Chapter Eight: Too Taxing

A beautiful twenty something woman wearing a white coat stroked her flowing blonde hair in a vigorous manner, accompanied with a flummoxed expression on her tear-soaked face. Her stress seem to billow out from her azure eyes like fiery smoke rings, beaming at random and unfortunate objects or persons that got caught up in her stewing mass of frustration. She then tugged her hair outward, bewildering the bystanders around her, forcing them to ask themselves why a pretty little girl like her is turning into such a hot mess before their very eyes. However, in the proper context it became less bewildering and much more appropriate as the situation hit critical mass; this poor woman’s world had been turned upside down.

A few hours before, this young girl stood stammering against the horrific scene of another twentysomething woman and a five year old son, both riddled with gunshot wounds. They weren’t family members, no just complete strangers, but it was her job to save them and she was going to do so damn it! At least that’s what ran through her head as she screamed for them to come back to life even though she knew damn well that it was too late, as her fellow coworkers restrained her back into a hallway. Her mind raced so fast with so many thoughts that it crashed and all that followed was absolute gibberish. Her mind just couldn’t grasp what happened before her very eyes.

When she thought back to the first time that she wanted to be a doctor, it became very hazy as it stretched way beyond what any average or sane person would ever decide to pick as a profession or even a dream. Maybe when she was three? No, it had to have been earlier than that. Her ideal of being a lifesaver and a healer intensified all the way through high school to the point that by senior year she had alienated all of her friends, except for one guy whose life philosophy was the complete antithesis of her own approach. This man—whom she had fell in love with for so many reasons from his crass and bold attitude that she admired to his blue and green eyes, his watermark that attested to his uniqueness—remained very attached with her for years and they spent hours just chatting about their future plans which of course she would remain steadfast on, but he would always switch up on it with variously preposterous ideas such as opening a bar/restaurant/salon that he dubbed the “Sports Barbtendershop” to being a crime detective “like Sherlock Holmes”. Unfortunately he hooked up with Samantha Stewart of all people, which she always gave him grief about as she along with many others felt describing the relationship as an “odd couple” was an understatement.

Yet when medical school finally did come, she found that attachment with that guy slowly dissipated to the point that when he invited her to his wedding she vehemently denied it; causing a rift that she assuredly thought would never be fixed. As the taxing rigor of medical school came to a close and she finally became a doctor after the insane trials of residency and employment search, she realized it wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. Still she had no reason that the career she had envisioned and put in place of her friends, her romances and her family would drive her past sanity. She was no squeamish girl, often relishing in the most gory movies and being the placator in the most gruesome and dire of situations. No, what did her in was the fact that most of her patients were not of the typical sort that she intended. No, instead of saving the lives of innocent victims of unlucky incidents, the vast majority of the populace that resides in her care tend to be gang members in a shootout or drunk drivers that deplorably risk not just their own but others' lives as well. But she readily accepted that with nary a whim as she acknowledged that North Memorial resided in the "bad side of town". However, she was nearing a breaking point until one incident forced her to reconsider and challenge her preconceived notions that stood as her ideals for two decades.

A man was picking up his kids from their mother's house when they got into an argument.  His response to the disagreement was to go back inside, get his gun, and shoot her and their five year old son multiple times.  The son died almost immediately while she was hit in the left arm, the abdomen, and the head.  The young woman took her immediately to the operating theatre for a laparotomy that found multiple perforations in her small intestine and colon, all of which the doctor repaired successfully. She then performed a craniectomy - she removed a large piece of her skull, stopped the bleeding in her brain, and put the bone on ice to (hopefully) re-implant later.  This procedure allowed the brain to expand outside the normal confines of the cranium, because there is very little room inside the cranial vault for the brain to go. Unfortunately removing a chunk of a person’s skull didn’t go well and she soon fell into a coma.

