in order."

"You know, if you really want to help, you could get a badge." Lieutenant Harper commented as I walked out of the door.

"Nah, I'm not the cop type." I adjusted my fedora. "I don't have a beer belly." I saw Lieutenant Harper look down at his gut as I closed the door.

Our town wasn't small but the community was close. I would recognize the names involved in my cases often enough. Granted, the pediatrician was not my case but the dead body in my office made me curious. Vanessa Bridges I knew relatively well. She was a waitress at Annie's Diner. I walked the five minutes from my place to the Diner.

I didn't know Dr. Greene well, but truth be told the guy was a bit of a jerk. I had only met and spoken with him in very brief instances but I heard plenty of stories. Mishandling children, for one thing. A lot of people thought that he didn't like children, which made his choice of profession pretty odd.

"Hi Bruce."

"Hi Annie."

"What's all the commotion at your office?" She could see the police cars through the diner windows from behind her counter.

"Ah, dead pediatrician crashed through my window this morning."

"Oh, so no big deal." She replied sarcastically to my nonchalant tone. "Henry Greene?"

"Yeah."

"I was wondering when someone would kill him." She commented while continuing to clean her counter.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," she said as if I should have known. "Do you know how many people—how many parents—he has as enemies?" She counted off people. "Kramer caught Dr. Greene in bed with his wife. Kevin, the cop, found out that he had taken tons of his money for medication for his son that his son didn't even need. Phil, the mailman, his niece is dead because Dr. Greene sent his family running around looking for a doctor or something like that and it turns out that Dr. Greene just misdiagnosed her. Scott Russillo, the construction worker, do you know him?" I nodded. I do now. "Dr. Greene prescribed their son the wrong medication. Put the boy in the emergency room a week later. If it hadn't been for the fact that the ER doctor, Kenny Dawson, studied pediatrics their son would be dead right now. Kenny said that the medication was dangerous for adults; a child should never have had it. Hell, even Vanessa. She left her husband for him and he said, 'You're dumber than I thought. You're just a good blow job to me.'"

"Wow." I knew this guy was a jerk, but I didn't know he was Satan.

"What's worse, a lot of the doctors at the hospital think he's doing it on purpose. Sick, huh? They said he makes too many mistakes, especially recently. Dr. Dawson thinks he's either a drunk, a drug addict or a serial killer."

"Whoa." Nothing would motivate a person to kill like their child. "Where is Vanessa by the way?"

"She called and said she would be a little late. She was supposed to be in at 11 to help with the lunch rush." I looked at my watch. 11:10. "Forget it." Annie said.

"What?"

"I refuse to believe that Vanessa had anything to do with that." The diner bell rung and I turned around to see a rather exhausted man stagger in. He looked completely defeated, hair disheveled, a scruffy beard. If it were not for the fact that he was wearing hospital scrubs under his coat I would have thought he just got done with an all-night bender.

"Hi, Annie."

"Hi, Kenny." She was already pouring him a cup of coffee. "You look like hell. Long night at the hospital."

"Long 30 hours that started with a little girl from a car accident dying on my table."

"Jesus, Kenny," Annie shook her head, "I'll never understand how you do this."

"Neither will I." He replied.

"We were just talking about you, actually." He gave a curious look and then looked at me "You know Bruce, right?"

"Your face is familiar but forgive me if I don't remember you." He extended his hand and I shook it.

"Don't worry; I don't think we've met formally." I replied.

"Well, Bruce just brought me some news about one of your favorite people."

"Oh really?" he perked up as he looked toward me.

"Dr. Henry Greene was murdered this morning." Annie broke the news as she pointed to the cop cars at my office building.

"Finally some good news. Children everywhere rejoice." His gruff exterior gave way to a broad smile as he looked through the diner window.

"You seem very broken up." I observed.

"Look, if I could take credit for his murder I would, and I would be seen as a hero to half the parents in this city. I wish I had the balls to kill him. That fuck has caused more problems in our hospital in the last month than I care to remember."

"Just in the last month?" I asked.

"No. Every once in a while we'd get one of his kids. Allergic reaction, side-effects, nothing suspicious. Stuff that proved he wasn't the greatest doctor in the world, but nothing that would suggest anything more. Any doctor could have that stuff happen. But in the last 6 weeks or so it's like he kicked it into overdrive. Just everywhere. It felt like every other child we received had Dr. Greene."

"Why didn't the other doctors do anything about it?"

"Oh, we were! We were working on launching an investigation. Submitted the paperwork to the Bar, got a lawyer. We were going after this guy. We even asked for his practice to be suspended during the investigation but he had some sort of clout somewhere and it was rejected. All his malpractice suits were ignored. Some of us even thought it went deeper."

"So then the investigation didn't go well?" Annie jumped in.

"It hasn't even begun yet. Maybe he's lucky; if the stuff he did wasn't deliberate then it had to be at least criminal negligence. I'm sure he would have lost his license and gone to prison." Kenny let out a deep sigh. "That bastard deserved to be stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey by some 300 pound guy named Tiny." Annie let out a little shocked laughter. I cringed at the thought but I had to say that I was feeling less and less sorry for the good doctor. Whoever did this might have provided the community a service. I wasn't sure that I wanted to find his killer. And if I did, maybe I should buy him a beer.

Vanessa walked in, "Sorry I'm late, Annie." She was out of breath.

"No worries hun. The rush hasn't even come in yet."

"Speaking of which, do you mind if I get a roast beef sandwich and some chips?" Kenny asked.

"Sounds good. I'll have the same." I ordered.

"No problem." Annie said cheerfully.

"What's that all about?" Vanessa nodded out of the window toward my office as she tied on her apron.

"Our favorite childcare specialist just found himself without a pulse." Kenny spoke gleefully. His attitude had brightened significantly with the news.

"Hm. I guess some prayers do get answered." Vanessa replied calmly.

"So you weren't a fan of Dr. Greene either?" I asked.

Vanessa smiled. "I set his bed on fire."

"I heard about that." Kenny laughed. "I thought it was just a rumor. Do you wanna go on a date?"

Vanessa smiled at Kenny then continued, "Nine months ago I left my husband for that asshole and he just laughed at me. He would sweet talk me, stare at me with those big brown eyes, say that he loves me and that we belong together and I should leave my husband. And so I did. He just laughed at me 'I can't believe you actually did it.'"

"But your husband was a jerk too, right?" I said.

"Yeah, and for that much, I guess I should be thankful. He gave me a reason to leave him but still you don't play with a woman's heart like that. Do they know who did it?"

"Not to my knowledge." I replied.

"I know Kenny here will tell you that every parent in the city wants his head on a train track but listen to me. Don't be surprised to find out that it's a jaded lover in the end. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Vanessa spoke, staring into my eyes intently.

Annie placed our meals in front of us.

"So how is little Jill doing? How old is she now? Four?" I asked before tearing into my sandwich.

"Five." She said with a smile.

"God, where does the time go?" Annie said.

"I know." Vanessa thought aloud.

"Still the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." Annie placed her hand on Vanessa's shoulder. "And she's smarter than all get out."

"Wasn't Dr. Greene her pediatrician too?" Kenny asked before I got the chance.

"Yeah up until about nine months ago."

"Good." He sighed. "You probably saved her life."

I felt my phone vibrate. I pulled it out and read the text message. I replied.

30 minutes - Bruce

*****

When I rolled over I saw her naked back. Her fire-red hair spread across the pillow and blanket. This had been going on for a few weeks, ever since I met Courtney at the veterinarian's office. She gave me her number, I called and asked her to dinner and before I knew it we were watching the sunrise from her bed. Since then we indulged ourselves from time to time. A midnight snack here, an afternoon delight there. She was too young for me and I told her so. Courtney's reply was simply, "Okay, let's have some fun for a little while then we can break it off and be friends." So we were still having our little bit of fun.

Rebecca was not a fan of this. I was honest with her—and Courtney for that matter. They knew about each other. Rebecca's reaction was "Dating someone else is fine, but I can't sleep with you again until you are committed to only me." Completely understandable.

Courtney rolled over and smiled at me. She kissed me and then traced her finger along the faint scar on my cheek.

"You'll have to tell me how you got that scar one day," She frowned.

"Some things will have to remain a mystery."

"If only you knew." She gave a playful smirk.

"Ah-ha. And what mysteries are you keeping from me?" I asked as I rolled on top of her, between her legs.

"If I told you it wouldn't be a mystery." We kissed and suddenly she felt my intention. "Baby, I can't. I have to get back to work. Things have been crazy since Dr. Adler went."

I kissed her neck, "ten minutes?"

"Baby, I can't." I could hear the resistance in her voice dwindle.

"Ten minutes." I kissed her breasts.

"But I have so much to do." She was trying to convince herself now more than me. I kissed her stomach.

"Ten minutes." I kissed a little lower.

"Okay." she let out a sigh of pleasure. "10 minutes."

*****

"Am I supposed to be sad?" Scott Russillo replied aggressively as we sat down in his office. His office was a mobile home; he was the foreman of the construction site for a new grocery store. "If I had my way I would have planted a hammer in his forehead." Scott seemed eager to talk to anyone after he spoke with the police, which was unusual. Most people just wanted to give their statement and be left alone. This guy couldn't wait to tell anyone that would listen about how much Dr. Greene deserved to be dead. "If you do find the guy that did it, and I hope you don't, let me know who he is so I can give him a hug." A hug from this guy could kill you. His arms were massive. He looked like he spent his spare time flying over Metropolis and fighting Lex Luthor.

"So you two weren't friends?" I asked sarcastically.

"This guy put my son in the emergency room and almost killed him." I saw him choke up a bit. That had been the most horrible moment in his life. You could see it in his eyes. He'd never been that scared before. "If it hadn't been for Dr. Swanson I don't know what we would have done. I was ready to kill the man that night after Kenny told me about the medication. If my wife hadn't taken my car keys I would have gone to his office and cracked his skull open. Maybe shove a bottle full of those pills he gave my son down his throat. God bless Kenny Swanson. He saved my little boy's life." Scott's voice cracked and he used his massive paw to wipe away the couple of tears that rolled down his cheek.

"So when was the last time you saw Dr. Greene?"

He hesitated, "Last night. At Nelson's"

"The Irish pub?"

"Yeah. A few of the boys and I went to celebrate. One of our guys, Brad, just had a baby girl about a month ago. You know how it is with a new baby; we didn't get a chance to take him out until last night. Anyway, I was already a couple of beers in when Mr. Greene—calling him a doctor is an insult to other doctors—walked in with a couple of friends. I saw red. My boys knew the story and grabbed me before I had a chance to get up.

"This guy was unbelievable," Scott continued. "I'm a construction worker, it was Wednesday, and I stopped myself at three beers so I could be fit for work. This guy walked into the place wasted and started taking shots. He could barely sit up straight at the bar. This drove me crazy. I'm building a grocery store, he's dealing with children's lives and he's getting shit-faced on a Wednesday night. I couldn't take it. When I saw him stand up and head for the bathroom I launched myself from my table and gave him a gut shot. The guy crumbled to the ground, puked and pissed all over himself. That had to be the most satisfying moment in my life." His smile was ear to ear.

"And that's all that happened?"

"Yeah, my boys grabbed me before I could land another shot. I know Mickey, the bar owner, so he did me a solid and didn't call the cops. We just had to leave. I left with my friends and he left with his."

*****

"You know, there are better things the police could be doing with their time than looking for this guy's killer." I'd bumped into Phil, the mailman, on the way into my apartment. We stood outside on the steps talking.

"I wish I could say you were wrong but after talking to so many people I'm starting to agree." Phil nodded his acceptance to my reply.

"That guy was filth and the man that killed him is a hero. How many children would Dr. Greene have put in danger? Did you hear about what happened to my niece?"

"Bits and pieces."

"This little fuck had my sister and her husband running all over the state. He misdiagnosed her. Said she had some kind of cancer. The oncologist he sent them too didn't catch it either. Surprise, he was a shitty doctor just like Dr. Greene. Maybe somebody should kill him too." I raised my eyebrow but he ignored it and continued. "So they hit her with a shot of chemo. Five years old? And a shot of fucking chemo! Turns out it wasn't cancer, it was an infection. The chemo wiped out her immune system and the infection spread like wild fire." I saw Phil's eyes well up. "She didn't stand a chance after that." I put my arm around his shoulder and sat him down on the steps. I reached into my inner jacket pocket, pulled a packet of tissues and gave him one.

"Thanks," he replied. "I never thought I would have kids. I mean, look at me. I'm not the fatherly type. I spend most of my days playing video games. I don't even like children. But Kayla was something special. She wasn't like other children. I know everyone says that about their niece or nephew or son or daughter, but she really was special. She was so happy and cheerful. Kayla was pretty much the only thing that could get me out of the house." He chuckled through his tears. "'Uncle Phil, push me on the swing, go down the slide with me.' I adored that little girl. She would have been 6 next week." Now he was laughing out loud. "Can you believe she actually made me want to have kids of my own? Can you imagine? I was worried they wouldn't come out like Kayla. That I would have some screaming, crying brat."

"Guess you won't know until you try," I replied.

"Try?" He stood up. He was angry but not at me. "I can't have children. I can't have that heartbreak again. Hell, if I feel this way think about how my sister and her husband must feel. I can't even imagine that kind of pain."

"I'm sorry, Phil. But you can't let something like this scare. . ."

"Don't," He interrupted. "And don't be sorry. Just, when you find this guy—and I know you will, you're too good—just let him go. He's not a bad guy. He's a hero."

*****

I made it to my apartment door and saw Nancy and Rebecca standing outside of Nancy's apartment, laughing. They hadn't spoken since the eruption in the hall a few weeks back. It was good to see them making up.

Although I was seeing two other women, Rebecca and Courtney, my affections for Nancy had not faded. Maybe they were the kind of feelings that didn't fade. Of course I would always love Timmy, Nancy's son. He was a great kid. I really missed the Sunday nights I used to spend with them.

I turned the knob on the door of my apartment.

"And where do you think you're going?" Rebecca shouted.

"And without even saying hello?" Nancy added.

"Sorry, I was trying to get out of the hall before the next girl fight." Nancy took a step forward and punched me on the shoulder, followed by Rebecca, who punched the other. They hit harder than I thought.

"Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?" Rebecca's tone was serious.

"Sure." I replied. Nancy silently stepped into her apartment. Once the door closed Rebecca began.

"I can't do this anymore. I care about you and I enjoy being with you but I can't be with you like this." Her voice was soft, almost pleading. "I need more commitment than just being one of the two women you're dating. This has gone on for a couple of weeks and I feel like you should at least be ready to make a choice about me. Just let me know now and don't lead me on anymore. I've been in my house cleaning over and over again because I can't stop thinking. I've scrubbed the pattern off my dishes. I've almost rubbed through my windows. You could eat off my toilet."

I kissed Rebecca and opened my apartment door.

"Wait for me. I have to run."

"What? We need to talk."

"I know. And we will when I get back." I had to run. I needed to get to Dr. Greene's killer before it was too late.

*****

I knocked on his front door 20 minutes later. He opened the door and let me in without any resistance. He must have known I was coming. I followed him to his living room and he offered me a seat. I declined but he collapsed into an armchair. His expression wasn't one of regret it was one of acceptance.

"Do you mind?" He leaned forward and picked up a glass of brown translucent liquid, probably whiskey or something like it.

"No, go for it." He took a deep swallow and made the face that followed any strong drink.

"How did you know it was me? I knew you would be the one to figure it out, but how?" Dr Swanson asked as he raised the glass to his lips.

"Well, you hated Dr. Green, but that doesn't mean anything. Everyone did." He chuckled in agreement. "And after 30 hours of work in the emergency room you went to Annie's instead of home. Strange, but not out of the ordinary. Maybe you couldn't sleep; maybe you were starving so you grabbed a bite before you went home. But the problem was the fact that you were wearing the scrubs." He dropped his head. "Forget the fact that they were clean, which I think would be impossible for an ER doctor, but most hospitals have a cleanliness protocol. Including yours. Scrubs don't leave the hospital. You change in your dressing room and leave them so they can be washed properly. And I'm sure that as an ER doctor you get sprayed with fluids and blood from every direction. But there you were, in the diner, in scrubs—in clean scrubs. You wanted to be seen; you wanted people to think that you just left the hospital."

"She was seven," Kenny stared into empty space, remembering. "She was seven. The accident was pretty bad. Some frat guy in a truck ran their car off the road. The parents actually had a good chance of survival. They weren't out of the woods but they had a chance. And so did their girl." He didn't bother wiping his tears. "But she was bleeding so much, too much. I tried to work as fast as I could but I wasn't fast enough. Her eyes . . ." He took a deep breath. "She bled out. I'm not saying I could have definitely saved her but something wasn't right. I found her file on our database. Dr. Greene was her pediatrician. I lost it. I told everyone. I needed a moment, I left and I broke into his office. I pulled her file and Dr. Greene had prescribed a medicine that wasn't even necessary—a medicine that had the side-effect of thinning the blood. I trashed his entire office in a rage. I was just so mad. I finally decided to go to his home and confront him.

"When I got to his house he was passed out on the kitchen floor. Sloppy drunk. He'd even urinated on himself. I just started kicking his stomach. It woke him up but he was so wasted he couldn't even do anything about it. I took a sofa cushion and held it over his face until he stopped moving. It was so liberating...satisfying."

"If you killed him at home then how did he end up in my office?"

"I put him in my trunk and went back to work. I was so anxious. You know in the movies that's when someone slams into you from behind and your trunk pops open? I thought for sure that would happen." Kenny took another long sip and then refilled the glass. "Anyway, I took another break early that morning so that I could be in that building before anyone else. I used the elevator from the garage to get him to the third floor. I dragged him into his office and saw his lab coat on his coat rack. I took his letter opener and sliced it up and then put it on him. He was a disgrace to the profession and I wanted him to hang outside the window so that everyone could see. I placed the body against the window, tied a rope around his neck and tied the rope to the chair. I tried to pin the chair to the wall with the desk so that when I shot out the window his body would fall out, showcasing him, the menace is finally gone. I guess it didn't quite work that way."

"I didn't hear any gunfire."

"A rifle, from a couple of blocks away. I used to shoot as a hobby. I shot the window from another building, then I got in my car and drove back to work." He took a more measured sip. "I don't care if I go to jail. I would do it again. A hundred times out of a hundred. He had to be stopped." Kenny sat his glass down. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Our building is old. It doesn't have security cameras." I replied. "Your DNA would be in his house but they can't prove when it got there. Plus they don't suspect you. The only thing linking you to the murder is your car." Kenny's expression betrayed his confusion. "Drive to the next state and buy a few gallons of ammonia. Cash only, no card. Drive a couple of states over, to a tourist destination, and take the car out to an empty field. Pour the ammonia in the trunk and over the steering wheel."  
"Destroying any DNA evidence." His eyes narrowed as he began to comprehend.

"Set the car on fire and report it stolen." I finished. I took off my hat, ran my fingers through my hair before replacing my fedora. I let out a deep sigh.

"Wait! You're helping me?" He sprung to his feet in disbelief.

"I'm trying to. The cops may still find something connecting you but I don't think so. There's nothing really connecting you and half the cops hated him too. Hopefully that will discourage them from looking too hard." I made my way to his front door, he followed.

"But why? Why are you helping me?"

"Because I'm not the cop type."
So far, so good?