What transpired that day shattered any resolve or justice that the poor soul had in this world, at least until a sudden meeting with a man dressed in a trench coat and a fedora. She swore that he seemed vaguely familiar, until it became glaringly obvious who he was when she examined his eyes; one being bright green and the other electric blue.

          "Sterling? I should have known that I would find you at a crime scene." emanated a voice that caused the blonde to turn her head on a swivel.
         "Jac, what are you doing here?"
"Well, I don't know if you heard, but a guy tried to kill his wife. I don't know how common it is here but it's kinda noteworthy."
"You'd be surprised how common it actually is."
"So anyways, I am here because I am a homicide detective and they rang me up 'cause they can't find the fucker, excuse my language."
"Trust me, that guy can't even be close to be described by fucker."
"Since the victim can't talk right now, I figured that I could inquire you about these recent happenings."
"Well sure, I guess. But what could I inform you about this crime? I have no idea what happened."

“Seriously Sterling? It’s been almost a decade since I have seen you and you want to talk about work? I figured that you cracked.”

“Wait a second, what about that maniac that’s on the loose?” asked Sterling in utter disbelief.

“Actually my job is more along the lines of finding out whodunit more than catching some runaway. And apparently there were plenty of eyewitnesses and evidence to suggest that he’s the guy so my hands are tied. So anyways, is there a good place for coffee?” Sterling complied and took him to some ma and pa shop that she had frequently hid at in order to avoid the gradually more nerve-wracking situation that she so desperately wanted to disappear from. Then something remarkable happened, at least in her mind; they were talking about their future plans again but this time with their roles reversed. Afterwards they probed into the last decade and what they did with themselves since then.

“Man, this has been bugging me since I’ve first saw you.”

“What is it?” asked Stone in his first honest to god smile in years.

“How the hell did you end up being a detective?”

“What are you talking about? It’s been my lifelong dream ever since I was twenty!”

“No, seriously. What happened to psychology?”

“Well to be honest I did get a degree in psychology: Criminal psychology. After that one of my classmates, David Humenik, asked me how interested in criminal psychology was I? Of course I said ‘very’ and he got a few connections and soon enough I got hired as a police detective. Seven years later and I’m still going strong baby! So how about you? Why are you so bummed out?”

“You ever have your heart set on something for years and years and you do all of this shitty work and asskissing and when you finally, after dealing with all of the bullshit, get to the top, you realize that it wasn’t worth it?” Stone stares at Sterling for but a moment and then nods in complete agreement.

“Well, yeah. You know that Sports Barbtendershop idea?” Sterling merely glares at him coldly after pouring out of the vitriol from her heart. “I’m kidding. But yeah, I know exactly what the hell you’re talking about (Sterling mouths ‘Really?’). Yeah, ‘cause you see my marriage, well at least former marriage went the same way. And to be honest it happened so recently I still don’t want to talk about it.” retorted Stone in a snarky manner that he had no intention in releasing, as if he kept it pent up and this beautiful young lady who he had an eye for since middle school was able to peel away all the onion-like layers created from age and mistrust.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” proclaimed Sterling in utmost sincerity. Stone scans Sterling’s face and gives her a casual glance.

“Man, you always bring out the most melodramatic out of me Sterling, I was halfway to tears. Anyways, I probably took up most of your time and then some, so I think I’ll be out of your hair now,” muttered Stone reluctantly.

“No, please stay here. I really don’t want to go back to that hospital. Hell, I might even quit.” Sterling grabs the cuff of Stone’s sleeve, who then embraces her hands with his own.

“You know there is an opening for a medical examiner at the station. Now you would have to deal with dead bodies all the time but a doctor of your caliber is probably used to that.”

“Ha, very funny. But can you actually get me that job?”

“I’ll throw in my good word for you but I warn you that only has like a ninety nine point nine nine percent chance of success, so if you don’t get it I’d suggest buying lotto tickets.”

“I’m sure I will. Hey, why don’t we stop by at my place and reminisce, maybe you’ll even have a little fun.” Stone smirked, picking up Sterling’s signals.

“I’m sure I will.”

“Ms. Sterling! Are you OK?!”

“Yeah, why?” The same young blonde woman was a tad older, but seemed to have a purpose and carried herself as such. To her side was a young short Asian woman with a bowl haircut and goofy glasses who was her assistant. Neither seemed distraught about the corpse of the man found in the gas station mere hours ago.

“Because I asked you how in the hell you got Stone to get you this job and you froze.”

“Oh, I was just daydreaming.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you didn’t want to tell me?”

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“I’m all ears!” Sterling merely flashed a smile. That was until she looked at the clock and realized that they needed to do an autopsy. Then she gave her assistant her infamous glare and barked for some forceps. 

Chapter Seven: Wild Goose Chase

“OK, so Marceau should have the warrant and we’ll be good to go,” proclaimed an exuberant Stone, who briefly motioned his hands towards the sky in relief until Sterling slapped him to put them back on the steering wheel.

“Well, we’re actually pretty late. Marceau told us to meet him an hour ago,” reminded Sterling anxiously.

“If he followed the values he preached, then he should know that patience is a virtue. Plus I’m pretty sure that picking up doughnuts—which could be our last meal—is always a good idea to settle our nerves.” As they drew nearer and nearer towards the address, it became clearer and clearer that this was not the area that you would expect a Latino serial killer. Surrounded by suburbia, Stone was noticeably irked by all of the yuppie, cautious and affluent white people staring at his beaten down Prius with dismay, with antagonism. Ignoring that though, they finally pull into the driveway of the house which was as bland as possible with no distinguishing features from the other factors and as white as the snowy background. Marceau was leaning on his black Mercedes, just tapping his leather shoes and his eyes fixed on his watch, intent on nothing else. As the trio regrouped, Stone offered Marceau a pastry which he vehemently denied, then produced a pistol and as they neared the door alerted the group of the possibility that the killer lurking within and to stay by his side calmly and observantly.

As the door eerily creaked, the only light that seeped through came from the tops of the veiled curtains, as Stone fluttered a light switch to no avail.

“Didn’t pay his damn bills,” remarked Stone in frustration. As they drew the curtains open and let the sun into the room, the plain emptiness unsettled them all. No rugs, no pictures, scarcely any furniture except for a couple of chairs huddled by an old box set TV. As Stone walked around, urging the others to follow, he couldn’t shed the feeling that each creak, each soft thud of a footstep, even his own breath all allied against him; the very silence deafening by revealing the barely perceptible cacophony that surrounded him which practically embodied the soul sucking eyes of Mister Dominguez. The silence became a presence, sharpening every one of the group’s senses, their perception so finely tuned that their imaginations turned against them, shadows and hushed noises alike became the enemy. Yet, as they scoured the whole house, nothing appeared to be amiss, nothing appeared to be out of place. In fact, it was extraordinarily ordinary noted Stone, where a disturbing thought crept in that the mundane exterior compensated for some horrific paraphernalia elsewhere.

As they dared to venture down to the basement area however, a foul odor permeated the air, pungent and blood curdling, which caused the group’s hairs to stand on end. As they approached closer and closer to the room, the very stairs from underneath them groaned from their weight. Stone once again drew out his Glock, which shivered over the anticipation of grave danger. When Stone finally reached the bottom of the staircase alley and turned the corner, he immediately ducked back as he saw Dominguez merely standing in the middle of the room, a bizarre quirk he muttered in his mental conscience. After pacifying Sterling and Marceau and waiting briefly yet endlessly, Stone rallied as much audacity as he could, and ventured to peer back at the least expected image he could think of.

Feet dangling. Sterling and Marceau convened beside Stone, who already approached the hovering, rotting body suspended by a sturdy rope while a toppled chair lie beneath, and all three wore flummoxed expressions. Sterling examined closer and remarked that the body had to have been at least 72 hours old, right after the murder.