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About the Author

Emmanuel Obi, Jr.

Born and raised in Auburn, Alabama; Emmanuel Obi has lived in Switzerland since 2007. Emmanuel's passion for writing began at a young age, though he never pursued it as a profession. A graduate from the University of Manchester with a Master's degree in Healthcare Ethics and Law, Emmanuel uses writing and filmmaking as a way to "maintain his sanity" and share passion for storytelling.

# The Case of Bruce Howard

I was sitting with my feet on my desk, reading the paper, when the first bullet hit my desk lamp. It was soon followed by 20 more, seemingly all at once. I took cover under my desk as hot lead tore through my office. I watched my curtains rip to shreds as the window behind my desk shattered. I don't know if I felt or heard the bullets collide with the thick maple desk but I was thankful that I hadn't got one from IKEA. I pulled Lucy from the middle desk drawer and waited for my moment.

I heard the click. His clip was empty. I ran from my desk and dropped my shoulder into the remaining shards of wood that used to be my door. I quickly gathered myself and looked to my left and my right. To the right was the elevator; to the left was the exit to the building. I headed in the direction of the exit when I heard the elevator ding behind me—he would expect me to head toward the exit. He's headed up. I reversed direction and headed for the elevators in a dead sprint.

With Lucy firmly grasped in my palm, I rounded the corner and pointed the gun at the man standing in front of me. It took a second for me to realize it was Dr. Wilkins, the dentist whose office was on the third floor.

"Did you see anyone?" I shouted.

"No! No! I was stepping out of the elevator and heard the noise so I got back in and came down to see what was going on! That's it! I swear! Please!" His hands were in the air and his reply was full of anxiety. It was only then I realized that I still had my gun pointed at his forehead.

"Sorry Justin." I holstered Lucy. No point in chasing in the other direction. The guy had too much of a head start. "Someone just shot up my office."

"What? Are you serious?" He peeked around the corner and saw the scattered remains of my door spread in the hall. "Oh shit! That's crazy. Are you alright?"

"Yeah." I noticed his hands were shaking. "Are you okay?"

He saw me staring at his hands and rubbed them together.

"Yeah, that was just the first time I ever had a gun pointed at my face."

"I'm really sorry. Listen, have you seen anything suspicious in the last ten minutes or so?"

Justin rubbed his eyes, trying to calm himself. "No, not that I can think of. I only entered the building two minutes ago."

"Did anyone walk in with you or behind you?"

"No, not that I saw." He shook his head as he thought carefully.

I let out a deep sigh, "Thanks anyway."

"Sorry I couldn't be more help, Bruce."

"No worries." I walked back to my office and looked through the doorway.

If words could describe what it felt like to look into the bullet-riddled room then I didn't know them. I've been close to death before. I've been shot at before, but nothing like this. Smoking holes everywhere. I shouldn't have survived this. I pictured my blood-drenched body sprawled back in my chair.

I took a deep breath, shook my head and tried to gather myself.

My cell phone rang. It was Courtney, the young secretary at the vet's office. She'd been really helpful in a case a few months ago. I even went on a few dates with her, but eventually I broke it off. The age difference was too much for me to get over. Plus Rebecca and I were starting to get serious.

I know what you're thinking, but I'd been honest with both of them. Courtney knew about Rebecca and Rebecca knew about Courtney. And when I let Courtney down she understood and we stayed friends. Rebecca? I don't know. We were together but...I don't know.

"Hi, Court."

"Hi, Bruce." She was always so bubbly. The enthusiasm that comes with youth. Annoying in a lot of ways, but beneficial in others. "What are you doing? You want to grab a quick afternoon coffee at Annie's?"

"Sorry, kid, I'm a bit busy."

"I hate it when you call me kid."

"You're 24."

"So that makes me a kid?" She replied. I could hear the smile on her face.

"Pretty much." I smiled.

"So how many kids have you fucked? Didn't realize that you were a pedophile?"

"Touché."

"Okay, well, I'll shoot you a text later." Did she have to say shoot?

"Okay, bye Court." I put my cell in my pocket.

The flurries kissed my face as I crunched through the snow headed home. I tried to compose a mental list of the people that would want me dead. My brain wasn't that big. I had helped the police on tons of cases. Hell, 60% of my income came from the city. Tons of people from drug dealers to gang leaders to murders. Not to mention my own cases.

I turned the doorknob.

When I opened my eyes they wouldn't focus. Everything was a combination of fuzzy shapes and colors. My ears were ringing but I could faintly hear Timmy. My eyes began to adjust and I could finally see him kneeling over me. It looked like he was shouting at me but I could barely hear him. I looked past him and saw Nancy and Rebecca with fire extinguishers spraying down my door. I noticed that the door was in pieces all over the hall and that my back was against Nancy's door. My brain was slowly catching up with the situation.

Did I just get blown up?

Nancy and Rebecca were done putting out the fire. They walked over to me. Nancy took the phone from Timmy and continued to talk to whoever was on the other end.

"Bruce? Bruce!" Rebecca was calling out to me now. "Can you hear me?"

"Barely." I replied "Did I just get blown up?"

"I think so. Are you okay?" she asked.

"I just got blown up so I'm not in great shape."

"What happened?" Timmy asked. He was clearly terrified. This kind of stuff wasn't something that a kid should see.

"Let's get inside." I looked toward Nancy. She nodded, still on the phone.

I sat forward and let Timmy and Rebecca help me to my feet.

There was a rush in my head followed by the worst headache I'd ever had. I stumbled from the pain. My head felt like a baseball at the Home Run Derby. Then I felt the other pains. I would say where but I wasn't sure. The pain was everywhere. I felt like I had done a belly flop onto concrete from a third story window. I moved gingerly into Nancy's apartment and they guided me to Nancy's bedroom, where I collapsed onto her bed.

"What happened?" I tried to lie back and relax as best I could, but there was no comfortable position.

"I don't know." Nancy spoke first. "Timmy had just gotten home from school. Five minutes later the apartment shook and there was a bang on the door. We rushed out and saw you lying in front of our door and your apartment was on fire."

"I was taking a nap." Rebecca added.

"Why were you sleeping at Nancy's?" I was confused.

"No, at your place."

"What! You were in there!"

"Yeah, but I'm okay. Not even a scratch."

"How?" I was beginning to worry.

"Well it looked like the bomb was put into the closet next to the front door. So it wouldn't have been near me."

"How did a bomb get in my closet?" Rebecca shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm going to go outside and wait for the police. They should be here any second." Nancy said as she left the bedroom. Timmy sat down next to me on the bed. Rebecca took my hand.

"Thank God you're okay." Rebecca sighed. "When I first saw you, you were so still, so lifeless. That moment felt like an eternity."

"It's okay, Rebecca. It'll take more than a bomb and a few bullets to stop me." I tried to comfort her.

"Bullets? What bullets?"

Oops.

*****

I lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. Half because I was in a foreign bed in a foreign place and half because someone was trying to kill me. Maybe the kill me part was a little more than half. I was in a hotel now, Rebecca lying close but not touching me. She couldn't touch me; every part of my body was in pain. My pain was in pain.

Back at Nancy's, after the EMTs checked to make sure I was okay, I spoke with Sergeant Sharper. She was the first officer on the scene. I gingerly walked up behind her as she examined the scene.

"So what do you think?" I said, trying not to sound in as much pain as I was in.

"Wow, you look like shit." She smiled.

"I got blown up, what's your excuse?" Sergeant Sharper, Mary, wasn't a fan of that comeback. Sergeant Sharper, in actuality, was a gorgeous woman. Her beauty was matched only by her rough and violent persona. She had even been in trouble for roughing up suspects. Mary enjoyed a few things rough. I still have the bruises to prove it. Don't ask how I got them.

"Charming as ever, Bruce."

"What happened?"

"Well, Rebecca was right." Mary explained. "The bomb was in the closet. Which, to me, says that whoever did this is an idiot or in love with you." She saw the doubt in my expression and continued. "If someone wanted to kill you they could have just put the bomb at the top of the door or hidden it somewhere near the door. It appears to be small enough for that. But they put it in the closet, with the door shut. So a large part of the explosion was absorbed by two doors—the closet and front door—before it reached you."

"So whoever is trying to kill me isn't trying to kill me?" I found this hard to believe.

"My guess would be that they're trying to warn you."

"Warn me about what?"

"I don't know. How many wives have you slept with this year?" She spoke through an arrogant smile.

"FYI, I'm in a relationship. No more wives for me." Her smile was gone. That bit of information seemed to bother her.

"Yeah, I heard that the player had settled down a bit." A cruel smile drew across her face. "Maybe the bomb is a warning about that, or revenge. Someone you hurt in the past that's trying to get back at you. Someone who can't believe that you snubbed them and decided to be with someone else." My eyebrow rose. "But that's just a theory."

After the discussion with Sergeant Sharper, Rebecca and I checked into a hotel. I told her that it wasn't safe to be around me with someone gunning for me, but she refused to leave my side. She was a good woman in a lot of ways.

So I lay in bed, a foreign bed in a foreign room, trying to make a list of all the women I'd hurt. That list might be longer than the list of criminals.

What about female criminals? Any person that could get into my house without being noticed and plant a bomb was either close to me or a criminal.

The closest people to me were Timmy, Rebecca and Nancy. I don't think they teach explosives in fourth grade so Timmy was out. Rebecca and Nancy had reconciled since they'd had their own little explosion in the hall. I got the feeling that Nancy didn't like the fact that Rebecca and I were together, but I don't think she would blow my apartment up to get her point across. There was Sergeant Sharper and Courtney, both of whom I'd spoken with this morning. But I'd also ran into Jason Wilkins.

This was insane. I couldn't stick to only women suspects. There were tons of men that probably wanted me dead too. I couldn't assume my would-be killer was a woman just because she was dumb enough to put a bomb in my closet. Besides, Mary would just punch me in the face. And Courtney didn't even like it when I killed spiders.

So now I was back to square one.

*****

It was so easy to know where to begin with other cases. But for me, I had no idea where to start.

An idea clicked in my head when I was brushing my teeth. Even my teeth hurt. I called Lieutenant Harper and asked him to give me a rundown of prisoners released within the last year.

The list that he emailed to me wasn't nearly as long as I thought it would be. I recognized a lot of names, which was unsettling to say the least. I skipped over a lot of them because it seemed that most of them wouldn't be smart enough to pull off something like this. These weren't the brightest men in the world, hence prison.

One name gave me pause, Sam Brennen. I helped the cops put him away a few years ago. He'd actually been put away for arson.

*****

Sam's home was shockingly nice for a guy who just got out of prison. White house, light blue shutters, picket fence, well-manicured lawn, what appeared to be an herbal garden on the side of the house.

I knocked on the door.

"Wow, you got a lot of balls showing up at my home." Sam opened the door.

"Nice to see you too, Sam. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"No, not at all." He took a drag from his cigarette.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"None of your fucking business." He said with a smile.

"Where do you work?"

"None of your fucking business." His smile never went away.

"Can anyone account for your whereabouts yesterday?"

"None of your fucking business." He chuckled.

"Fine. I'll be back with the cops and a warrant."

"Good. You do that. Just don't get killed along the way."

"How did you know . . . ?" Sam slammed the door before I could finish. I wanted to kick in the door, but I resisted. I turned and walked away but stopped before I reached the end of his lawn. How could he afford all of this? This house was really nice. Yet he was at home in the middle of the day, so most likely he didn't have a job. He knew about the attempts on my life. Or did he? He'd said don't get killed along the way. That could have been him knowing something or his idea of a clever comeback.

Fuck it. I pulled Lucy and walked back toward his front door. I needed answers and he was going to give them to me. I knocked on the door and side-stepped the peep hole.

"Who is it?" I kicked the door in, hard enough to rip it off the hinges. The door crashed into Sam, sending him to the ground. I shoved Lucy into his mouth.

"You got ten seconds to tell me who you work for." He made a noise and I pulled the revolver from his mouth.

"Go to hell." He sneered. I held the gun firmly in my palm and slapped the hell out of him with it. He let out a squeak as his mouth filled with blood.

I counted. "Six, five, four..."

"I thought you said I had ten." I slapped him with the gun again. Another cry slipped past his lips.

"That was before your smart-ass comment." The way I felt right now I would pull the trigger. My life was on the line and he wanted to play games. "Two, one..." I pulled back the hammer.

"Hey, wait! Wait!" He shouted through blood stained teeth. "Allen Gregory! Allen Gregory! He owns the Zebra Lounge. That's why I went to prison. The police never made the connection. I would burn the houses of any of Allen's competitors who wouldn't cooperate."

"And now you're after me?" I said through gritted teeth. My revolver pressed firmly against his forehead.

"I didn't do that. I swear. I'm not a hitman or something."

"Yeah, you just burn down homes for money. Has he mentioned me?"

"Yeah, we've talked about you a few times. He told me you gave him that burn on his face. But that's it. I don't know who is after you but he wouldn't mind seeing you dead." He spoke quickly, scared. I believed him. He didn't know anything. But Allen did.

*****

I received a text message on the way to the Zebra Lounge.

WTF happened? - Courtney She'd figured out her iPhone. Congrats.

What do you mean? - Bruce

I went to your office to force you into a cup of coffee and it was wrapped in Police tape and there was a cop guarding it. He said he couldn't tell me anything - Courtney

Yeah, apparently somebody has it in for my office door - Bruce

I saw it. I can't believe you got out of there alive. We need to talk. I can't believe you were almost killed - Courtney

Well I have some business to take care of but we can meet later - Bruce

Don't do anything stupid - Courtney

No promises - Bruce

I walked into the Zebra Lounge as I hit send on my phone. There were two guards standing at Allen's office door. I didn't usually carry my brass knuckles with me, but unfortunately for these guards I'd brought them tonight. Two quick punches and they were both counting sheep. I walked into the office without bothering to take them off. I would need them again.

When I walked in I was clearly interrupting something. There was a young woman, very young, with her tongue in Allen's ear and a hand in his pants behind his desk.

"You need to leave." I said sternly. They both looked exasperated until they noticed the bloody brass knuckles clutched in my fists. The girl was suddenly terrified and bolted out of the room. Allen shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You still upset about that?" I pointed to the burn scar on his face. "I disrespected you and I needed to be taught a lesson? Or maybe I needed to be made an example of for others not to cross you." He shifted in his chair again.

"If that were the case," Allen replied. "And I'm not saying that it is; what evidence do you have of that? What brought you here?"

"My gut."

"Then you must have a stomach virus."

I smiled. "Clever. Usually I would have a snappy retort but forgive me; I'm outside of myself right now. Attempts on your life tend to do that to a person."

He chuckled. "That's understandable. Clearly you're a bit unstable." He motioned toward my knuckles. "But I'll have to bring this to your attention. In a court room hunches and gut feelings don't hold much weight."

"True. But only if you're going to prison for attempted murder." I pulled out my cell phone and with a few touches I played an audio file.

"That's why I went to prison. The police never made the connection. I would burn the houses of Allen's competitors who wouldn't cooperate. Sam's panicked voice played from my phone. I'd pushed the record feature on my phone before I kicked in Sam's door.

All of the blood rushed out of Allen's face. His attention switched from my phone back to me. I put the phone in my pocket and took off my trench coat.

"The police should be here in about three minutes."

I clenched my fists and walked towards Allen.

*****

"So it was Allen," Rebecca asked as I nodded and dropped onto the couch next to her. "How did you know?"

"Funnily enough, it was just a feeling. He's tied up in crime and was probably taking some push back because of how I disrespected him. If he wanted to keep control of his empire then I needed to be taken out, made an example of." I took off Lucy and put her on the coffee table. Rebecca flinched. My revolver half scared her, and half turned her on.

"A hunch." I nodded as I raised my merlot to my lips. "That doesn't sound like you. Usually you break everything down and come up with a thousand reasons that everyone else missed."

"Well I could have waited for him to try to kill me again, but I thought it best to stop him before that." She shrugged at my answer. She was unimpressed.

"So, you got him. I guess that's the important part."

"Sorry to disappoint you." I crossed my arms.

"Don't be like that." She straddled my lap. She held my face and looked into my eyes. "You got him. That's the important part."

"Yeah, I got him." Why did it feel like I was lying? Rebecca was right. Every case I had the proof to lead me to the person. This time I just went to him without anything to back it up. I guess that just bothered me.

"Bruce, I'm just worried. After this whole thing I realized that I love you." It was the first time she'd said that. "And I don't want to lose you. That's probably why I'm scared about you not getting the right guy. I mean, I went to your office and saw everything. It's amazing that you got out of there." Why did that phrase bother me?

"Did you talk to the cop that was there?" I asked; the gears in my brain were churning.

"Yeah, he wouldn't say a word. Hell, if I didn't know that it was your office then I wouldn't have known."

I could feel the dots connecting. Something was . . .

"Oh my God, it wasn't Allen..." I whispered to myself. Rebecca's eyes widened but she wasn't looking at me. Before I could follow her eyes I saw blood erupt from her shoulder. She screamed and fell onto the coffee table, shattering our wine glasses before hitting the floor.

I stood and turned toward Courtney, her pistol smoking, aimed at me.

"If the cop wouldn't tell you anything then how did you know I got out of the office? For all you knew I wasn't in the office at all."

Courtney smiled, "Too bad you didn't figure that out sooner."

A hundred things came together at once.

"You worked with the Sphinx? That's why you were so eager to give me his info in San Diego. You thought; he thought that it would solidify his alibi. You helped him knock out the cops."

"Fernalithal is just as potent in aerosol form." She replied. "There just isn't much use for it. But it is very easy to convert to its aerosol form." She was encouraging my thought processes.

"So you gas the place." I heard Rebecca moan on the floor. I had to find some way to distract Courtney so I could take her out and get Rebecca out of here.

"So you weren't trying to kill me?"

She giggled. "Of course not. I just wanted to get your attention. Do you really think that if I took an automatic rifle to your office that you would have lived? I shot the lamp first so that you would have a chance to take cover. I put the bomb in the closet so that you wouldn't get hurt.

"How did you get into my place?"

This made her laugh out loud. "I've had a key to your place since the first time you fucked me. Did you really think that I would give you a piece of me and I not take a piece of you right back?"

"Well, I didn't think you were crazy enough to shoot at me either."

"Watch your mouth." Her smile disappeared. I could still hear Rebecca. I needed to speed this up.

"But why? No one was coming after you. No one even knew you were involved with the Sphinx."

"Are you kidding?" She seemed insulted by the question. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Then why?"

"You should have picked me." I felt the burn in my chest before I saw the flames explode from the gun. The second burn was in my stomach. I fell backwards, through the coffee table. I looked at Rebecca and saw her clutching her shoulder, tears falling from her eyes.

I saw something out of the corner of my eye, next to her knees. Lucy. I tried to ignore the pain. I grabbed Lucy and threw myself toward the couch. I pushed myself up and onto my feet. Courtney had been walking toward us and was surprised to see me pop up. I raised my gun as she raised hers. We fired. I don't know where I hit her but I felt her bullet tear through my stomach again. I heard her scream and fall to the ground as I fell onto the couch. Courtney managed to get to her feet. I could hear her footsteps as she ran out of my apartment and they faded as she ran down the stairs.

I turned toward Rebecca; she'd managed to pull herself to the couch. She placed her hand over my chest, trying to cover one of my wounds. She sobbed. She really did love me.

"I'm sorry . . ." She placed her finger over my lips.

"Save your strength. Everything is going to be okay. Just hold on and save your strength." She pleaded. "Nancy! NANCY!!!"

I love you too.

# The Case of the Flying Patient

I was lying in my hospital bed watching some horrible morning soap opera when I saw a body pass by my window. The television was in the corner across from my bed, the window next to it. The window was closed and it was hard to hear anything outside but I was sure that I heard him screaming.

I gingerly sat up in my bed. The wound had gotten much better but it was still there. I made my way to the window with a quasi-normal stride. I had spent the last two weeks walking like a 90 year old man. I was close enough to 40 to be scared of old age. Walking like that, and using a bed pan, didn't help settle that fear.

I looked down at the body through my window. I didn't have to be a doctor to see that he was dead. His legs were mangled and a puddle of blood was gathering around his head. Strangely enough, he wasn't wearing a shirt, just orange scrub pants. Orange scrubs meant that he was from the psych ward, which would also explain the no shirt thing. It would probably explain the flying past my window thing too. I found it odd that the psych ward was on the ninth floor. I was sure they got people who thought they could fly. Why give them a takeoff spot?

I saw doctors and nurses begin to gather around the body. They rushed around him in futility. They knew he was already dead. I started to head back to my bed when I noticed something. My window. It didn't open. At least not much. Just a little crack that I could barely put my arm through. I looked down at the body again; there was no glass around it. My gears were grinding. I was positive they would keep the door to the roof locked.

This guy didn't try to fly and he didn't commit suicide. He was killed.

*****

"What are you doing up here?" Lieutenant Harper said as I walked towards him. "You seem to be moving pretty well and you've never looked sexier." He commented as he eyed my white hospital gown.

"It's actually helped me understand why the Scots wear kilts. It's very liberating, and you get a nice little breeze." I smiled. "The officer guarding the door let me up. So what do you have here?"

"A roof. What do you think you're doing?"

"Just seeing if I can be of any help."

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Lieutenant Harper asked.

"I need something to do. I'm actually starting to get invested in my soap operas." He gave an amused smile. He must have thought that I was being sarcastic. "Britney is going to get with John not knowing that her husband, Carl, survived the car accident that was setup by John, his best friend, because John wanted Britney." Lieutenant Harper openly laughed.

"All we have here," He managed his laughter and began to explain, "is a concrete roof. Nothing, nothing's been moved, there's nothing that could be moved. It looks like he stole the keys and dove off. The doctor said he had delusions of being a super hero. They had him on medication to manage it but if he didn't take his pills he would strip off his shirt and claim to be Captain Liberty. A super strong, flying avenger of justice."

I thought for a moment, "So he stole the keys, stripped into his alter ego and tried to fly off to rescue someone."

"That's what it looks like."

"So where are the keys?" I asked.

"What?" Lieutenant Harper looked confused.

"Where are the keys? If he committed suicide then keys would have been in the door, on the roof, in his hand or on the ground. Have you found any keys?"

"No, so that means someone let him up here."

"Which is just as good as putting a gun in his mouth." I replied.

"Who was the one that suggested that he stole the keys?"

"Dr Keiser. He worked with Jonathan in the psych ward." Harper answered.

"Jonathan?"

"The victim's name, Jonathan Manning. A 28-year-old video game designer. I've contacted his mother and will speak with her and her husband a little later. Apparently they would visit him at least twice a week. According to Dr Keiser he was showing a lot of progress up until about a month ago. The shrink said the delusions were beginning to return."

*****

It's kind of hard to be taken seriously in a hospital gown, but I didn't have a choice. I sat waiting for Dr Keiser in his office. When he walked in he was clearly distraught. He forced a friendly welcome.

"Hello, Mr. Howard. I am Dr Keiser." His English was good but his faint accent was apparent.

"You're from Germany?"

"Austria." He replied. "I moved here when I was 22 years old to study medicine. That was 27 years ago and I still cannot get rid of this accent." He smiled faintly.

"So you were Jonathan's treating psychiatrist?"

"Yes. I do not know how I can help. I have already told the police everything I know."

"I know. I'm just trying to get a clear picture."

"Well, Jonathan has been my patient for two years. He suffered from delusions of being a super hero. He felt like he had to patrol the world from the air and protect it. He was a rather kind child. His delusions even suggested selflessness. He just wanted to help." His voice broke a little.

"So, if he was so kind, who would want to kill him?" I asked.

"I have no idea. He had tons of friends here. Jonathan had special privileges because he had helped the staff so often. He would help defuse fights between other patients, was great for us. Sometimes the patients ignored us because we were the 'authority,' but they would listen to Jonathan because he was one of them. They loved him and he was getting better. A combination of therapy sessions and medication was really progressing. At least until about a month ago."

"What happened a month ago?"

"I do not know. He began to regress rapidly. His delusions were returning. I thought he might have stopped taking his medication, but the nurses watched him. He never cheated." He insisted upon these facts as though he were trying to convince himself.

I looked across his office walls and saw tons of diplomas, degrees and awards. Dr. Keiser was very accomplished.

"You seem to have taken a personal interest in Jonathan." I stated.

"It's hard to not take a personal interest. You sit with people and learn everything about them. Their fears, hopes, dreams. We are all only human. You begin to hope that they get better and when they succeed then it is more than just an academic success. It is a personal one. You feel it very deep." His words lingered for a moment.

"Then you must feel the failures very deeply as well?" I asked gently.

"Yes and for some reason the failures torment you while the successes fade away."

"Was Jonathan's regression tormenting you?"

"Yes." He exclaimed, slamming his hand on his desk in frustration. "I could not figure out the problem. He was not faking. I thought his body had built up a tolerance to the medication, so I increased his dosage but still nothing. I could not save him."

"And you didn't think to drug test him to make sure he was taking his medication?" I asked.

"I wanted to but for some patients asking them to do something like that suggests you don't trust them. This could be very counterproductive to therapy. You would have to essentially rebuild their trust in you. But I was getting to the point of trying that. I had to know what was wrong. It just didn't make sense." The aggression in his voice rose as he spoke.

"And that drove you mad?"

He glared at me. "Yes. I loved that boy and seeing him like at again tore my heart apart. Do you have any more questions?"

*****

I gently pushed open the door and walked into Jonathan Manning's room. His roommate was in the room, lying on the bed and crying into his pillow.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." I backed out but he stopped me.

"Wait." He replied. "Are you the police? I want to help if I can."

"No, I'm not the police, I'm a private investigator. Do you know anything that could be helpful?"

"Shouldn't you be the one figuring that out?" He rolled over on to his back and placed his hands behind his head.

Strange reaction, "What are you in here for?"

"I'm a psychopath." He smiled.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

He laughed. "No, I'm not. Most people have that reaction but just because I'm a psychopath it doesn't mean I'm a serial killer."

"I know but forgive me; the word still carries some stereotypes."

"I know; it doesn't bother me as much as it used to. There are a lot of people that don't understand."

"Like Jonathan, Captain Liberty?" I suggested.

"Actually no. He was very accepting of me from the beginning. He was my first friend in here. I don't know if I am capable of caring about someone but if I could he would have been the one."

"Do you have any idea how this happened?" I inquired.

"He was a guy who thought he could fly. Not a big step figuring out what happened." He replied sarcastically.

"It looks like he was murdered."

"Murdered? I thought it was a suicide." He was surprised.

"Too many inconsistencies. It's being investigated as a murder. What's your name?"

"Alex." He thought for a moment. "That would explain how he got on the roof. I hadn't been able to figure out that part. I figured that since he was getting worse, he just tried to act out his delusions."

"Yeah, do you have any idea why he began to revert back to his fantasy world?"

"Not a clue. But he could have easily skipped his medication. Hide the pills in his cheek. The nurses don't check that strenuously. Maybe he thought he didn't need them anymore. He hated being dependent on pills, but I still couldn't figure out how he got on the roof. Murder makes more sense, but why?"

"I don't know. Did anyone here dislike him?" I asked, still feeling uncomfortable. His expressions of concern seemed almost too good, as though they were unnatural for him to make. Psychopaths lack any feelings of remorse or love and are usually extremely intelligent, cunning and manipulative. Was he helping me or steering me away from the murderer? His icy blue eyes pierced mine, sending a chill up my spine. Like roaches crawling between my shoulder blades. Did he know what I was thinking?

"No, everyone loved him here." His eyes narrowed. "And yes I would probably be the most likely suspect, but the problem with that is I wouldn't be able to get a key either." He smiled as though this were enjoyable for him. Was this a game to him? Was he challenging me to figure out how to catch him?

"Hm, good point." I moved toward the door then stopped. "I looked in the trash can next to the door and saw a single, crumpled up piece of paper. I reached in, picked it up and opened it up.

Day Pass

Dr. Simon Keiser

*****

I walked into Dr. Keiser's office with as much authority as my bullet wounds and a hospital gown would allow. I was surprised to see a distressed older couple sitting opposite of him. They were clearly Jonathan's parents.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt." I backed out of the office and closed the door.

"Hey! What are you doing?" A woman shouted in a whisper, cup of coffee in her hand. She was Dr. Keiser's secretary.

"I wanted to speak with Dr. Keiser."

"He's with Jonathan Manning's parents. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually, yes." I placed the day pass on her desk. "Do you know why Dr. Keiser gave Jonathan this pass?"

"Yes, Jonathan's grandmother passed away and his father requested that he be there," she said with a tone of sorrow. "I feel so sorry for those people. Mr. Manning loses his mother and now they've lost their son. I can't begin to imagine their pain."

"Was her passing sudden?"

"No. She'd been sick for months."

"So this wasn't a shock? Everyone knew this was coming?" I asked as she took a seat at her desk.

"Yeah, Dr. Keiser gave Jonathan several day passes in order to visit her. She was actually being kept here in the hospital. Dr. Keiser even thought that Jonathan being there with his grandmother would help ground him and pull him out of his delusion." She took a sip of her coffee.

"What can you tell me about Alex, his roommate? He's a psychopath, right?" Her eyes gave her away. Something was very wrong with Alex.

"Yes, he's a psychopath."

"You don't like him." I observed.

"No, he actually manipulated me into a very, very bad decision." She stared into her coffee.

"What was it?" She replied to my question with an annoyed look that said sex, stupid. "Oh, okay. Gotcha. But didn't you know he was a psychopath? This isn't like Bobby, the jerk from the frat house."

"What do you want me to say? Yes, I know, but clearly he's smarter than me." She replied exasperated.

"Sorry. Do you think Alex killed Jonathan?"

"Do I think he's capable of it? Yes. Do I think he did it? No. There was no way he could have gotten out of the psych ward, not to mention he had no access to the roof. The psych ward is locked from the outside, two gates. Someone from outside has to let you out. Our logs show Jonathan being checked out this morning, but Alex never left."

"But if Jonathan's grandmother passed away and his condition was worsening, why was he let out?" This was making less and less sense.

"You would have to ask his father. He signed him out." I was stunned. Why hadn't Dr. Keiser told me? I turned and walked back into Dr. Keiser's office.

"You were the last one with Jonathan before he was killed." Dr. Keiser dropped his head; Mrs. Manning's crying became louder. Mr. Manning looked at me; his eyes were veiled in a waterfall of tears.

"Yes."

"You took him to the roof." I spoke, knowing the answer, but I was still stunned when he nodded in confirmation. "Why? Why did you kill your son?"

"I didn't kill my son, dammit! He was sick!" He exploded to his feet. "I was trying to help. His grandmother's funeral... It tore him apart. He blamed himself." Mr. Manning sat back in his chair staring at nothing. "I checked him out and walked with him through the hospital. We talked about his grandmother and how great she was and how much he missed her, how much we all missed her. He wanted to go by her room. I didn't want to, but eventually we did. It was still empty. Dark. It seemed to finalize it for him. His tears were still there but there was a calmness about him. Like he had accepted what happened and found closure. His grandmother used to love sitting on the roof of the hospital. She said it made her feel free. Light. Like the weight of old age was gone. So Dr. Keiser and two orderlies would take Jonathan and his grandmother to the roof occasionally. The orderlies were always there to make sure he didn't try anything, and he never did." Dr. Keiser placed his hands over his eyes, overwhelmed with regret. Mr. Manning continued. "He asked if we could go to the roof. I said no repeatedly but he kept insisting. He sounded the most stable I had heard him in years. I thought it would be okay. That I could protect him. I asked an orderly to unlock the roof. We stood there. Peacefully. The next thing I know I was wrestling with him on the ground. I was just trying to hold on. He kicked me in the stomach and ran to the edge. He ripped off his shirt and...His last words were 'Don't worry dad, I'll save grandma. You'll see' and then..." Mr. Manning's emotions consumed him. His wife wrapped her arms around him and they sobbed together

I looked at Dr. Keiser. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just found out. He's been in the bathroom crying. He had no intention of running or hiding." He replied.

"But you knew he was the last one with Jonathan?" He just stared at me. "This is nothing more than a tragic accident."

"I'm still not sure about that." Dr. Keiser stated sternly.

*****

"Why did you do it?" I asked.

"What? I liked Jonathan, why would I . . ."

"Psychopaths can't like anyone, and even if they could they wouldn't cry over them. You were sobbing when I walked into the room. Something you are incapable of. It was an act, an appropriate response." A cruel smile drew across Alex's face.

"So, that doesn't prove anything." His answer seemed to challenge me. Alex rolled onto his back. He tossed his blonde hair out of his face and stared at me with his soulless blue eyes.

"And what about sleeping with Dr. Keiser's secretary? Psychopaths find no joy in sex. They don't like it and have no need for it unless it serves a purpose."

"Again, what does that have to do with Jonathan?" His smug smile seemed to get wider.

"You've been planning this for months. You slept with the secretary to get her keys. She told me that she lost them a while ago and had to get them replaced. You used the keys to replace Jonathan's meds with placebos. That's why he was regressing no matter what Dr. Keiser tried. You probably even saw Jonathan's grandmother's passing as an opportunity and gave him the plan for saving her."

He chuckled gently. "You're a very smart guy. That is an excellent theory."

"Why? What did he do to you?"

"Do I need a reason?" I felt the roaches on my spine again. "It's just a theory. You can't prove any of it." He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

"If we find placebos in his medication..."

"Then that means someone replaced his pills, but not who. And if the culprit was smart enough to wear gloves then, uh-oh." He never opened his eyes.

"Or if we find the keys..."

"That would help if you could find them, but I'm assuming your guy got rid of them. Open up a pipe under a sink and push them down. Easy enough for anyone, right?" He interrupted again without opening his eyes.

I stood in stunned silence. What could I prove?

His eyes suddenly sprang open, ice staring through my soul. His face was expressionless.

"Unless you can prove the conversation that Jonathan had with your culprit, but I doubt that. One member of the conversation is dead and I doubt the other would ever say anything to incriminate himself." My fist clenched in frustration. I wanted to beat the truth out of him but I knew that wouldn't work. His sadistic smile returned. "You look sexy in your hospital gown when you're mad."

*****

I stood in my office looking through the window, staring out at nothing. The repairs to my office had been completed about a week ago. When I was discharged I came here rather than go home. When I heard the knock on the door I knew the reason why I hadn't gone home was here.

I saw Rebecca standing in my doorway; her arm was in a sling.

"Hi." She said meekly.

"Hey."

"I know it's not your fault."

"Rebecca, don't."

"I want to be with you." She replied.

"You can't!" But I wanted her to be.

"Why?" She shouted.

"Look at your arm."

"You didn't do this! This isn't your fault!"

"But I am the reason."

"No you're not."

"So if I was a teacher you would have been shot just the same?" I tried to get her to understand.

"So what, I could be dating a teacher and get hit by a bus tomorrow. Is that his fault?"

"Rebecca, please." I pleaded.

"Don't leave me because you're afraid of me getting hurt."

"Rebecca, Nancy was right. I'm not the kind of guy that anyone should be with. My life is too dangerous. I can't be responsible for hurting the ones I love."

"So then you push the ones you love away and you live alone. That makes sense." Her sarcasm was clear.

"It does make sense. And you know it."

We stood in silence for a moment. I wanted to hold her but I knew it would be best if I didn't.

"So then that's it." She fought to keep her composure.

"Yeah." I struggled. She walked out.

"I love you." She said as she closed the door.

"Don't."

# The Case of the Governor

I was finishing a cheeseburger at Annie's when I heard the gunshot. It echoed through the streets and was soon followed by the screams of hundreds of people.

I sprung from the counter and out of the diner. I raced toward the sounds of the screams. The noise seemed to be coming from two streets over. As I got closer I could see people running in the opposite direction. Once I made it to the street I immediately saw the reason.

There was a black limousine, not unlike those that celebrities or politicians ride in. On the hood were two American flags, one over each headlight. The windshield was tinted black and it had a bullet hole in the middle of it. The glass had splintered around the hole giving the impression of a spider web spreading over the windshield. Men in black suits and sunglasses were standing around the car; two were pulling someone out of the car while the other two had their guns drawn in search of the source of the bullet. The guy they were pulling out looked like the governor. It was the Governor—and he had been shot.

*****

"Look, I'm sorry Bruce, but we can't let you on the scene." I was speaking with Sergeant Sharper. She was part of the police escort that was following the Governor, George Brush. "This whole thing will end up being a federal matter and it would be hard to explain why we let a civilian onto the crime scene."

"Fine." I conceded and walked away back toward Annie's Diner.

"Good," Annie said as I took my place at the counter. "I thought you'd skipped on the bill."

"The Governor has been shot." I said as I put one of the last fries into my mouth. Cold fries, ugh.

"You can't be serious! Just now!"

"Yeah, a few streets over."

"Is he dead?!" She asked in shock and disbelief.

"It didn't look like it. I think the bullet just hit his shoulder. The ambulance was pulling up when I left."

"You can't be serious. I don't believe it." I looked towards the TV in the corner and nodded toward it. Annie pulled the remote from under the counter and turned up the volume.

The reporter explained that the Governor's caravan had been attacked on his way to a school reading. It appeared to be a sniper from one of the buildings. No suspects had been captured.

"So what are they going to do?" Annie asked.

"Process the scene, take surveillance tapes from every possible camera, interview witnesses. The norm." I replied as I put the last fry in my mouth.

"What are you going to do?"

"The cops told me that it is a federal matter and that I shouldn't get involved." I put my money on the table.

"You didn't answer my question. What are you going to do?" She insisted.

I adjusted my fedora. "Annie, you know me too well."

*****

The internet is an amazing thing. Ten minutes on Google and I had pictures of the Governor with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, a picture of him in a shouting match with his Lieutenant Governor and a statement from Lieutenant Harper speaking against Governor Brush cutting police funding. At this rate I'd have 30 suspects before dinner. Being a politician can lead to having a lot of enemies, so maybe the internet wasn't the best place to start.

So what solid information did I already have? The Governor was in town to make a few public appearances; City Council meeting, the college, the high school and a couple of elementary schools. He was headed down Main Street with a police escort when his caravan was attacked. One shot through his windshield. The windshield was tinted so that's probably why the shot wasn't fatal. There were plenty of bullets that could pierce the windshield, go through the driver and still manage to kill the Governor, depending on the distance. The sniper wanted to avoid the driver. He had compassion.