“Well, we might want to check that list of suspects again,” quivered Stone.
(Chapter Eight)

Chapter Six: Here Are the Facts

“Sweet, we’ve got the gang back together!” shouted Stone jubilantly, much to the chagrin of the ring of detectives and policemen, aggravated by his antics.

“Stone, less reminiscing and more focusing on this case. Anyways, you were right about the murders but we’re still back to square one. What do you propose we do then to resolve that?” asked Klein as sincerely as he could, which turned out to be very little.

“What are you talking about? He is clearly connected with Emilia, hence ‘For Em!’ How ignorant can you get?”

“Stone, this guy clearly is a mass murder. Why the hell would you assume that this isn’t some random killing, or do you expect him to personally be connected with every single victim he’s had.”

“Don’t get me wrong, this guy is a serial killer, he probably has killed dozens of random strangers who have nothing to do with him at all. Hell, that one guy whose name escapes me probably just crossed paths with the wrong motherfucker, but he clearly has something to do with Emilia. That’s why I got one of my lackeys to examine witness reports and to see if he indeed does have any connections with her. In fact, there he is right there!” Stone pointed at a reserved, baby faced twenty-something in a business suit clutching a manila folder. Stunned at being recognized, he clears his throat.

“Well, yes. I have police sketches made from various witness testimonies,” he reveals a pencil sketch of a clean shaven well groomed Latino man in his early thirties with unnaturally pale, bleached skin that seemed to have been removed of all life and vitality. “And this is Eddie Dominguez, Emilia’s separated husband.” He produced a photograph with a face that looked remarkably similar to the sketch but with two distinctions that were ingrained into the back of Stone’s skull: a snarl from his upper lip that twisted his facial features and showed his true aggression; and pitch black eyes that seemed to be tunnels to endless and hopeless abyss, the last thing that god knows how many saw as their last sight in this world, as if the eyes themselves snuffed their living breaths out like a candle.

“Well, I stand corrected Stone. We appear to have got our man, so how do we get him?” inquired Klein, his interests piqued.

“Now that appears to be the tricky part. You see, the reason that Dominguez has eluded the grasp from the law for so long is he is a completely different beast. He is fickle, clever, cunning and can extricate himself from virtually any situation. I’m willing to bet that he has made some friends over the years, the type of folk that can make you disappear and reappear again. No doubt that he’s probably got some new documents from the Black Market that he made so that he can charade as something else. It’ll be very difficult to sniff this guy out.”

“So basically you went through that superfluous and completely unnecessary monologue to tell us that you have no plan whatsoever?” asked Marceau in a jabbing kind of way.

“Yeah, pretty much. Although,-“ Stone scans the file, places a sheet of paper and points at a line that read ‘1402 East Temple Street Plymouth, MN 55427’ and proclaims ,”That is a pretty damn good starting point.”

(Chapter Seven)

Chapter Two: Rules of Courtship

“I cannot fucking believe he is late again! What the hell? He better damn hope that he has a great explanation for this!”

                “Settle down Sterling. I am sure he’ll get here soon,” assured Marceau. Bursting through the doors was Stone, this time uncharacteristically high dressed in a tuxedo and walks down with a suave swagger down to the Plaintiff area.

                “Who the hell are you?” inquired the judge, clearly vexed by the action presiding before him.

                “Your honor I am Jacoby Stone, and I am ready to prove that that guy over there is a bloodthirsty, coldblooded killer.” Stone then dramatically points in the vicinity of the portly cop, who seemed to lose a little weight from all of the worrying. Marceau merely reclines deeply in his seat while Sterling face-palms.

                “Just sit down Mr. Stone and let your attorney do all the talking,” remarked the judge with a sigh. Stone calmly sat down next to Sterling.