A pro would know not to shoot from straight on and have to go through a windshield and a person. A pro would take a shot from the side; he'd wait for the car to pass by and take the clear head shot. Whoever did this wasn't a pro or had hired an amateur.

Usually situations like this were an inside job, but I'm just hypnotizing, guessing blindly. I needed more information. I pulled out my cell phone and made a quick call.

"Lieutenant Harper."

"Hi, Frank."

"Hi, Bruce. What can I do for you?" He was always so pleasant.

"I need to pump you for some information about the attempt on the Governor's life."

"You know I can't tell you anything."

"But you will because you're a good guy and you want this thing to get solved. Can't hurt if I'm looking into it as well."

"Yeah, true. Okay, what do you need to know?" Harper let out a defeated sigh.

"Do you know who is here with the Governor?"

"Not many people actually. His intern, his secretary and a few bodyguards. That's it."

"Where is his wife?"

Frank let out a little laugh and then cleared his throat. "Have you seen those pictures of the Governor with that younger woman?"

"Yeah."

"That younger woman is his secretary."

"Wow." I was stunned. "Really? And he's here with his secretary instead of his wife?"

"Yup. From what I heard his wife insisted that he fire her and he refused. He kept saying that the photos looked worse than what they were and that if he fired her it would look really bad."

"Oh yeah, a 21 year old sex goddess sitting in your lap in a bikini drinking tequila shots. I'm sure they just played scrabble later." I replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Lieutenant Harper chuckled. "But then his wife found out that his secretary would be on this trip and she said that if the secretary went then she wouldn't go. You can see what his reply was."

"Whoa!" Now I understood why women enjoyed gossip so much. This was incredible. "She must be livid."

"Word is she trashed the Governor's mansion and moved out. I don't think the Governor even knows that yet."

"How do you know all of this?" I asked.

"You'd be surprised what I know. Word travels through precincts faster than the internet."

"What about the Lieutenant Governor? Why isn't he here?"

"Well, it's not normal for a Governor and a Lieutenant Governor to travel together. But another reason maybe that they hate each other."

"Why am I not surprised? I saw the photo of them online with them at each other's throats."

"Yeah, there have been a couple of stories about them having to be physically separated." Frank explained.

"Why? Brush changed once he got elected?"

"No actually. It was Rainey, the Lieutenant Governor. They agreed on most policies and worked together relatively well. But once you sleep with someone's daughter I'm guessing that puts a strain on the work environment."

"What?!"

"The Lieutenant Governor slept with the Governor's daughter."

"Now you're shitting me. This sounds like a bad soap opera. There is no way that can be true."

"Well, it is just a rumor." Harper added. "But it's a rumor that reached the Governor and ever since then it looks like they've been trying to kill each other."

"What right does the Lieutenant Governor have to be upset? He's the one that boinked the Governor's daughter."

"Yeah, but I think it was all a power play. Rainey got tired of taking orders from the Governor. They may have agreed on many things but I think Rainey wanted to be the boss. He was tired of being second fiddle."

"But this doesn't help the Lieutenant Governor at all. If he wanted to run against Brush this would only work against him if it really happened." I was confused.

"I don't know. That's what I thought. Maybe there is another reason. This is just what I heard."

"The lives of politicians. They have more drama than Junior High girls. What about the police escort. Who was a part of it?" I asked already knowing the answer.

"Um, Sergeant Sharper was in command of Patrolmen Lewis, Franks and Diaz."

"Why weren't you a part of it?" I inquired.

"It was just a simple escort. There was no need for me to be there."

"Are you sure that was the only reason?" I pried.

"I know what you're getting at, and disagreeing with him is far from killing him." He argued.

"Not as far as you would like to think. Frank, just talk to me."

"Look, the police are stretched thin enough as it is. A lot of them are terribly underpaid and this guy wanted to cut the budget. We would have had to lay-off tons of good cops. Guys that serve this city well. And that's just here. Imagine all over the state. I know this sounds cheesy but crime doesn't give a damn if we have to deal with budget cuts. How are we supposed to do our job?"

"You have a good point."

"I didn't want to be near that guy because I was afraid of what I would say to him. I didn't trust myself to control my tongue around him."

*****

The next day I went by the hospital to visit a "friend" and if I happened to bump into someone who knew something about the Governor then it would just be a coincidence, right?

I saw one of the Governor's bodyguards grabbing a soda from the vending machine in the waiting room.

"Crazy day, huh?" I tried to start a conversation.

"Yeah, a day in the life." He responded.

"Hi, I'm Bruce."

"Are you a reporter, Mr. Howard?" he asked cautiously.

"No, not at all."

"Then why do you look so familiar?" His eyes looked me over.

"I have no . . ."

"Wait," he interrupted. "You're Bruce Howard. You're the guy that solved the Sphinx Case. That was incredible." He spoke in amazement.

"Yeah, that would be me." This must be the first time my reputation has worked in my favor.

Hearing about the Sphinx case sent my mind back to Rebecca. I wondered what she was doing constantly. I missed her. Not a day went by when I didn't think about calling her and getting her back in my life. Opening my door and seeing her long brown hair, putting my hands around her waist and pulling her close. But I couldn't. If I wanted her to be safe then she couldn't be a part of my life. I had even moved into a new apartment. No more Nancy, no more Timmy, which was eating me alive. But if anyone got close to me they would be in danger. I couldn't live with myself if something were to happen.

"I'm Terrance." He grabbed my hand and shook it excitedly, which hurt like hell. His black suit did little to hide his muscular physique. "So, are you on this case?"

"No. I was told that it's a federal matter."

"That's nonsense. Why wouldn't they want the best detective in the world on the case?" He was young and enthusiastic. Although I have to say that I didn't have a problem with the compliments.

"Thanks." I replied, almost embarrassed. "So, how is the Governor?"

"He's fine. He's in recovery right now. Luckily, the bullet hit his shoulder and passed right through. No major damage. They'll just have to put his arm in a sling. He won't even need to stay that long."

"Any idea who would want to do this?"

"Well some of his policies have been unpopular, like the proposal to cut the police budget and to increase state taxes. But some things have been really popular, like his focus on increasing funding for education and supporting after school programs. But nothing too extreme. Just your typical politics stuff. If he got shot over that then every politician should be in a hospital," he said as he popped open his can of grape soda.

"What about people closer to him, like the Lieutenant Governor and his wife?" Seeing him drink his soda made me thirsty so I looked at the machine for my options.

"Well, things have been strained between the Lieutenant Governor and the Governor. Two weeks ago we had to pull them apart. Everyone heard about them having to be separated but it was worse than that. Each of them landed a couple of punches and they were wrestling on the ground. Two political leaders, in $5,000 suits rolling around on the ground like 12 year old boys. I had to put the Governor in a choke hold to get him off. Feisty old man." He took a sip of his soda as I made my selection and pushed the button. Orange soda.

"So they were really at each other?" I took a sip. I still can't believe this stuff.

"Yeah, and this is just the stuff you hear. If only you knew everything that went on. There should be a reality TV show. It would make millions. A wife and daughter that hate him. His Lieutenant Governor hates him. I wouldn't be totally shocked if any of them did it."

"His daughter too?" This was getting to be too much.

"Yeah. She's one of those obnoxious rich kids that gets whatever she wants, except attention from her daddy but including a job for her friend as a secretary."

"So the girl that the Governor was seen with is not only his secretary but his daughter's friend."

"Buddy, I'm one of his personal bodyguards. They are doing more than being seen together. That stays between me and you." Terrance winked.

"Of course, but I'm pretty sure most people have already made that connection." I replied and he chuckled. "But do you think his daughter would try to have him killed?"

"That may be a bit of a stretch, but I also didn't think I would see an MMA match break out in the Governor's office. Being a bodyguard for this guy has made me realize that anything is possible. Hell, a girl scout could have shot him."

"And his wife?"

"I know I don't have to explain that to you. It's all over the media. But do you know what surprises me?" He motioned for me to follow him. We stopped at the waiting room door. "Look down the hall." I looked and saw a well-dressed older woman sitting in the hall next to what I assumed to be the other bodyguards.

"Is that his wife?" I asked, pulling my head back inside.

Terrance nodded. "Yep. She got here last evening. To be honest, I've never seen a less concerned wife." He drank from his soda.

"I thought she'd moved out." I sipped at the orange goodness that was my soda.

"You heard about that?" He was surprised. "How?"

"I have my sources."

"Of course you do. The famous Bruce Howard." He smiled in admiration. "Yeah, she'd moved out apparently. I can't really blame her, but I guess once she heard the news she rushed into town. I guess it's hard to stop loving a person even if you hate them."

That could be the reason—or something like it.

"Thanks Terrance. You've been a big help."

"No problem." He walked out of the waiting room, almost bumping into the Governor's wife on the way out.

Perfect timing.

"Wow, you're a good woman."

"Excuse me?" She gave me a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry, I'm Bruce Howard."

"Are you a reporter, Mr. Howard?" She asked, eyeing me from head to toe. I've seen less lust from 17 year old boys.

"No, ma'am. I'm actually a private investigator."

"I didn't know a private investigator was working my husband's case." Her eyes lingered on my crotch a little too long.

"I'm not working the case. I've been told it is a federal matter." I took another sip of my soda. "What are you doing here?"

"Excuse me. He's my husband and he's been shot. Where else would I be?" She feigned shock.

"Your husband has been having a well-known affair with his secretary. No one would even blame you if you'd been the one to have him shot."

"First of all, I'm a member of the NRA. If I was going to have him shot then I would have shot him myself." She wasn't kidding. "Truth of the matter is he has fucked every intern, secretary and maid that has crossed his path and I have had my share of bodyguards, campaign organizers and maids; if it fit my fancy that day." She stepped closer and I fought every urge not to run away. She was the wolf and I was the cornered bunny. "We are both well aware of our infidelities and have been since before we married."

"Why do two unfaithful people marry each other?" I asked. She stepped closer and I took a step back.

"Business. He wanted a trophy wife who would smile at rallies and campaigns, charm investors and donators. And look the other way when he dipped his pen in strange ink. I wanted to have lots of money and a husband that would look the other way when I decided to indulge myself." She took a step closer. Another step would have put me against the vending machine.

"Then why were you so upset to find out about his affair?" Her demeanor changed to that of rage, thank God. "Because that fucking idiot broke our one rule. Nothing goes public! He has his affairs and I have mine and no one knows! And this fucking fool is taking pictures! It's humiliating. I look like a moron!"

"Then just expose your affairs. Make him look like a moron."

"And then I'll look like a whore. As much as the world has changed, one thing is constant. Sure, my husband will be frowned upon for sleeping with a girl almost a third of his age but he'll look like a conqueror. Men will say to their wives 'Oh, he's terrible. How could he...I would never...' but when they see the picture they'll think 'I don't blame him. I'd do her!' He is the great American male dream. To be almost sixty and plowing girls in their twenties. I cheat on my husband with a twenty-something and I'm a pariah. A cougar that can't let go of her youth so I chase younger men looking for a thrill." Her lustful intentions had subsided.

"How can you be happy like this, Mrs. Brush?"

"Veronica." She corrected. "I haven't been happy for 15 years." I felt a sting of sorrow for her. Stuck in a loveless, adulterous marriage with no hope things would get better. "Well, I apologize, Mr. Howard. I came in here for something but for the life of me I can't remember what. You have a good evening."

She walked to the door.

"Veronica?" I called to her.

"Yes?"

"It still doesn't quite make sense. Why are you here?"

"Because it's what a loving wife would do." She forced a smile. "And seeing him in pain is the closest thing I'll get to happiness. This whole thing will probably double his following. He'll win the next election by a landslide and if I leave him now I'll be seen as treacherous and cold. The only thing more popular than a martyr is a martyr that survives."

*****

Lieutenant Governor Richard Rainey didn't make it to the hospital until the following afternoon. Two days after the incident and on the day that the Governor was checking out.

I was sitting in my office, trying to figure out a way to get to him. Hanging out in the waiting room might work again but Governor Brush was being discharged today. It was unlikely they would be there much longer.

"I hear you're the best." I looked up to see that Richard Rainey had just walked into my office. That solved the problem of contacting him.

"Mr. Rainey, it is an honor to have you in my office." I didn't bother standing. I gestured to the chair in front of my desk. He motioned to his bodyguards to stay in the hall and he took a seat. "How can I help you?"

"Well I hear that you're the best. You solved the Sphinx Case, correct?" I nodded. "Why aren't you working the Governor's case?"

"I'm good but surely, as it is a federal matter, several FBI agents would be better than me."

"That may be true, but one more detective working the case can't hurt." I sensed an ulterior motive in his tone.

"So you're here to ask for my help." He nodded. "And not cover your own ass." I added.

"I don't get what you mean." He couldn't fight the smirk on his face. It might have been sewn there. A politician thing.

"You're the Lieutenant Governor and despite your quarrels with the Governor you need to show a united front, show that you're behind him. If not you'll be seen as a traitor by the public. Or even worse, guilty of the attack."

"Very clever." He smiled. "And you are partially correct. I do need to show my support for the Governor but you're forgetting one thing. He is my friend."

"Looks like that friendship is quite strained at the moment." I commented.

"It is. But like all relationships there are ups and downs. We'll fight now but eventually we will make amends."

"Kind of hard to forgive the guy who's banging your daughter." I tried to push his buttons.

"I did not sleep with her!" He slammed his fist on my desk. Got him. "He has ignored that girl for the majority of her life. When she found out about his affair with her friend she lost it. She made up a story about us sleeping together to get under his skin and get his attention. It is the most that he's shown he cared since she was four."

"So you didn't have anything with her?"

"I have three interns around her age in my cell phone right now. Why in the hell would I mess around with her? Forget the fact that he's my friend, it would be political suicide. I would look like a back-stabbing pervert."

"But you and the Governor were having your problems before this incident."

"True." He replied. "This was just the icing on the cake. But I never touched that girl. I'll make him see that eventually."

"What about everything else?"

"Disagreements on policies, courses of action. Something all politicians go through..."

"I don't believe you." I interrupted. "This was more than a policy dispute. Were you sleeping with his wife?" I guessed, hopefully he would give me something.

"Who wasn't sleeping with his wife? He knew about that. I stopped sleeping with her 10 years ago. About 5 years after he did."

"But there was something?" I pressed. There was something else there. I knew it.

"The Governor has a nephew. He was a sociopath. He was putting tons of children's lives in danger and the Governor was protecting him."

"Protecting him how?" I felt a turn in my stomach.

"Protecting him against legal action, pressuring the bar not to suspend his license..."

"He was a doctor?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, a pediatrician."

*****

I knocked on his door and didn't receive an answer. I tried the door knob and the door was unlocked. I pulled my revolver, Lucy, and walked in. Nothing seemed different. I walked through the hall and into the living room, nothing had changed.

"Hello?" I called out and didn't hear an answer. I was pretty sure no one was here. If he was then he had to be an idiot.

I walked back to the hall and toward the front door. There was a piece of paper taped to the back of it. It only had a phone number on it. I pulled out my cell phone and quickly dialed the number.

One ring, "Hello, Bruce."

"Where are you?"

"Somewhere in Europe."

"Kenny! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Enjoying a baguette."

"Don't get cute with me!" I shouted. "You shot the Governor!"

"He deserved it. He was the one protecting Dr. Greene. If it hadn't been for him then the Bar would have shut him down. But the Governor was protecting him. That's why Dr. Greene got worse. He knew he couldn't be touched. He felt invincible. "

"How did you find this out?"

"A member of the Bar and I went out for drinks. He told me about the Governor's interest and then sudden disinterest in the Bar. Five minutes on Google and I found the connection. Dr. Greene's mother was beaten to death when he was four. The Governor had been looking out for him ever since."

"So, Dr. Greene was sick? He needed help . . ."

"And the Governor should have gotten him help." Kenny interrupted. "But he was too busy bending over secretaries. He knew what his nephew was doing. He could have stopped him or gotten him some help. He is just as much to blame for the pain of those children."

"Kenny, what have you done?"

"Justice, Bruce. He had to pay. And if I hadn't been so worried about hitting the driver then he would have."

"This has to stop." I pleaded. "What are you going to do now?"

"I put my notice in to the hospital months ago when I found out about the Governor. I told them that all the pressure and death was too much for me. I'm not sure that isn't true. I have to admit, I am a bit unstable." He chuckled.

"You can't run forever."

"I've been a doctor for nearly 20 years. I have no children, no wife, I don't travel, no expensive hobbies. I drive a Honda and live in a one bedroom apartment. I've been able to save quite a bit of money. I could bounce around in Europe or Asia or Africa for a very long time."

"So then it's over?"

"For now. But somebody will have to pay."

"I can't let you do that. I can't let you get away with this."

"What are you going to do?" He dared. "Tell the police I shot the Governor. They will want to know how you know and you can't tell them without telling them that I killed Dr. Greene. Which means you withheld information in a murder case. In fact, you helped me get away with it. Best case scenario, your private eye business goes belly up. Worst case, you end up in prison."

I held the phone in stunned silence. He was right. The police would want to know the connection and how I knew. The only way to convince them to chase a guy overseas would be to tell them about Dr. Greene. Telling them that would make me almost as guilty as Dr. Swanson. I knew that he'd done did it, he confessed to me. I'd even helped him cover his tracks and destroy evidence. I was trapped.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way Bruce. You're a good man, but justice has to be served. I have to go. Put this out of your mind. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you should be proud of yourself. I'm doing what needs to be done and it's because of you."

He hung up the phone. I felt like I wanted to vomit. Rage consumed me to the point that the room was spinning. I threw my phone into the wall and watched it explode into a thousand pieces.

"Shit."

# The Case of Laurent Fink

A Willie's Wiener is a very special thing; it is a hotdog from Willie's food stand. Willie is a gentle, retired old man who loved the grill. So after his retirement he opened a grill stand.

The aroma of his wieners overtaking the streets meant that spring had arrived. He didn't need the money so he only opened it in the spring. Three months. That was almost cruel. Of course, he grilled many things—including chicken and burgers—but to me nothing tops his wieners. Grilled with spicy chili, melted cheese and coleslaw on top.

I sat at my desk savoring every bite. I had just finished the first of three when Lieutenant Harper walked in.

"Oh, are those Willie's Wieners?" He asked, his mouth visibly salivating.

"Mm-hmm." I nodded as I chewed and moaned in satisfaction.

"I didn't realize he'd opened the stand already." His eyes never left the hot dogs.

"Mm-hmm." I wasn't trying to be a jerk, they were just that good. "This is better than sex."

"I wouldn't know." He replied. "I haven't had sex since the last time Willie's stand was open." I thought he was joking but he never cracked a smile and his eyes never left my food. I began to worry that he might ask for one.

"What can I do for you?" I asked.

"Oh." Frank regained focus. He tossed a file on my desk. "I need your help finding this guy. Laurent Fink. He's a con man, he essentially robbed a nursing home full of elderly people of their savings. He put on a presentation about investing in some fund, impersonated a member of the SHP bank, gave falsified documents about the fund. Thirty different accounts. Elderly couples, widows, widowers. These are people who don't have much, people who wanted to make some money to leave behind for their children and grandchildren, and this guy exploited them."

I opened the file. Looking at this guy's picture I didn't understand how anyone could trust him. Appearance isn't everything but this guy looked like he spent his college years slipping ruffies into girls' drinks. He had small, beady eyes as black as his oily hair. His long, sharp nose gave him the appearance of a vulture.

"He's been missing for a month?" I skimmed through the file.

"Yeah, once their money was transferred he disappeared. The nursing home called to report it about two weeks ago."

"I want to help. I really do, but this guy either already has another identity and is running this hustle somewhere else or he's on a beach in Rio. What can I do?"

"I don't know, but you have to try." Frank pleaded. I'd never seen him so emotionally invested. "Look, we're doing everything we can on our end, but I want you to help. The more the better. These people have nothing now and their families don't have much. The nursing home has agreed to defer costs while we look for this guy but they can't do that forever. Two of these people have died since this happened and had nothing to leave their families."

I let out a sigh, "Frank, believe me. I'll try but I just don't hold out much hope of finding him."

"Thanks, Bruce. We'll keep at it on our end and I'll let you know if we get any new info." He closed the door.

I looked at the file. It was a heartbreaking story. What kind of guy could do this? I took a bite of my second Willie's Wiener. Didn't seem to taste as good at the moment.

*****

Even though I had moved a while ago, my new apartment still felt unfamiliar. It still felt cold. I missed Nancy and Timmy. Whenever I thought about the day I moved out it tugged at my heart. Timmy standing in the hall in front of his door with tears in his eyes as I moved boxes. I was beginning to feel like a robot. Wake up, work, home, sleep. There was nothing else in my life but work.

I was sitting on my couch with a glass of merlot and the Laurent Fink case file.

Laurent Fink

Known Aliases: Lance Meyer, Laurence DuPont, Larry Lester

2 years larceny

5 years extortion

3 years fraud

Born in Nice, France. Run-ins with the law in Europe. Moved to New York at 16.

Apparently, his parents were good people. A banker and a teacher. They just laid a bad egg.

A con like this would probably involve more than one person. Laurent can make the presentation and make it seem as though this was a great idea. SHP banker, nice suit, charming but that may only convince a couple of people. But if there was someone else there talking about it, adding credibility, then you can get more.

That would also explain why no one questioned why an SHP banker was making a presentation to a nursing home. He had a contact, an accomplice. If I could find Laurent's accomplice, I may be able to find him.

*****

Ever since Courtney I've been cautious of attractive receptionists. The police never caught her. The idea that she was still out there sent a chill down my spine.

Standing at the reception desk of the Autumn Springs nursing home with this gorgeous woman greeting me made me nervous.

"How can I help you?" She smiled. I love low cut shirts.

"Um, my name is Bruce Howard. I'm a private investigator looking into the Laurent Fink case. Would you mind if I spoke with your manager?"

"Sure, of course." She picked up the phone and dialed a few digits. "Martin, there is someone here to speak to you about the Laurent Fink case." She hung up the phone.

"Thank you."

"No problem. Do you think you can find this guy?" She asked.

"I hope so. Is there anything you can remember about him? Anything you think might help?"

"Well, he introduced himself as Lance Meyer. Even though he was well dressed and looked professional he gave me the creeps. Just a gut feeling, you know? He walked with a cane, wore rectangular glasses. He smelled like lemons."

"Lemons?" It was hard not looking at her cleavage.

"Yeah, like citrus. Um, I don't know what else. I didn't really speak with him." She thought to herself for a moment.

"Thanks," I looked at her name tag, dangerous territory. "Allison. Hopefully, I'll be able to find this guy."

"No problem. Did . . ."

"Hello." Allison was interrupted by a tall, older gentleman. She stood and introduced us.

"Mr. Howard, this is Martin Self. He's the manager here. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help." She smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Self. I'm a private investigator looking into the Laurent Fink case. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Of course."

"Why was Laurent Fink here? It seems odd for a bank salesman to make a presentation to a nursing home."

"One of our residents, Ben Birnesohn, told us about him. He said he heard about him from a friend and after meeting with him in private he was convinced that all the other residents should invest with him. Apparently Ben had to convince him to come to the nursing home. It wasn't really a presentation. It was more like a group meeting with prospectuses and he answered questions. He was very knowledgeable. Very convincing."

"Who was this friend Ben heard about him from?"

"It was his son's employee."

"Do you know his name?"

"Michael Jobs. He's disappeared since this whole thing happened." Martin replied.

"Really?" That was just perfect. The second man in the hustle was already gone. This case was a lost cause.

"Yeah, Ben said that his son told him that Michael just stopped coming to work. They couldn't contact him at all and when his son found out about this whole thing he went by Michael's apartment. It was abandoned."

"So, Michael Jobs was planted. He persuades the son, the son persuades his father and Ben persuades everyone else. Where is his son? What is his name? Where does he work?"

"His name is Carson Birnesohn. He is a very successful lawyer; has an independent practice and he had just hired Michael as his legal assistant." Martin remembered. "He actually came by about a week ago. I think he's out of town at the moment. Good looking kid in his late 30's. Charming, polite. He felt horrible about the whole thing. Blamed himself for the entire incident, undeservedly so." Martin looked through the doorway as two elderly men approached.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but Martin we need your help with something." The elderly gentleman on the right spoke.

"Will you excuse me for a moment, Mr. Howard?" I nodded, barely hearing his words. Someone had caught my attention.

A woman was sitting in a chair facing a window in the common room just past the reception area. It was clear that before time's cruel hand had its way with her she'd been a beautiful woman. Despite her sorrowful expression her face seemed to glow. Her pristine white hair fell over one shoulder and down to her folded hands where she fiddled with the tips. She wasn't sitting in front of the window enjoying the bright spring day; she was waiting for her death.

She hardly seemed to notice when I sat down next to her.

"Hello." She greeted with a polite smile that reflected her missing happiness.

"Hi, I'm Bruce Howard . . ."

"I know. You're a private investigator and you're going to help the police find Laurent Fink." She interrupted. "My name is Sandra."

"You must have a sharp ear."

"No." She let out a gentle chuckle fall from her lips. "My nephew is Lieutenant Harper. He promised to help get the best on this case and he said that it was you."

"I'm flattered. Thank you."

"Thank him. You came highly recommended." She shared another smile. I had a feeling that she didn't have many left.

"This explains why he was so passionate. He didn't tell me that his aunt was involved in this." I replied. "Can I get you something? Water?"

"No, dear, I'm fine. His uncle and his aunt." She corrected.

"My apologies. I didn't know your husband lived here as well."

"He doesn't. He passed away last week. His funeral was a couple of days ago." I could hear the tears in her voice.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It won't be long before I join him." She smiled. "Passionate, huh? This whole thing has been so hard on Frank. Frank moved in with us when he was 12. His father took off when he was born and his mother, my sister, was into drugs. Heavily into drugs. Oscar, my husband, and I fought like hell to get custody of him away from his mother. It broke my heart to fight my sister like that but that was no place for a child to grow up. We raised him like our own. Oscar and I adored that boy. Smart as a whip, good athlete. And he always promised to take care of us one day like we took care of him." She giggled. "When we moved into the nursing home he refused to let us pay for it. He'd been trying to pay our bills and help us for years. That was the only thing he and Oscar argued about. Oscar was too proud and he loved Frank too much to take his money. And Frank was determined to show how much he loved and appreciated us. Oscar was his Superman.

"No offense, but how could he possibly afford this...?"

"And on a cop's salary." She completed my sentence. "First of all, Autumn Springs isn't the most prestigious nursing home. Don't get me wrong, this place is nice but the people here are poor and their families are poor. Not the best medical staff; a lot of them are volunteer college students. Autumn Springs even receives some funds from the state. You have to even prove your lack of wealth to be accepted. So the fees are relatively low.

"Secondly, he couldn't afford it. I don't know how he pays for it but he does. He has been adamant about paying. He said it was the only way he could come close to paying us back for what we did for him. Stupid boy, he doesn't have to pay us back. We did what we did because we love him. Anyway, Oscar wanted to leave him something when we passed. We had savings but it wasn't enough in Oscar's opinion. He insisted that we invest all of our savings with Mr. Lance Meyer." She shook her head and stared down at her hands through her tear-veiled eyes. Her voice was weak as she began again. "Frank blames Laurent Fink for Oscar's death. Oscar was so devastated and ashamed. Frank tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but Oscar felt like a failure. Like he'd let Frank down. Oscar could barely look Frank in the eyes."

I pulled a tissue from the packet in my pocket and gave it to her. I could feel her pain, their pain. I wanted this bastard Laurent Fink in the worst way. I hope Frank puts this guy under the jail.

"I'm afraid of what Frank will do if you find Mr. Fink." Sandra said.

"Why?"

"He tore this family apart." A tear rolled down her cheek, she didn't bother wiping it away. "He killed Frank's superhero. If Frank has his way Laurent Fink won't make it to a courtroom."

*****

I knocked gently on the door. If he was asleep I didn't want to disturb him.

"Come in." A thunderous voice called out from within the room.

I opened the door to a graying man with broad shoulders and a broader smile. He had an air of distinguished humility. His bright eyes were full of energy and life. He was old but he didn't seem to be old enough to be in a nursing home.

"Hello Mr. Birnesohn. My name is Bruce Howard. I'm a private investigator working on the Laurent Fink case."

"Oh really. Come in, come in, and please call me Ben." He waved me in eagerly from this armchair. I walked in and stood before him. "How can I help you?"

"That's the funny part. I don't know how you can help me. I would like to get information from you but things seem pretty straightforward. Your son's employee presented an idea about investing with someone from SHP Bank. Your son suggested it to you, you suggested it to your fellow residents and you got screwed. Forgive my language."

"Your language is no problem, son. Believe me; I've said far worse when I stubbed my toe." He smiled. "That is pretty much the story. That little shit conned us out of everything. What kind of man victimizes the elderly? What do we do now?"

"The kind of guy that will end up in prison for a long time. Don't worry. Speaking of elderly, you seem awfully young to be in here. I don't know if that is an insult or not. So I'll apologize just in case."

"Thank you." He laughed. I am in this place a bit earlier than I thought I would be. I was an active basketball player for most of my life so I have a lot of leg problems. Bad knees, bad hips, bad ankles; it's difficult for me to get around on my own."

"Basketball, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Had a ball in my hand since I was two. Started on my college squad. I was known as Mr. Sure-Shot." He boasted. "Never made it to the pros but that never stopped the passion. Played as much as I could. Tons of surgeries, so on and so on."

"You look like you're still in pretty good shape though." I commented.

"Yeah, I try to make it to the city pool as much as possible. Being in water relieves a lot of the aches and pains."

"How long had Michael Jobs worked for your son?"

"Close to six months, maybe even a year. He seemed like a nice enough guy. A bit boring though. And now I know he was a complete asshole."

"So he was just an assistant for your son?" I asked.

"Yes and no. My son's practice has been expanding steadily since he started it 10 years ago. Michael was hired as an associate fresh out of law school. All of that must have been fraudulent."

"Expanding practice? Your son must be busy."

"Oh yeah," he nodded vigorously. "Too busy for even a social life. I tell him all the time to slow down but he loves it. Work is his life."

"So you must rarely see him."

"No, no. He's a good boy. Comes by at least 3 times a week to see his old man. He's always stressed though. Usually can't stay for more than a coffee."

"Running a law firm and stopping by to see his pops regularly. He makes me feel bad about myself."

"Good." Ben winked.

"So you've met Michael Jobs?" I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

"Yeah, a few times. As dull as watching grass grow. But he came off as polite and respectful. I guess there was a snake in the dull grass."

"Do you think I could stop by your son's office, ask him a few questions?" I asked.

"Sure." He replied cheerfully. "Or, he can come by your office. Here," He leaned over in his chair toward an end table. He opened the drawer and handed me a business card from it. "Try his cell number, his office number is always busy."

"Thanks. Don't worry, we'll get this guy." I smiled.

"And when you do, give him a swift kick in the balls for me."

*****

I found myself on my hands and knees trying to collect the papers that were strewn about the floor. Allison, the secretary, was across from me, also on her hands and knees. Those wonderful breasts squeezed tightly together right in front of me. Why do women do this? They accentuate their best feature; butt, legs, boobs. Then they get mad at men when we stare too long. Shouldn't they just say thank you? Staring is like a compliment. It means we like what we're seeing. In fact, Allison should be insulted if I didn't look at her glorious funbags for at least seven seconds. I doubt she would buy that argument, so I forced my eyes downward. So not fair.

"Sorry about that." I said, reminding myself to look down.

"It's my fault, I'm a complete klutz." She replied. We stood, as I passed her the last few pages. "So how is everything going? Do you need help with anything?"

"I'm not really learning anything I didn't already know. It's a sad story and I really wish I could help these people."

"So you don't think you'll be able to get this guy?" The thought of this seemed to hurt her.

"I don't know." I said earnestly. "I'm not getting any leads from here. I'll call Ben's son once I leave but I don't think he'll be able to help either. We already know who the guy is—or guys actually—it's a matter of finding them. Any information that any of you have is essentially useless. It's all fraudulent."

Allison's eyes shifted back and forth. She was thinking, trying to find anything that could help.

"Ralph is an ex-con." She blurted out. "He was in prison for breaking and entering and stealing a car."

"Who is Ralph?"

"He works here as an orderly."

"Sorry Allison. But it doesn't really help. He's not part of the con and I doubt that Laurent Fink would have felt compelled to tell him anything."

I remembered that my phone had vibrated in Mr. Birnesohn's room. I would need to check it after I'd finished speaking with Allison.

"Dammit, you're probably right. He's actually a really nice guy. I just wish there was something I could do." Allison said.

"I understand. Well, tell Martin thanks for the help." I headed toward the door. I stopped and turned back toward Allison. "I would be remiss if I didn't ask for your number. It feels like I shouldn't, especially given the situation, but I probably won't be back here and who knows when I'll see you again. So . . ."

She smiled. "You stared at my boobs long enough. I was wondering when you were going to ask." She turned to her desk, scribbled her number on a post-it and handed it to me. "I get off at six."

"Thanks. I'll see you later." I stepped out of the nursing home and put on my fedora with a broad smile. This is too easy. Why couldn't I do this when I was a teenager? I took social awkwardness to dizzying heights in high school. Now I was in my late thirties with the ability to talk nuns out of their panties. Probably for the best though. If I could have done this at 17 I would have tons of resentful children running around by now. I hope this one wasn't a serial killer.

I reached into my pocket and grabbed my phone as I got to my 1970 Corvette. Gotta love the classics.

I sat in the seat and read the text from Frank, Lieutenant Harper.

My Aunt Sandra told me that you talked to her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but I thought if you knew I had a personal interest in this then you wouldn't take the case...

Dumbass. That would have made me take it faster. The text continued:

It's hard seeing her this way. All of them. These people have next to nothing and some career criminal comes along and takes that. He fooled loving, gentle people into thinking he was trying to help them. This text has gotten long. I'll call.

I didn't finish reading it. I leapt from my car and ran to the nursing home. It was right in front of us.

*****

The common area was pretty active when I burst through the doors of the Autumn Springs nursing home. I charged into the line and grabbed Ben and shoved him into the nearest wall.

"How did you get here?" I shouted.

"I don't understand." He cowered before me.

"Let him go!" Martin demanded.

"He knows where the money is!" I shouted to Martin, never taking my eyes off Ben.

"What? No I don't." Ben said meekly. I could feel the mood in the room shift from fear to curiosity. The stunned gasps turned into a whispered rumble.

"How do you know? How can you be so sure?" Sandra said as she softly placed her hand on my shoulder.

I released Ben and watched him crumble to the ground.

"Why is he here?" I asked the room.

"I told you. I have bad legs. I can barely get around on my..."

"No!" I roared in his face. "Why are you here? Everyone here has one thing in common: they're poor or at least close enough. Your son is supposedly a successful lawyer. This nursing home receives funds from the state and they require that you can't afford anywhere else."

"That's money my son earns, not me." Ben pleaded.

"Which would mean something if you weren't so close to your son, but by your own admission he's here several times a week. That kind of caring means he would want the best for you. A high class nursing home—or even better, a live-in nurse. But no, the son who's an extremely successful lawyer who loves you so dearly and visits you so often puts you into a cheap nursing home with inferior medical care. Not likely!"

Ben looked away. The rumble in the common room turned into the noise of an angry mob. I held my hand up to silence the crowd. I bent down, grabbed Ben's shirt and pulled his face close to mine.

"Where is Laurent Fink?" I whispered in a slow controlled rage.

"The Four Tree Motel. Room 107. He was going to come for me in a couple of days so we could disappear."

The initial shock in the room was followed by an enraged tension.

"There is no Michael Jobs, is there?" He shook his head. "And your son, just another part of the crew?" He nodded and averted his eyes.

"How could you do this to us?" A random voice came from the crowd.

"What did they give you?"

"How could they convince you to betray your friends?" Different voices followed.

"They didn't convince him. You were targeted. How long has he been here Martin, less than a year?" I asked.

"Nine months." Martin spoke in awe.

"His job was to come here, become your friends, gain your trust. That way, when the job went down you would be easily convinced. You were all marks from day one." I pushed him back into the wall and stood. "Do whatever you want with him; just make sure he can't get to a phone. Call the police and tell them where Laurent Fink is and to pick up this guy." I spoke to Martin.

"Sure." He sprinted to the reception desk.

"Sandra, I..." She was gone. I looked around and couldn't find her. "No." I whispered to myself as I ran to the parking lot. My car was gone.

*****

Allison's car came to a screeching halt as we pulled into the parking lot of the Four Tree Motel. The 100s were on the ground floor and I saw that the door between 105 and 109 was open.

I leapt from Allison's car and into room 107. Laurent was on his knees in front of Sandra, staring down the barrel of her 22 pistol, pleading for his life.

"Sandra, stop!" I pulled my gun knowing I wouldn't shoot her but hoping the threat would be enough.

Her voice was eerily calm, "He killed my husband. He took away the man I spent my entire life with. We held each other through good times and bad. Oscar was my rock, my everything. I don't know what to do without him." Sandra turned her head toward me. Her tear-stained face looked dull and listless. But through her eyes I felt her pain with a clarity that stabbed my chest. "For 52 years he was mine and I was his. For 52 years I woke up next to him every day thanking God that I was blessed enough to find him and this little shit took that away from me. Do you know what it's like to love someone so much that you can't breathe without them . . ." Sandra turned back toward Laurent, "I'll never breathe again . . ."

Sandra aimed the gun at Laurent's crotch and pulled the trigger. An inhuman shriek erupted from Laurent's lungs. He held himself as he rolled back and forth crying in agony. Blood poured through his fingers. He stared at his crimson hands, unable to believe what had happened.

Sirens could be heard approaching as she turned toward me and gave me the gun.

"Death was too good for him." Sandra whispered softly as she walked out of the motel room.

# The Case of Better Foods

I was thumping a cantaloupe when I heard the yelling from another aisle. I casually walked over and snuck a peek.

"I told you to check to see if we had any detergent left!" A young lady complained.

"Sue me. I forgot. Just get one anyway!" Her boyfriend or husband fired back.

"That's not the point! Why couldn't you do what I asked?!" I fought a little laughter. This went deeper than detergent.

"Oh yeah, I deliberately didn't check the detergent to make you upset! All part of the master plan to drive you crazy." Ooo, sarcasm, that's not going to help.

"See! It's that attitude, that fucking attitude! You don't listen to me because you don't respect me!" She screamed.

"How in the fuck did we get from forgetting detergent to not respecting you? Are you insane?" Ouch, that's definitely not helping.