                “OK, so I might not have been able to get here in the smoothest of matters, but this case is rock solid, done deal right? Might as well not even bother tuning into it.” Sterling, clearly flustered and frustrated with the ordeal, simply turned her attention back to the court. “Or you can just keep ignoring me too. Whatever.”

                “Why the hell won’t you just listen to Marceau and me and get your shit together? I mean you seriously can’t keep doing this, what the hell is up with you?” Sterling flashed a face of not only anger but genuine fear and empathy.

                “Yeah, well the thing is my ex-wife has been hounding me the last couple of weeks about my son and I guess it’s just been eating me up. I mean I am pretty ashamed that I don’t really know him well and vice versa, and his birthday is coming up so I guess I’m turning into a wreck.”

                “Wow, that’s kinda sweet that you care about your son, but unbelievable that you hardly even know him. Jeesh, what kind of a father are you?”

                “Exactly, I know. That’s why I have no idea how I can save face with him, you know? I mean, what am I to do?” asked Stone, genuinely needing advice.

                “Save face? You could just be a father. I mean, come on, you have to at least know at least a little something about him?”

                “That’s the thing. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years because of my ex and my demanding work schedule, and I haven’t heard a call in weeks.”

                “Wow that is the biggest bullshit I have ever heard. I mean really, blaming your ex? And you hardly even bother going to the office anymore! Hell, if I was your son I wouldn’t call you either, which you are also very capable of doing.”

                “Whoa, hold on. Let’s not backfire all of this onto me. You clearly haven’t met my ex.”

                “Oh, I know she is a piece of work. Which explains why she could tolerate you for so long.” Stone tried to retort, but merely nodded. He knew he was defeated, no point for fighting a lost cause of abandoning your son. He stared at the clock in the far corner, then gazed at Marceau and the client exchange words.

                “How long is this sucker going to last? Because besides unpaid parking tickets, I haven’t been learned of the nuances of court.”

                “This is just the preliminary hearing. I actually don’t really know the process too well, but Marceau said that this was too big a high profile case to ignore, that we needed full representation. Besides, what are you in a rush for?”

                “Not much, just a date with Destiny. Why do you ask?”

                “What is that, a hooker’s name or something?” toyed Sterling.

                “No, she is an escort. A 30 dollar escort, but a damn good one nonetheless! You’ve got any plans with someone interesting?” imaginatively remarked Stone, not to be outdone in any games.

                “Well, yes actually. His name is Steve and we are going to the Guthrie Theater, somewhere that you wouldn’t bother to go.”

                “Sounds fun,” was the only repartee Stone could utter.

                Hours passed and soon Stone grew more and more powerless to boredom and fell into a deep slumber. After the trial proceedings were finally over, Sterling and Marceau tried to wake him up without success, forcing Marceau to drive all three of them home.

                “Marceau, can I ask you something?” asked Sterling shyly. She then checked back to Stone who was dozing in the back, oblivious to all.

                “Yeah, I guess.”

               “What do you think is the future between me and Stone?”

                “Why do you ask?”

                “I don’t know, it feels like I am the only one that cares anymore. I mean I love him a lot, but it doesn’t seem like a two way street anymore. He still treats me more a friend than anything else.”

                “Is that a bad thing?”

                “Well, yes and no. I just want to have the confidence that he’ll always be on my side, and frankly I doubt that will ever happen, you know? I just want to be in a relationship, not whatever we are in right now.”

                “Well, maybe you should propose an ultimatum. Either be in a relationship or cut it off. Then again I am probably not the best man to ask advice on relationships. I have a dozen ex-girlfriends, three ex-wives and a partridge in a pear tree. Now that I think about it, you are probably the most sensible and least dysfunctional person I know, so I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

                “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Sterling didn’t bother absorbing the bullshit that Marceau tried to sell to her, but she appreciated the effort, though it may have done more harm than good. As they coasted up to Sterling’s house, Stone finally emerged from his slumber, asked if they were interested in a round of drinks for a celebration, until Marceau reminded him that the trial was ongoing.