"Insane? Now, I'm insane? This from a grown man who spends hours playing fantasy football? How pathetic!"

"No more pathetic than spending all your free time reading trash magazines about celebrities. Do you think I really care about Jessica Stiles and Rodger Pitt breaking up? Oh no, Ritz London is drunk at a club, how will this affect our global economy?" This is too funny.

"See, you don't respect me. You don't care what I think."

"When did you start thinking?" Ow, he's going to pay for that one.

"Not long after you stopped being good in bed!" Wow, I had to put my hand over my mouth to hold my giggling.

"Just buy the damn detergent!"

"Fuck you! You don't use it! You don't even wash your balls, God forbid you would wash a dish!"

"That hasn't stopped you from putting my balls in your mouth!"

I had to step back. I returned to my cart in the produce section. I doubled over, consumed with laughter. An elderly woman looked at me like I was a smelly homeless person before returning to her radishes.

I gathered myself and continued on to the bakery.

"Hi, Orlando." I greeted the rotund, jolly baker. It was hard for me to understand how anyone could love waking up at 5 am to bake but he did. Nothing brought him more happiness than his work. It was endearing.

"Hi Bruce." His ordinarily cheerful greeting was unusually flat.

"What's wrong?"

He let out a deep sigh, "I stayed after work for hours yesterday and...follow me." I walked around the counter and into the back room. My nose was bombarded by the enticing smell of fresh baked bread and pastries. I could almost taste their warm, soft and crispy textures. If heaven smelled like this then I needed to start being a better person.

I refocused my attention on Orlando. He pointed toward the table. I immediately saw the cause of his distress. A horrendously violent scene of yellow cake and chocolate icing scattered about the table. Bits of it on the floor and wall behind the table. Someone had indulged themselves.

"What happened?" I asked heartbroken to see what could have been such a beautiful masterpiece relegated to a mess for the janitor.

"Handmade triple fudge icing, a secret recipe of mine. Over yellow vanilla cake. 'Happy Birthday Karen'"

"Karen? The cashier?" I was impressed. Karen was gorgeous. Then again with the way he worked with pastries I wouldn't mind dating him either.

"Yeah, we've been dating for a few months. Fudge is her favorite so I spent hours after work last night making this for her. Trying to make it perfect. And I prepared everything for dinner."

"Really."

"Oh yeah. Filet mignon, medium, sautéed with mushrooms and a mild garlic cream sauce on a bed of white rice. Grilled lemon pepper asparagus and stuffed mushrooms." And he could cook. I wiped drool from the corners of my mouth; I was beginning to weigh the ups and downs of homosexuality. A few months in a relationship with Orlando and Karen's slender physique would definitely be in danger. "The cake was...well, it was the icing on the cake." He sounded so defeated, on the verge of tears. This had been really important to him.

"Do you know who did it?" I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Not sure, but I have my ideas." He replied with a sniffle.

"Don't worry. Karen will know you tried and that's what matters. Plus you can make another one for her."

"It's not the same." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "It's her birthday. I wanted it to be special."

"I'll help you." I took a step toward the crime scene and examined the remains. "You said you had an idea about who might have done this."

"Yeah, Billy. He's the store manager. He's been after Karen since she started here. He found out that we were dating a few weeks ago and he was totally pissed. He's been trying to make my life a living hell ever since."

"I'm surprised he didn't fire you." I leaned in closer to get a better look. It still smelled amazing.

"He can't or else he would have. I'm pretty much an independent contractor. I rent space here and Better Foods Inc takes a small percentage of my sales. Much cheaper than owning your own shop, I don't have to worry about maintenance and tons of people walk past me daily. It's almost too easy."

"Does this manager have black hair?" I asked.

"Yeah, what's left of it, why?"

I pulled one of several coarse short black hairs from the cake and showed it to Orlando.

"Do you know where he is right now?"

*****

I looked at Billy and wondered what on God's big, blue marble made guys think that a comb-over was attractive. Who sat down and said 'I don't have any hair on the top of my head so I'll grow the sides and brush it over the top. That's almost the same'? I don't know who's to blame more for this tragic phenomena, the guy that thought of it, his friends for not promptly slapping some sense into him or the morons that saw it and said 'Wow, what a genius idea.'

If a pig and a weasel got drunk and had sex Billy would be the result. A man not as big as Orlando, but not for lack of trying. While Orlando seemed big all over, Billy's girth was restricted to his waistline. The buckle of his belt was hidden by his intrusive belly. He wore glasses that were thick enough to incinerate ants and although he was clean he looked greasy.

"Hello, Bruce." He greeted me as he opened the door to his office. His breath made me want to force mouthwash and bleach down his throat.

"Hi, Billy. How are you?" I shook his sweaty hand.

"Fine." Billy noticed Orlando behind me and his demeanor changed. "Orlando." He said in a flat tone.

"William." Billy hated being called William and Orlando knew it.

"How can I help you, Bruce?" He sat behind his desk, which was covered in old hamburger wrappers. Orlando and I sat across from him.

"From what I understand you and Orlando have been having problems. Would you care to explain?"

Billy shot Orlando an evil glare. "I'm not quite satisfied with Orlando's work ethic."

"My work ethic?! I've busted my ass everyday I've . . ."

"If you were so busy working then you wouldn't have time to fraternize with Karen." Billy interrupted.

Orlando exploded to his feet and slammed his fists on the desk. I was surprised to see the desk hold up.

"You've spent every waking moment trying to find a way into her pants. You're just pissed because she didn't want some greasy ape between her legs."

"You son of a..."

"Hey, hey, hey." I interrupted. "Billy, shut up. Orlando, sit down." They obeyed. "Despite your obvious dislike for each other..."

"Needle dick!" Billy whispered to himself.

"Twat!" Orlando retorted.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Despite all of this, Billy, it was incredibly immature and petty to ruin the cake Orlando made for Karen's birthday." I continued.

"Cake? What cake?" Billy asked confused.

"You know damn well what cake! I spent hours making that thing!" Orlando yelled.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Billy responded.

"Where were you last night?" I spoke calmly, hoping to settle them down.

"I...I..." Billy stuttered.

"See! He has no alibi! It was him!" Orlando was ready to pounce.

"No! I was...I was at Rose's house last night."

"Rose?" Orlando and I spoke in a united shock.

"You mean the elderly woman who works in the floral department." I asked.

"She's not elderly." Billy protested. "She's a sweet woman."

"Yeah, her grandkids are nice too." Orlando commented with a smirk.

"Shut up." Billy stood up and walked into the door opposite his office door. He nodded for us to follow. In the room were several televisions and a small control area. He sat down and began to type on the keyboard. "There are surveillance cameras all over the grocery store."

"Yeah, but none in the back bakery room." Orlando said.

"But there is one outside of it. We can see who walked into the back." Billy worked the controls and an image of Orlando's bakery appeared. "I'll increase the speed."

We watched as minutes passed by in seconds. Soon we saw Orlando walk out of the back and out of the frame. A few seconds later a janitor moved into the frame with a mop and a bucket. He stopped mopping and then looked around before heading into the back of the bakery.

"Is he still here?" I asked.

"Jeremy? Yeah he should be." Billy checked his watch. "He had the late shift last night and the early shift this morning."

"Thanks." I said as Orlando and I stood to leave.

"Good luck." Billy said with a sarcastic smirk.

I stopped at the door and walked back to Billy. I turned his chair to face me and leaned in.

"Orlando is a good man and a friend of mine." My tone was a threatening whisper. "He works hard and deserves to be left alone. You will leave him alone. Do you understand?" I pulled Lucy and placed her on his lap. He wanted to jump out of his skin but he was afraid to move. I heard him take a deep breath and he nodded his head so frantically that the hairs from his comb-over fell out of place.

"Good." I picked up my revolver and tried to holster it as I walked back to the door. "Ugh, and change your pants." I carefully wiped Lucy on my pants.

*****

Orlando and I found Jeremy in the break room. He was sipping his coffee as he casually flipped through a magazine.

"So, you're big into celebrity gossip." I commented.

"Nope. Just the only thing back here." Jeremy closed the magazine and tossed it to the end of the table. "How ya doin', Orlando?' He said cheerfully.

"Jeremy," Orlando said curtly as he sat across from Jeremy.

"I'm Bruce." I shook his hand but Jeremy never looked away from Orlando as Orlando stared menacingly.

"What's wrong, Orlando?"

"He's a bit upset." I answered. "Last night, he spent a great deal of time making a cake for his girlfriend, Karen. This morning when he got to work it was completely destroyed."

"I'm sorry, big guy. Who did it?" Jeremy asked.

"Well," I continued. "Billy just showed us a video of you walking into the back of Jeremy's bakery . . ."

"Wait, you think I did this?" Jeremy exclaimed. Orlando's icy glare didn't waiver. "No, no, no!"

"Then why were you back there?" I asked.

"Orlando, I would never do something like that." He pleaded.

"Then why were you back there?" I repeated.

"I was cleaning." Jeremy blurted.

"Bullshit." Orlando said. "First of all, I'm responsible for the cleanliness of the back. It's always been that way and you know it. Secondly, in the video we saw you leave your mop and bucket."

Jeremy dropped his head and let out a deep sigh, "I saw your cake but I didn't touch it."

"Then why were you back there?" Orlando echoed my question.

"My kids love your bakery. They love your bread, your cookies, your cakes, all of it. Sometimes I go into the back and steal a few rolls."

"You stole some day-old rolls?" Orlando seemed confused.

"Look, it takes me two jobs just to put food on the table. I can't afford much and they love it so much. I know it's wrong and I'm sorry but that's all I did. I saw your cake. It was intact when I left. I didn't touch it."

I could have been wrong but I believed him. He seemed to like Orlando and would have had no motivation to do this.

"Look, I'd appreciate if you didn't tell Billy. I can't afford to lose this job." Jeremy said shamefully. "I'll stop taking the bread."

Orlando stood and walked over to Jeremy and put his hand on Jeremy's shoulder.

"Don't worry about that." Orlando said. "Listen, from now on, in the mornings, come by my shop and I'll have a couple of fresh rolls and croissants that you can take to your kids before school."

Jeremy's eyes grew, "You don't have to do that, I . . ."

"Hey, those things cost basically nothing to make. Don't worry about it. Just come by and take them." Orlando insisted.

Jeremy looked like he wanted to cry. It wasn't the bread; it was the gesture, a simple act of kindness that seemed rare in Jeremy's life.

"Thanks, Orlando. You're a good man. Thank you." Jeremy's words were sincere.

"Don't mention it. Really, don't. If people find out you're getting free goodies then everyone will have their hands out." Orlando winked.

"I wish I could help, but I didn't see anything. Is there anything I can do?" Jeremy asked.

"Unless you can think of someone that would do this, there isn't much you could do." I replied. Orlando and I began to walk to the door.

"Martha." Jeremy stood and walked toward us.

"The creepy butcher lady?" I replied.

"She's not creepy. She's pretty in her own way." Orlando didn't even believe his own words. His defense of her was purely out of kindness.

"Yeah, pretty in that I-like-to-cut-off-body-parts way." I retorted. "Why do you think it was her?"

"She hates Karen. Karen is a little too perfect. Sweet, pretty, blonde girl that everyone likes. Martha hates that. And ever since she found out Karen and Orlando were together she's hated her even more. Martha has had a crush on Orlando for ages." Jeremy explained.

"Really?" Orlando said.

"Yeah, most of the women in this place are in love with you." Jeremy stated.

"Seriously?!" Orlando and I exclaimed in unison. Orlando shot a mean glare toward me and I gave back apologetic eyes.

"Oh, yeah. Remember that Christmas party for the store that you catered. With sautéed bacon wrapped onion slice thingies and the Bell Peppers stuffed with that sauce stuff." My mouth was starting to water. Jeremy continued, "You know they say the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Apparently the same applies for women. They all fell for you that night. Especially Martha, who already liked you a little anyway." An embarrassed smirk drew across Orlando's face. "She was furious when she heard about you and Karen."

*****

The carefree accuracy Martha had with a cleaver was unsettling. To her right was a plastic container full of large fish, they could have been bass or trout, I don't really know fish. To her left was a bucket of those same fish without their heads. In the middle, Martha was sliding fish along the cutting board and dropping her cleaver so swiftly on their necks - Do fish have necks? - that her hand barely moved and the fish never stopped sliding. All the while Martha looked bored.

When she saw us approaching she perked up.

"Hi, Orlando." She said cheerfully. Martha was a dangerously skinny woman, on top of being incredibly short. It always seemed like she had dark shadows around her eyes. Her eyes; that was the most menacing part about her. Not the blood soaked apron or her surgical expertise with a filet knife but her large eyes. The size of golf balls with pupils the size of the period at the end of this sentence.

"Hi, Martha. How are you?" Though he was still friendly Orlando was clearly uncomfortable.

"Hi, Bruce." She said quickly, barely acknowledging my presence and never taking her eyes off Orlando. She hadn't stopped cutting. The crack of the cleaver hitting the cutting board made me jump every time.

"Hi, Martha."

"How can I help you?" She stared at Orlando.

"You know Karen?" Orlando's words changed Martha's demeanor instantly. She wasn't happy about hearing that name. Please don't make the crazy woman with the knives upset.

"Yeah." She replied. With no effort she slammed the cleaver into the cutting board and it stuck. She pulled out her filet knife and went back at the headless fish. As if they hadn't suffered enough.

"Well, I made a birthday cake for her last night."

"Oh really. How nice of you." She commented through gritted teeth, trying her best to not show her frustration. She failed. She cut along the fish with an angry quickness, like a pissed off wife washing dishes.

"This morning when I got in I saw that it was completely destroyed."

"Oh that's terrible." A thin smirk of satisfaction drew across her face. She dumped out the organs and ripped out the skeleton. I felt like I should be doing a Hail Mary.

"Do you know anything about that?" Orlando asked gently.

"No." She tossed the filleted fish into a different container behind her that was filled with ice. She turned back toward Orlando and raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I ruined your Barbie doll's cake?" Her eyes were so big.

"No, of course not. I was just hoping that you might have heard something or seen something." Orlando recovered with grace.

"No," Martha spoke slowly with a dubious scowl. "Someone else in your bakery would explain this morning. I went by around 5 am to say good morning. I heard you in the back but you didn't respond."

"I got in a bit later this morning. I overslept. Didn't make it in until 5:30 this morning."

"Hm, that explains it." Martha tossed the next filet into the ice.

"Jeremy?" Orlando whispered toward me.

"No. The video of him was from last night not this morning." I replied.

"We need to see the rest of that video." Orlando said.

"Exactly what I was thinking."

"Thanks, Martha." Orlando smiled.

"Sure. Glad I could help." Her teeth were clenched again.

*****

"Nothing." Bill repeated. We stood in the Better Foods surveillance room rewinding and fast forwarding the time between when Jeremy left and Orlando arrived. There was nothing. No activity at all. Orlando acknowledged that there was a back door but it was locked. He only unlocked it to take out the trash and this morning it was still locked.

"This makes no sense." Orlando insisted.

"And you're sure it wasn't Jeremy?" Billy asked again.

"Yeah, I forgot that I asked him to take care of something in the back for me as a favor. I had too many preparations at home."

I smiled. I pulled the hair out of my pocket. I'd figured it out.

*****

Billy and Orlando followed me back to the bakery.

"We never saw the culprit go into the bakery because he didn't go in last night and we never saw him leave because he never left." I explained, I entered the back of the bakery as quietly as possible and the bandit had returned to the scene of the crime.

A baby raccoon sat in the middle of the cake shoveling as much of it into his mouth as possible. I put my finger over my lips and then pointed toward our little criminal.

"Oh, shit." Billy grabbed the nearest knife and charged toward the raccoon. It quickly scurried to a corner, chased by Billy.

"Freeze!" I yelled. Billy obeyed and looked back to see Lucy pointed at his forehead. "Put down the knife and step away from the raccoon." He obeyed and again evacuated his bladder.

*****

"So his girlfriend was okay with it?" Frank, Lieutenant Harper, asked.

"Yeah," I held my cell phone with one hand as I took my change from the cashier. "She thought it was cute. The whole thing. The cake, us spending the last hour trying to find the crook, the baby raccoon. She even wanted to keep it as a pet but we advised against that. So they'll release it into her backyard and she can put out food for it every night."

He laughed, "Sounds like a Disney movie. How did you know it was a raccoon?"

"I didn't." I laughed. "At first I thought it was someone with really dry, unkempt hair. Or some idiot that bleached their hair for years before coming to their senses and realizing that it wasn't attractive and dying the damaged hair black. It was only when I watched the video a second time and saw no one else enter that I realized that it could be an animal hair, but I thought it would be rats. I had no idea it was a baby raccoon. Cute little thing though. I think I really would have shot Billy if he'd touched it."

"Comb-over Billy?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, he's a real douche bag. Did you know that he's dating Rose?"

"What?! Sweet old Rose? Her and my aunt Sandra use to go to the same bingo night." Frank chuckled. "Never thought I'd see a relationship where the woman needed the Viagra."

Our laughter was followed by an awkward silence. He knew what my next question would be.

"How is your aunt Sandra?" I asked as I grabbed my bag and walked out of Better Foods.

"She's doing well. The judge granted her bail, thankfully, so she's back at Autumn Springs and her lawyer said that he's going to request house arrest. She's old and clearly not a danger or a public menace and putting her in prison may kill her. He said there's a chance but a slim one." His tone was far from hopeful.

"I'm sure things will work out." I tried to be as optimistic as possible but it wasn't easy. "She's doing well?"

"Um, yeah. As well as can be expected. She still smiles whenever you mention Laurent Fink, which will probably be a problem in court. She doesn't regret what she did at all. But she's still distraught over my uncle. She doesn't really care about going to jail."

"How is Laurent Fink?" I asked.

"Well, the damage was pretty extensive. Apparently, my aunt has good aim." He chuckled. "Let's just say that a limp noodle is better than no pasta at all. Such a horrible fate." His sarcasm was more than evident and though I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy it was hard for me to feel sympathy for him. Seems only appropriate that a guy that tried to fuck so many people lost his dick.

"And the money."

"All recovered, thankfully. They hadn't spent any of it. They were waiting to skip town and let the buzz die a little."

"That's great. Well, keep me posted."

"I will." Frank hung up.

I placed the bag in my 1970 Corvette. Thank God Sandra didn't scratch it when she stole it. I might have had to shoot her.

I saw the detergent couple putting their bags in the back of their car. They closed the trunk and shared a passionate kiss. A very passionate kiss. Guess different couples work in different ways.

My phone rang as I slipped into the front seat. I smiled as I looked at the caller ID.

"My, my, my. You're impatient." I answered.

"Where are you?" Allison moaned.

"I'm on my way back now."

"Hurry or I may have to start without you." I could hear her sinful smile.

"Oh really. Actually, it will take me about ten minutes. Maybe you should start without me and I'll help you finish when I get there."

She purred with ecstasy. "Okay, hurry."

I tossed the phone into the passenger seat, started the car and squealed my tires leaving the parking lot.

# The Case of SHP Bank

I was putting a handful of Salt and Vinegar chips in my mouth when the elevator stopped. I stepped into the parking garage of the SHP Bank. Or I should say the second level of the parking garage. There were three levels below the eight story building. I was acknowledged by Sergeant Sharper, who waved me in her direction. Several police officers and crime scene investigators were processing the scene and speaking to witnesses.