“Nah, I meant for me living through that bullshit. I don’t give a fuck about the stupid trial anymore,” quipped Stone who proceeded to say Good Night to both Sterling and Marceau as he wandered out to the empty streets, whistling a faintly familiar tune.

                The next day, Marceau called Stone and inevitably met some animosity. However, Marceau assured him that his announcement was excellent news and to meet him at his office right away. Stone obliged begrudgingly, knowing fully well that this could be the time that they finally get their big break, a case exciting enough to even bother with, something that wasn’t inane or mundane. Something worth bothering to get up in the morning for.
               After getting dressed, grabbing a quick bite and walking down the block to the familiar wooden plaque hanging above his head that boasted his colleagues’ and his name in ornate letters with a white pawn in the background, Stone wistfully walked inside, each step became heavier and with less energy. Then, his least favorite sound in the world buzzed in his pocket, the song “Hell Awaits” customized for his ex-wife and the impending hell that follows. Stone answered in as genial a tone as possible, “Hello Sam. What the hell do you want?”, punctuating hell with an extra bit of faux sweetness.

                “’Coby? Hi, I guess. Anyways, I just want to tell you that I don’t feel comfortable bringing Jake down to you for his special day, away from all of his friends. I would ask you if you’d like to come here, but I feel that would be a little of a buzz kill if you come here with all of my folks down here. I promise you’ll get him double the time next week to make up for it, m’kay?” Stone hung up right there, thinking ‘The nerve of that woman!’, while simultaneously wondering why he would be such a buzz kill? How much of a buzz kill could he be to be denied to see his son’s tenth birthday party? His boiling temper continued to seethe as he approached the door marked “Robert Marceau, Attorney at Law”.

                (Chapter Three)

Chapter Five: So What Now?

“So what now?” asked Sterling, puzzled by Stone’s hazy explanation.

“Well, all we’ve got to do is check out the place and find something, no matter how insignificant it seems, just need to find anything that can prove that I am right.”

“Well that can be a really tall order when you are probably wrong.”

“Now, now, it shouldn’t be too hard to find much. I know medical examiners aren’t exactly adept at finding clues or anything, but I’d appreciate if you would at least back me up here.” Sterling merely nodded, though her disposition appeared more apathetic than Stone had planned.

As they settled into the driveway of Dominguez’s house, Stone couldn’t help but feel the antagonistic atmosphere around him, his instincts telling him the obvious fact that he didn’t belong here. Diving over and dodging the tape, Stone noticed a cheery and undisturbed scene, a glitzy Christmas tree in the corner with several wrapped present scattered around the base of the tree. Treading as lightly as possible and inserting his hands into sterile gloves, Stone and Sterling ventured toward the blood splatter on the wall, when a macabre thought popped into his head that it reminded him of some innocent modern painting at a museum somewhere he wasn’t sure of.

“Okay, let’s start looking,” remarked Stone coolly, with Sterling nodding. Sterling pulled out the pictures to examine the positioning of the bodies, and noticed something that seemed impossible. She beckoned Stone towards the scene.

“OK, notice how the stain is at a downward angle? According to the report, she shot herself and her kid with a .12 gauge shotgun. Now it would be virtually impossible to shoot yourself with a shotgun by lifting it above your head, as it would be much easier to shoot it parallel to the ground or to shoot from below the jaw, which would cause an upward stain.” Stone eked out a half-smirk, extrapolating Sterling’s direction with this theory.

“You know what I noticed? Why would the mother bother to carry her sleeping child all the way to her eventual death scene and kill her there and then shoot herself? That makes no sense at all. If she did kill her own kid, shouldn’t it be in her bed? I mean there was no sign of struggle so the kid clearly was sleeping when she died so why drag her here? Unless if someone shot the mom and killed the kid to make it look like a homicide-suicide when in fact it was a double homicide.”

“Stone, do you think Klein would actually buy that? It seems a little sketchy.”