Sergeant Sharper was standing next to a body. A very broken, very bloody body.

"You know what Mary; I have to say that I miss you a bit." I said as I swallowed her chips as I admired her goddess-like figure.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Really Bruce? If you're going to hit on me, three things. One, don't do it next to a dead body. Two, your breath shouldn't smell like salt and vinegar chips. Three, it shouldn't be the day after you've emptied your balls into some bimbo."

"How did you know that?" I asked with a smile.

"I didn't. You just told me." She returned the smile.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked in a discreet tone.

"Nothing. Call me." She replied.

"Eleven?"

"Yeah." She gave a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. We never had a relationship but saying that our sex wasn't amazing, despite being a bit rough, would be a lie. In fact, I was starting to like the rough stuff more and more. I was starting to miss it. Every few months we would hook up for two weeks before getting annoyed with each other.

"So what do we have here?" I switched to business now that pleasure was settled.

"Executive Director, Head of the Monitoring and Surveillance team at SHP Bank. Hadn't been seen since Friday, wife filed a missing persons report early Saturday afternoon. This morning an employee drove in, saw the body and called the police."

I noticed the security cameras. "Anything on camera?"

"Funny thing about that, Friday morning a security guard watching the cameras spilled coffee all over the equipment. Shorted every damn thing. No monitoring because the monitors were out, no video because the hard drive was fried. They just got the system up and running this morning." Sergeant Sharper explained.

"That's convenient." She nodded in agreement. "So why am I here?"

"Apparently, this guy had some pull, so his wife insisted to the Chief that you were on the case. She'd heard about the Sphinx case and the Laurent Fink case and wanted you to be a part of this. Your fame precedes you." She was clearly irritated. Tonight would be fun. Angry sex was always the best. Actually, maybe it's the second best. "So, what now oh great one?" She was really irritated.

"You keep playing cop and I'll go do the work." I said with every intention of pissing her off. It worked, I could see her jaw clench.

"You'll pay for that." She whispered. I believe her. I threw her an arrogant smile as I backed away and walked back to the elevator.

*****

When I walked into the room I noticed that Mr. Kyle Roberts's leg would not stop moving. At my request the security guard had been put into the meeting room so that I could speak with him. I had been sitting down across from him for about five minutes or so without saying a word. I'd walked in with a legal pad and a few inconsequential papers I picked up from the reception. They were white and had type on them, which was all that was necessary. Side-note: why is every receptionist hot, or is it just the ones I meet?

He only needed to see me with papers, shifting them, pretending to read them. Once his leg reached Mach 2 I asked my first question.

"So, you spilled your coffee by accident?"

"Yes, yes." He answered eagerly.

I scribbled on the legal pad. He leaned a little forward to see what I was writing. I covered it with the previous page so that he wouldn't see Buy milk. Not being able to see what a person is writing about you is a not so subtle tactic. If you're already nervous then the chances are your curiosity about the situation is on the brink. You want to know everything and when you don't it makes you more nervous. I thought this guy was going to have an aneurism. If he knew anything he would spill it soon.

"Did you know the victim, Samuel Harris?" I asked.

"No."

I scribbled toilet paper and quickly covered it.

"If the cameras were down why didn't you check the garage after your shift?"

"I don't know. It was Friday I was ready for the weekend."

Bacon.

"Who was the first guard this morning?"

"Me." He hesitated.

Dishwashing detergent.

"And you didn't check the garage then? Why?" I asked.

"I don't know!" He said exasperated.

Peanut Butter.

"Listen." He couldn't take it anymore. "I know it looks suspicious but I swear it was a mistake. I reached for a pen and knocked it over, okay! I didn't know it would cause that much damage. I was afraid of losing my job over that, and now there's a dead body."

"A dead body that the security guard didn't even find." I added.

"I know! I know! It looks horrible but think about this, if I had anything to do with it then why would I leave the body in the garage for the entire weekend?"

"To take the attention off of yourself." I replied quickly.

"How does that take the attention off of me?"

"No one would be dumb enough to leave a body in the garage for three days so clearly it can't be you. Like you just said. No one would be that dumb—but someone might be that smart."

Kyle's leg stopped moving. I couldn't quite read the expression on his face but I was pretty sure it was fear.

"Do you really think I did this?" Apparently the idea of being a suspect hadn't settled in his mind.

"You have the access and the means. Now we need to just find motive. Like for instance, if you knew Samuel Harris and you told me that you didn't it would raise a few questions." I stated following a hunch.

I've seen white water rapids that were less violent than the river of vomit that erupted from his mouth. I thought that could only be done in movies. I sprang to my feet as it spread across the table. Either he was an Oscar-worthy actor or he was scared out of his mind.

"Look, I know him, okay." He spoke in a hurried panic without bothering to wipe the chunks of what appeared to be Rice Krispies from his mouth. "I use to date his wife's sister. Her sister is much younger than she is; I think she's only a half-sister or a step sister or something. But they were close and we went out a few times. Double dating or whatever."

"Why did you break things off?" I asked.

"I didn't, she did."

"Oh, really. And why was that?"

Kyle hesitated. "I don't know. I always had the feeling that Sam looked down on me, like I wasn't good enough. I didn't think he could influence her like that but I started to think I was wrong."

"You're still not answering the why." I was getting impatient.

Kyle bit his lip, fear laced his eyes. "If I tell you then you'll think I did it but if I don't and you find out I'll look worse. So you've got to believe me. I didn't do it." He took a deep breath. "I found out two weeks after she broke things off that she was sleeping with him."

I laughed openly, "So we go from you not knowing him to him sleeping with your girlfriend. You'll understand why you'll end up the primary suspect."

"But I already got my revenge. My friend got a picture of them having sex at her apartment. So I sent the picture to his wife. From what I heard she kicked him out. When I heard that I was happy. I was done."

I had taken all I could take. I had to get out of this room. The vomit smell was burning my nose hairs.

*****

She hadn't stopped crying since she picked up the phone. Mona, Samuel's wife – now widow—was clearly distraught.

"I just can't believe he's gone." She wailed.

"You loved him very dearly?" I asked carefully.

"Of course I did. He was my husband! We'd been together for 20 years, married for 15. You can't be with a person that long if you don't love him." She insisted.

"And you made the call to say he was missing?"

"Yes, I did."

"Because he didn't come home Friday?" I led her.

"Yes." Her tone was that of waning patience.

"But why would you expect him home if you kicked him out?"

There was a moment of silence. "How did you know that?" Her wailing had stopped although her voice still trembled. "No one knew that."

"That's not important. You called in to say your husband was missing when your husband hadn't been home and wouldn't be."

"He was coming home. I called him on Friday and asked him to come home and he said he would." Mona demanded.

"You asked him to come home even after he cheated on you with your sister?"

"How do you know all of these things?" She paused and sniffed. "Yes, my husband made a mistake but I was willing to forgive him. I was willing to work on it."

"But working on it didn't help before. Forgiving him didn't help before. Why would it help now?" It was safe to assume that this wasn't his first adulterous exploit.

"He's not a bad man." She insisted. "He's just made some mistakes. He's only human."

"That must be frustrating for you. A faithful wife with a husband who doesn't care."

"He does care! Why would you say that? He just has a problem. We were going to work on it and fix it."

"So it never crossed your mind that he might not care?"

"Well, of course. I had moments of doubt." Mona admitted.

"And it must have been hard and frustrating?" I asked.

"Yes, of course."

"But after all the pain he put you through you still wanted to make it work?"

"Yes. I love him and he loved me." She repeated.

"And you two spoke on Friday and agreed that he should come home?"

"Yes. I know we could have made it work."

"But your number didn't show up on his phone records." I said.

There was a silence.

"I called his work phone." She said.

"Your number wasn't there either."

"I called from my sister's house." She blurted. "I remember now, I was at my sister's place. I went there in the middle of the night on the night before I called him. I was so torn I needed to talk to someone. My phone died so I used hers."

"The sister that he cheated on you with?"

"No, not my step-sister, my older sister."

I don't have my own number memorized let alone anybody else's. Everything was in my cell phone. Supposedly Mona had her husband's work number memorized.

"So, if you were expecting him Friday night why didn't you call him when he didn't show up?" Her answer was silence. "You thought he was with someone else again, didn't you?" No response. "It drove you crazy. Instead of being with you and trying to fix your marriage he was in his office fucking another woman." Nothing. "You didn't call him because you were scared he wouldn't answer. You knew he wouldn't answer. So the real question is: If you didn't bother calling to check on him when you were so concerned that night then why bother calling the police the next day?"

Her crying had completely stopped. "I wanted to embarrass him. Have the police find him with some slut and bark at him for leaving his wife worried. But since you clearly think I did it I'll tell you this. I loved him and I didn't kill him but some part of me feels relief now that he's dead. He can't break my heart anymore." Mona hung up the phone.

*****

I leaned back in Samuel Harris's desk chair. Even though I felt fairly certain that Mona Harris was the murderer I had the nagging urge to go up to his work space. There should be something here that would seal the deal

"Do you need anything, sir?" Steve asked. Steve was one of the ten members of the team that Samuel oversaw. Looking at each of them I felt a ping of sorrow. Samuel's desk sat in the corner of the open office, situated so that he could see each cubicle. Each cubicle looked like a stark white plastic cage. It doesn't seem right to cage a human for 8 to 10 hours. No air, no sun, staring at a computer screen. This was my hell.

For someone in charge of so many people Samuel was extremely unorganized, and papers were scattered all over his desk. I didn't even have to move them to see that a lot of them were two or three weeks old. They all seemed to be unresolved issues and they all had a name written on the top of the page in red. Susan, Markus, Barbara, and on and on.

"Sir," Steve said, apparently I was lost in thought. "Do you need anything?"

"Um, sorry. No." He turned to walk when I stopped him. "What did you think of Samuel as a boss?"

"He wasn't bad I guess, but honestly not the greatest guy in the world." Steve replied as another member of the team approached. Barbara, I think.

"So, you didn't like him?" I asked.

"No one really likes their boss, but he wasn't bad." Barbara interrupted.

"None of you seem sad, though. Even if he wasn't a great boss shouldn't you be a little sad?" I asked.

"We're not sad." A voice came from behind me. I turned to see a tall, narrow man; Jamie. "These guys will dance around the issue but I'll tell you. We're glad he's dead. He was a conniving, vindictive, slave-driving moron."

"So everyone here hated him that much?" I asked

"Not just our team, this entire building. I'm wouldn't be surprised if he was beaten to death here." Jamie continued. The others fell silent. As if they agreed but didn't want to say so. "He had made very few friends and far too many enemies. Everyone here, in his team, was looking for a new job."

Something caught my ear but it was quickly dismissed by what caught my eye.

The office was arranged so that Samuel's desk was at the far left corner of the room from the door. The cubicles were ordered in front of Samuel's desk in two rows. Essentially, the employees were facing each other. To the right of his desk, to the left as you entered the door, was a meeting room with glass walls. The door knob to the meeting room was broken.

"What happened to the door knob to that room?" I asked.

"I don't know. It was like that when we got here this morning." Jamie replied.

"Did you tell security or the police?" I stood and walked toward the meeting room.

"I didn't think to, Barbara did you?" Jamie asked Barbara as they followed me to the meeting room.

"No, it didn't cross my mind." Barbara said. She looked back toward the others. A chorus of no's and shrugging shoulders.

I kneeled down to look at the door more carefully. "You wouldn't be surprised if someone that worked here killed him?" I questioned.

"Not at all." Jamie commented.

"You wouldn't be surprised if it happened here?" The door knob hung loosely in the door. It looked like someone pulled it apart trying to open it the wrong way.

"You mean here in the meeting room?" Jamie gave a thoughtful look. I nodded.

"I would be surprised, but I guess it's possible."

"Why would someone kill him here and take his body all the way down to the garage and leave it there?" Steve asked.

"Plus with his body beaten so badly it would have left a trail of blood." Barbara added.

I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that it was Sergeant Sharper calling. Something clicked. Something alarming. I knew what had happened and it worried me.

*****

I pulled my revolver and slowly stood up. Their faces were stone. They'd realized their mistake after Barbara's words left her mouth.

"Jamie, how did you know Samuel was beaten?" I asked.

"Um, the police mentioned it." Jamie stumbled over his words.

"The police don't know how he died, just that his body was battered and broken. He could have been hit by a car for all we know." I looked toward Barbara. "And how would you know what condition the body was in? How would you know how bloody his body was?" Barbara looked away in silence.

I looked around the room and all of their faces were emotionless. No surprise, no shock, no feelings. Not a word. Everyone in the office just found out that two of their work colleagues were involved in the murder of their boss and there was no reaction. Another alarm went off. They weren't surprised because they were all involved. All of them. The remaining workers stood up from their desks and walked toward me like corporate zombies, almost surrounding me

"All of you?"

Steve took off his glasses, examined the lenses and pulled out a handkerchief to clean them. "We work very hard, Mr. Howard. Everyone here comes in early and goes home late. We have virtually no social life. Our focus is our career. We accepted that." His tone was calm, calculated. His speech was slow and deliberate. "We had a tyrant for a boss. Samuel Harris. A horribly sadistic man. He used our efforts to his advantage whenever he could. Took credit for any of our successes and laid all of his failures on us. He made it look as though he had an incompetent team that he had to carry like children. We all wanted to kill him. We were all doing our best to find other jobs in the company." Steve put his glasses back on. "This man never got to work before 9:30 - we were here at 7:30. And you would have to chain him to his chair to keep him here past 4:45 - we left at 6.30, 7:00. Not to mention his 2 hour lunch breaks. Do you know how infuriating that was? Do you have a superior that shows no effort and uses his employees' hard work to make himself look good?"

"Friday afternoon, more like evening, he actually stayed late. He had a meeting scheduled for us." Jamie continued the story. "This bastard sat in the room with a smug smile and told us that he was being promoted. He was to become the Head of Compliance for the entire company. I was pissed and so was everyone else. The last person on earth that deserved a promotion was him. I wanted to punch him in the face but then I saw Steve. Steve was smiling and I couldn't understand why. Then he asked Samuel a simple question: 'Who will take over your position?' then I smiled. Everyone smiled. The tension in the room lifted. Steve was right. If Samuel was promoted he wouldn't be here anymore. Things would change around here. Everything would get better.

"Samuel told us no one would." Barbara interrupted, a tear rounding her cheek." He told us that our department was redundant. Monitoring and Surveillance would be merged into another team in Compliance completely. When we asked what would happen to us he said that we would be let go."

"We worked like slaves for this man." Another female voice came from within the crowd. "And he used us and abandoned us."

"I snapped." Steve said. "I leapt from my chair and punched him. I think I broke his nose."

"Then I hit him." Barbara said. "I don't know why. I was just so angry and when I saw Steve do it . . . it just looked like it would be so satisfying. And it was."

"He bolted out of the meeting room when he saw us all stand up." Jamie smiled. "We all wanted our turn. He made it to the elevator. We knew he would go to his car. We ran down the stairs to catch him. I don't know what came over us. We were like blood thirsty wolves. We tasted blood and we wanted more. We got there just as the elevator opened. And...we just beat him. Kicked him, punched him, hit him until we were tired."

"When we stopped and realized what we'd done we were stunned." Steve continued, "But none of us had a single regret. We were just worried about being caught. Then Henry, one of us, told us the cameras were down. His friend works in security. So we decided to come to work today, act as though nothing happened."

"We would do it again." Another male voice said followed by a murmur of agreement.

"So what now, Mr. Howard?" Steve asked.

"I call the police and you'll all be arrested."

"I don't think so." Jamie's grim smirk sent a chill up my spine. My grip around Lucy tightened.

"If you attempt to kill me you'll just add to your problems. Right now there's a good chance you won't spend the rest of your life in jail. Temporary insanity, voluntary manslaughter. Killing me would take that off the table and add premeditated murder to your resume." I pointed my revolver at Jamie's forehead. "Plus, I'm not going down without taking a few of you with me."

A cruel chuckle slipped past Steve's lips. "Of course we wouldn't kill you. But if a terrible accident were to happen. Say you slipped down the stairwell as you left. How incredibly unfortunate.

They moved toward me, a crowd of cold emotionless drones. A single mind, a single focus.

I quickly adjusted my aim and pulled the trigger. Steve fell to the ground clutching his stomach and wailing in agony. The others stopped and watched him before looking back at me. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and showed it to them. I had accepted Sergeant Sharper's call.

"Anybody else want to step forward?"

*****

The sound of my cell phone vibrating on the floor stirred me. I looked around confused for a moment before realizing that I had fallen asleep on my office floor. I turned toward Sergeant Sharper, Mary, and saw her putting on her uniform.

Last night she couldn't wait until 11. She burst into my office and locked the door before stripping off her uniform. I barely had time to close the curtains to my window before she grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. She rubbed my crouch as she sank her teeth into my neck, her naked body pressed against me. I grabbed her thighs and lifted her, wrapping her legs around me. I twisted and slammed her into the wall before returning her bite. I felt her unzip my pants and slide her hand in. I spun her again and tossed her onto the desk. She tried to sit up and I put my hand across her breast and pushed her down as I took off my pants . . .

Now I was watching her button up her uniform.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Mary smiled as she allowed her shirt to rob me of the pleasure of looking at her bare breasts.

"Yeah," I realized my phone was still vibrating. I reached into my pants pocket, which was a cross the room next to the mini-fridge and I pulled it out.

It was Nancy. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't spoken to her in months. I missed her and Timmy. I wanted to see them but I knew it would be best if I was out of her life.

I answered. "Hi, Nancy" I said timidly.

"Bruce!" She was sobbing uncontrollably, screaming into the phone in terror.

"What's wrong? Nancy, what's wrong?!" Mary's look of disapproval changed to that of concern when she heard my tone.

"Bruce! Please help!" She was barely audible over her own crying. My heart tried to tear itself from my chest.

"Slow down. Tell me what happened."

"Timmy's gone! She has Timmy!"

# Bruce Berserk

A person can see their reflection over and over and over again and never see themselves. I saw my reflection in the window behind my desk and I realized that I hadn't seen myself in nine years. I had spent years trying to forget who I was and now it was bombarding the shores of my mind like a tidal wave.

My close-cut brown hair was graying at the sideburns. My skin looked hard, unflinching. The knife scar on my left cheek didn't even seem foreign. It fit. Staring into my own dark blue eyes I could see the pain of more years than I'd lived. Years spent in my own personal hell, tormented by the decisions that had led me here. To this moment.

Nine years ago Bruce Howard didn't exist. My name was Noah Grayson and I was a construction worker. A simple guy who wanted a simple life. My wife, Cindy, always said that I'd wasted my intelligence. I completed my Pre-Law degree but never went to law school. I was at the top of my class at the police academy but quit the day before graduation.

Everyone said that I ran away from success, but she knew me. Cindy knew that I couldn't stand authority, couldn't take being told what to do, stuck in a system like a drone. She said that I was a leader and had to do things my way. But first I had to find my way. So I did construction just to keep myself busy until I'd figured out what I wanted.

While I was busy finding my way, Cindy was headed down the road to success in a hurry. We'd met in college and quickly leapt into a relationship. We were so passionate about each other. Not just physically but intellectually, emotionally. We were different in so many ways. She was career-driven, decisive, and focused. I was aloof, wandering aimlessly through life. But we also found common ground in movies, music, a troubled childhood. We fought, we fucked, we watched movies, we kissed, we cried, we made love. She fit me.

Cindy and I got married after we got out of Pre-Law. She even admitted to me after the wedding that she thought we wouldn't last longer than a month when we first met.

"I kept looking for a reason to leave but I could never let you go." She said.

After the wedding she charged into Law School and I joined the police academy. Cindy graduated with honors when I was in my second year of construction looking for a new career. Nothing seemed to fit in my life except Cindy.

Soon after, Cindy was pregnant. Was it intentional? No. But I could not have been happier. When she told me I just picked her up and swung her around. I was in such disbelief that I asked her again and again if it was true. I had a crappy job, no direction in my life and I couldn't remember being happier. I had a beautiful wife and a little bundle of something on the way.

My father had never been there for me and when he was there he was blind drunk and would take turns hitting my mom and me. When I was ten he broke my jaw and fractured some of my ribs when I tried to pull him off of my mom. Every time I looked in the mirror at that faint scar I remembered that moment. When I was in the hospital my mom finally got the courage to run. With the help of a nurse we fled the hospital and never saw him again. Ever since then I'd wanted to be a father. To be what my father never was to me. To raise my child with love and care.

I had that chance now. I read every daddy and mommy book I could find. I bought all the diapers, furniture, painted our guest room and set-up everything for a nursery. I wanted to be ready Cindy even noticed something that she thought was sweet. I always held her belly, even before she started showing and not intentionally. I did it unconsciously. Before we were just a couple, now we were a family and I wanted to protect that. But I couldn't.

It was random. One of those things you read about in the newspaper. Something that doesn't happen to real people, but people you hear about.

Cindy was eight months pregnant and had insane cravings. I was inside a convenient store paying for gas and she got out of the car to look for sardines. She hated sardines but since the fourth month she couldn't stop eating the things. It made kissing her very difficult.

It all felt surreal. The surroundings, everything around us fell away and there was just him. He was wearing a black ski mask, a fatigue jacket, paint stained jeans, black gloves and boots. He had a double barrel, pump action shotgun with a deep scratch on the brown handle. The hair that stuck out at the bottom of his ski mask was black with touches of gray. His dilated eyes shone a faint green at the edges of his saucer-like pupils. The shotgun trembled in his hands; he was clearly high on something. Every night I sleep, every time I closed my eyes the image of him gets clearer and clearer.

I stepped in front of Cindy and tried to hide her behind an aisle. I begged God to let this be a dream or bad joke or a prank television show or anything but what it was.

Then someone tried to be a hero. Some guy in the store charged the man with the shotgun. They struggled with the gun before it went off. Through the aisle and into Cindy, into her belly, into our child.

I don't really remember what happened after that. Everything was a blur. All I could see was Cindy lying on the discolored tile floor of the store, blood pouring out of the holes in her belly. Terror in her eyes but not for of her own sake. I could still hear her whisper, 'the baby, the baby, the baby . . .'

They performed an emergency C section and did what they could to save both of them. Cindy survived, the baby didn't. We sat in the hospital room, too numb to react. We didn't react to news, to friends, to family, to each other. I was lost in myself; I didn't know what to feel for days. Until I found rage. There were two men responsible, the man with the gun and the wannabe hero.

My brain told me the faux hero was just trying to help; my heart told me that if he'd stayed the fuck down my life wouldn't have been ripped apart. Luckily, my internal conflict resolved itself. Once he heard about Cindy and me losing our baby, Melvin Spencer hung himself from his apartment balcony.

There was one thing I had to do before I found the gunman. After a few days Cindy was able to sleep again but only a shallow sleep. I left her a note.

I felt like a failure. Like I'd let her down. I did let her down, I let our family down. I hadn't been able to protect my family and I didn't know if I could ever look her in the eyes again. And now when she needed me the most I didn't know what to do. She deserved more than me.

I told her in the note what I planned to do and that she would never see me again. My soul has been in conflict ever since that moment. Part of me felt like I was abandoning her, like I was running away from my problems, and part of me felt that it would be better for her this way. Whatever the case, I've felt like a coward ever since that moment.

Finding the shooter was easier than I thought it would be:

Camouflage jacket and long graying hair—military, army, from at least 15 years ago.

Paint stained pants and work boots—painter or construction worker.

Dilated pupils—drug addict.

After "investigating" a few respectable gentlemen at some of the finer establishments in the city I found him. Christopher Teague, a soldier who went AWOL 10 years ago and had been hiding from the government ever since. But that didn't keep Mr. Teague out of trouble. He also had a gambling problem. His debts began to stack up with the wrong people. These people were a bit more persistent and harder to hide from than the military. So he robbed a convenient store.

A high voltage stun gun to the neck and two hours later Mr. Teague found himself tied down to a table in a rundown motel outside of town.

I made sure he saw my face and his eyes told me that he remembered me. He apologized though terrified tears but that wasn't enough. I tied a cloth towel around his face and began slowing pouring a bucket of water over the towel. He shook his head trying to fight free of the cloth as he gasped for air but gargled more and more water. His body was going into a panic when I finally removed the cloth. I remember his pleas for forgiveness, trying to explain. How could he even try to ask for forgiveness or try to explain? What could he possibly say that would justify what he'd done to me, to my family? What could he say to make me understand?

I tied the cloth back around his face, refilled the bucket in the motel bathtub and continued. Torturing someone is like shooting a gun. The first time you shoot a two liter coke bottle filled with water you're nervous. As if you don't know what will happen. Even though no one will be hurt you still have reservations but after the first two or three shots you get comfortable. It even becomes fun.

I was beginning to enjoy his gargled cries for help. His body fighting against the rope tying him down and the look of anguish on his face when I removed the towel.

I smiled for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

There were several one gallon containers next to the table. I picked one of them up and showed it to him. Bleach.

A high-pitched shriek exploded from his lungs. His eyes widened with terror as he struggled wildly to get free. He moved his head as much as he could as I tied the cloth around his head. I poured the bleach over his face slowly as my smile broadened.

I was careful not to leave any evidence of being in that room. But I assumed that when the police got to the body it wouldn't take a big leap to figure out the connection to me. I bought a train ticket with cash and left my life as Noah Grayson behind.

Timmy was the same age my child would have been, eight. He had blue eyes, brown hair and freckles. I even thought he looked a little like me but that was my heart looking at him more than my eyes. Cindy and I never found out the sex of the baby, we wanted it to be a surprise. But I was always sure that it was a boy. I think that is why I cared about Timmy so much, I saw in him a chance to be a father again. He was everything I wanted in a son. I never got to hold my child and being with Timmy was as close as I would ever get to that.

Nancy was nothing like Cindy but seeing her with Timmy made me fall for her. She was a wonderful mother. For the brief time I was with them I knew what it felt like to have a family and it was the happiest I had been in a long time.

I don't remember leaving my office or how I got to Nancy's apartment, but I found myself standing in her living room, tears rolling down my cheeks. Mary, Sergeant Sharper, had her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. She stepped away and made a phone call. "Yes, this is Sergeant Sharper I would like to report a homicide. Send units to . . ."

Nancy lay at my feet in a scarlet halo of blood, her empty eyes staring at me. Her throat had been cut.

*****

I was sitting in the chair next to the couch in Nancy's apartment. We'd had our first kiss on that couch. It was after one of our Sunday dinners. Timmy had gone to bed and we stayed up drinking wine, talking, laughing. We leaned in and kissed. It was amazing. I immediately apologized and ran out of the apartment. She tried to stop me but I didn't give her the chance.

I had slept with many women since I left Cindy. Probably a combination of primitive lust and trying to cope with my pain, but Nancy was the first woman who made my heart skip. It scared me. I still loved Cindy, and even though I had left her seven years earlier the feelings I had were just as strong. She was my life and I was betraying her by falling in love with another woman.

You don't know how much you love someone until they are taken from you. As I sat there looking through Nancy's apartment, memories bombarded my mind. I could almost see her walking through the apartment smiling as she went into the kitchen, her golden hair falling just past her shoulder, her soft eyes welcoming me. Her gentle touch was not relegated to a memory that seemed too distant to feel. Realizing I would never see her again left me breathless, broken. A fist was around my heart, squeezing it, keeping it from beating. I wiped the tears from my cheeks. I should have never left her.

My eyes moved from the couch to the blood stain on her beige carpet. Nancy's body had been removed and several crime scene investigators were processing the scene. Nancy was dead and Timmy was gone - and dead for all I knew. I remembered Nancy's terrified voice. 'She has him.' I had immediately hung up the phone and ran out of the office with Mary. It couldn't have taken more than ten minutes to get here so whoever killed her had probably been in the apartment with her, listening to the call and waiting for their moment. Or they'd forced her to make the call and waited for it to be over. How else would Nancy know that whoever took Timmy was a she?

Something clicked. I leapt from the chair, ran out of the apartment and across the hall. The officers present stopped and watched as I kicked open the door to my old apartment.

The furniture was casual and modest. On the couch was a man whose book had fallen to the floor. His eyes were closed and a bullet hole was in his forehead.

I heard one of the officers behind me start to radio in the call. The man looked barely disturbed. The killer had entered silently while he was laying on the couch reading. She shot him before he had a chance to realize anyone was there.

I looked back at the door and the splintered frame. The dead bolt had been locked; it was protruding from the door. She killed him, then locked the door as she left. Probably before going to Nancy's apartment.

I walked toward the body and saw a folded piece of paper on his coffee table. As I picked it up Sergeant Sharper walked into the room.

"What the hell . . .?" She whispered to herself.

I stared at the name written on the note.

Bruce-y

"Courtney's back."

*****

I was...I had been...with Courtney for a brief time before I left her for Rebecca. It was then that she tried to kill me and revealed herself as the accomplice of the Sphinx, a serial killer. I was able to stop her but not without ending up in the hospital.

I'd hoped Courtney would just disappear, but on some level I'd known she'd be back and I was terrified of that. That's why I tried to distance myself from Timmy, Nancy and Rebecca, the people I cared about the most. I didn't want them involved, but I guess it was too late for that.

Courtney was going to tear my life apart. I should have died that night. It would have been better for everyone. Timmy would have his mother and this poor guy would still be alive.

Courtney's note instructed me to meet her at Annie's Diner at noon. Alone. No police. The police contacted Timmy's school and they confirmed that Timmy didn't make it to school that morning. I had no choice. I had to obey her instructions if she had Timmy. Mary insisted that undercover cops follow me but I refused. We didn't have time to set up a bunch of plain clothes around the area and if two guys were following me it would look worse. Courtney was too smart for that.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I would do if she hurt Timmy. In fact, her death would be slow whether she hurt him or not.

My mind was consumed with thoughts of Nancy and Cindy. I couldn't save Cindy, I couldn't save Nancy. I'd abandoned the two women I loved the most when they needed me the most. I should have stayed with Nancy, protected her and Timmy, but instead I ran away. I should have stayed with Cindy, held her hand, supported her, fought beside her through our darkest hour. Instead I left her and chased revenge.

As I approached Annie's Diner I noticed that a lot of things were unusual. The neon open sign on the door was off. Not just that, the entire diner was dark and empty. It was then that I saw the plume of black smoke begin to rise from the building. I sprinted to the door and pulled it. Locked. I looked at the note on the door.

Closed for repair.

I peered through the glass door and saw the amber light of flames dancing in the window of the kitchen door. I pulled my gun and shot the glass twice before ramming my shoulder into it. Glass cut my face and arms as I ran into the diner and leapt over the counter. I burst through the kitchen door, everything was consumed in fire.

I began to call for Annie when I realized that she was lying just past the kitchen door, her forehead bore a fresh, bleeding wound but I could see that she was still breathing. I bent down to pick her up when I felt a blinding pain in my back. I fell to the ground and quickly rolled back onto my feet. I turned to see Courtney standing in the doorway, a baseball bat in her hand and a bright purple bruise on her eye.

"Hi, Bruce-y . . ."

"Freeze!" Courtney's eerily calm voice was interrupted by Mary. Apparently she had followed me. She was now standing behind Courtney with her gun drawn. Before I had a chance to pull my revolver Courtney spun around and planted two bullets into Mary's chest. Mary staggered backwards onto the counter but stayed on her feet. Courtney ran past her and out of the shattered glass door.

"Bitch!" Mary whispered to herself through gritted teeth as she pushed herself up and gave chase.

My attention switched back to Annie. I lifted her off the floor and hurried out of the Diner.

*****

Mary was walking back toward me when the ambulance was pulling away. Fire fighters were on the scene taming the blaze.

"You lost her?" I asked knowing the answer.

"Yeah." Her teeth were still clenched. "Bitch."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, the vest took most of the impact. What about you? Annie?"

"I'm fine. EMT said Annie probably has a concussion but should be fine."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go to my office, wait for her to contact me and pray she hasn't hurt Timmy." I replied.

"I'm coming with you." I didn't bother resisting. I felt defeated and didn't have the energy. My mind just stuck on one thing: what would she do with Timmy? If anything happened to him it would be hard for me not to completely lose it.

I opened the door to my office and dropped to my knees. Tears fell from the edges of my eyes. I couldn't believe it.

"Timmy."

*****

Timmy leapt from the chair and ran to me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and cried. I squeezed him with everything I had then I pushed him back and examined him. There was a bruise on his cheek.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He nodded. I don't know the words to describe what I felt. Relief wasn't enough, happiness wasn't enough. I just wanted to hold him and never let him go. Timmy looked up to me but he'll never understand that he was my hero. Timmy saved my life. He'd given me something that had been stolen from me so long ago. He'd shown me what pure love was again.

Pure love is what you do for a person when you know they won't find out. You don't do it for recognition or appreciation. Carrying him to bed when he fell asleep on the couch, saving money for his education, threatening a school bully without him finding out. I would do anything for him and having him in my arms again made me, for the first time in 9 years, believe in God.

"What happened? How did you get away?" I asked.

"Some lady tried to grab me." His voice was panicked, shaken. "I was walking to school and some lady grabbed me from behind and picked me up. I kicked her stomach as hard as I could. Then I picked up a big rock and threw it at her face and ran away. I hid in the bushes in the playground. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know..." He used his sleeve to wipe his nose. "I ran here and waited for you." I pulled him close again. "I tried to call mom but she didn't answer. Where's my mom?"

Oh, no. Nancy. I took a deep breath and tried to gather myself. I looked back Mary; her eyes were drowned in sorrow. I looked back at Timmy.

"Timmy, your..." My phone interrupted me. I answered. "Hello."

"Tell your new girlfriend that I'm doing her a favor." It was Courtney.

"What?"

"No woman likes to deal with her man's ex-girlfriend." She hung up. My eyes widened.

"Rebecca." Her name slipped past my lips.

"What?" Mary stepped forward. "Who was that?"

I ignored her. "Timmy, I want you to go with Sergeant Sharper here, okay?"

"No." He squeezed my neck. "I want to stay with you. Please don't go."

"Wait! What's going on?" Mary demanded.

"Don't worry. She's a police officer and she will protect you and take good care of you, okay?" He nodded.

I stood to leave and he grabbed my hand.

"Where's my mom?" Timmy asked. His eyes told me that he already knew something was wrong. I bent down and kissed his forehead then gently pulled my hand away. Mary stood in front of me.

"Where in the fuck do you think you're going?"

"Take care of him until I get back." I went to my desk, reloaded my gun and pocketed my brass knuckles. I walked back to the door, Mary hadn't moved. "And don't tell him until I get back." I whispered "He shouldn't hear it from a stranger."

"You're not going anywhere!"

"Move or I will move you." She folded her arms and stared at me defiantly. I shoved Mary into the hall and pointed Lucy at her face before she had a chance to recover. "I don't have time for this." I backed away, toward the exit. "Take care of Timmy."

*****

For the brief time I'd been with Rebecca I was constantly troubled. Thinking about it now I knew she wasn't the one for me. Something in me knew that. She was a great woman. Passionate, fun-loving, but it wasn't right. I cared about her but I was in love with Nancy. I loved Rebecca but I wasn't in love with her. I couldn't let her die.

I called Rebecca's cell on the way to her office. No answer. I went by her job and they said she had taken the day off. Now I was running up to her door. I didn't break stride as I lifted my foot and knocked the door off of its hinges. Rebecca stared at me shocked.

"Bruce?"

"Rebecca, are you okay?" I asked out of breath.

"What the fuck did you just do to my door?"

"Are you okay?" I repeated.

"I was until you decided to go Jackie Chan on my fucking front door! What the hell?"

"Courtney's back." Rebecca's breath was stolen; she grabbed her shoulder as though she could still feel the bullet.

"Where is she?"

"On her way to find you."

"Correction," Courtney's voice came from behind me. "I already found her." I turned to face her. "Hi Bruce-y, how have you been?"

From that moment on, I only saw red. Courtney had killed Nancy and tried to kill Annie and she'd tried to take Timmy; she tried to hurt Timmy. She ruined my life once and tried to kill me. Now she had come back to finish what she started. There was so much pain in my life and she had done her best to cause some of it. Forced me to alienate the people I love for fear that they would be hurt. I tried to protect them by running away. For the second time in my life I'd run away and despite that she still went after them. Nancy would never know how I felt; Timmy would never see his mother again. She'd stolen my only chance at happiness and I wanted her to experience every ounce of my pain.

I pulled my gun as she raised hers. A bullet pierced my chest but I ignored it, I don't think I even felt it. I fired into her stomach and a steam of crimson poured into her hands as she fell into a fetal position. I dropped my gun and pulled out my brass knuckles.

I rolled her onto her back and straddled her. I could hear her cheek bone crack with the first punch. The second split open her forehead. I continued; I couldn't have stopped myself even if I'd wanted to. And I didn't want to. Each punch felt euphoric, justified, vindicating.

This wasn't about saving Rebecca or avenging Nancy. I could feel that now. This was about protecting Timmy. All I could see was his bruised face, his terror stricken eyes, his trembling voice. Courtney came back to hurt the ones I loved, and even though I abandoned them she knew it would still break me. I wouldn't let her hurt Timmy again. She wasn't going to put another hand on him. This was the only way I could guarantee that.

Courtney's body struggled, her hands clawed at the carpet then I felt her body begin to seize but I still didn't stop. Her hot blood covered my fist and splattered on my face. I couldn't feel bone anymore, just soft mush. Like punching into a bowl of oatmeal. My arms were burning from fatigue, I felt the blood running from the wound in my chest but I still didn't feel the bullet. It wouldn't stop me. I wouldn't stop until my arms fell off.

"Freeze!" I heard someone scream. I looked up and saw Sergeant Sharper, Mary, with her gun pointed at me. Shock engulfed her face. Behind her were several police officers, too stunned to move. I looked toward Rebecca and saw her horrified expression. She was petrified.

"Bruce, what have you done?" Mary said silently.

I looked down at the mixture of shattered bone, brain and blood that had once been Courtney.
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About the Author

Emmanuel Obi, Jr.

Born and raised in Auburn, Alabama; Emmanuel Obi has lived in Switzerland since 2007. Emmanuel's passion for writing began at a young age, though he never pursued it as a profession. A graduate from the University of Manchester with a Master's degree in Healthcare Ethics and Law, Emmanuel uses writing and filmmaking as a way to "maintain his sanity" and share passion for storytelling.

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