“Yeah, it’s sketchy, but maybe I’ll persuade him to get a second look at least.”

The next day Sterling and Stone tried to explain the positioning of the bodies and the logistics of the scenario but Klein grew more and more oblivious until it became yelling into deaf ears—useless.

“Listen Chief, it just doesn’t make logical sense. Why would she go through all the trouble?”

“Really, you’re trying to see the logic of a woman killing her child and then herself? Go ahead and question her methods but I can guarantee you no amount of logic will sway me.” The phone rings. “Oh, excuse me for a second. Hello, this is Chief Klein, what is this about? What? Yes, I’ll send the best people I have towards you right now.” Klein then Grabs his jacket and mutters ‘Follow me’ to the pair and lights a cigarette, a trail of wispy smoke as the trail to where he headed to the parking lot. As they each struggled to slide into the cluttered car, Klein gunned as fast as he could, not even hesitating to assess the situation to Stone or Sterling.

As they pulled near a run-down gas station—the questionable type that usually puts watered gas—Stone noticed the throngs of not only squad cars but news vans. Those are never a good sign. When Stone surveys the crime scene, he smells the repulsive, pungent odor of rotten meat. As he drew nearer, what lay before the normally suave and callous detective rattled him beyond belief. As Sterling caught up to him, she couldn’t utter a single syllable, only a stifled sob. A man who had been in his late thirties hung on a rope tied to a cramped bathroom ceiling, with many shotgun holes strewn across his body, with mangled flesh dripping with congealed blood. Behind him sprawled throughout the wall were the words “FOR EM!” in crimson ink produced from the carnage itself, in his own blood.

“Stone, he’s toying with us! He’s toying with us! What do we do?” cried Sterling shaken up and panicking.

“I don’t know. In all my life I’ve met killers face to face, been shot by some, and shot some others. But never have I seen such a sick, twisted motherfucker like this. Never.” Too dazed to even move, Stone had never come across someone, no something, like this. This fucker is actually baiting him, how could he match up to that?

Regaining his composure, Stone clenched his fists and shouted to no one in particular, “If it’s a game you want, then it’s a game you’ve got you fucker!”

(Chapter Six)

Chapter Four: The Job Part Two

“At least I think it is,” said Stone not too reassuringly.   

“Listen I know there is method to your madness, and those unorthodox methods have a high success rate, but you cannot be serious. The only reason I brought you here is because of recent activity before her death. It seemed a little suspicious and I wanted you to investigate it a little bit. That is all, no more making murders up,” groaned Klein, not caring about Stone’s unconventional style.

“Well, I was just examining the writing style of one Miss. Dominguez, and it most certainly is her handwriting. It’s definitely not forged. However, I can tell you that it wasn’t written by a manically depressed person, but by one forced against her will-““Shut u-“”No Chief, let me finish. You see, when a depressed and suicidal person writes a suicide note, they tend to write in a downward slant, use a lethargic vocabulary and tend to be mentally fatigued. For her, it’s almost the opposite. It’s almost as if she’s amped up because someone put a gun to her head, or more likely her daughter’s. Also, if she was this depressed to take her life, she would be exhibiting the characteristics I was talking about earlier with fatigue and lethargic vocabulary, but she doesn’t. It’s not the robotic writing of a depressed person, but the manic expression of one who is being forced to do an unimaginable task against her will.”

“This was a bad idea from the start. Listen here Stone, you’ve been a decent contributor over the years as a consultant, but your shenanigans cannot be tolerated so can you please bring something legitimate to the table instead of these crackpot theories?”

“I can tell someone is a little unappreciative. Tell me then if I am only a decent contributor, when was the last time I was wrong?” Klein opened his mouth, but stammered, chewed and digested the question over and seethed when he realized he could not definitely answer it. Stone always had a knack of doing that, of somehow always being unerring, to the point of infallibility. “Exactly. Now if you want to risk the chance of a murderer roaming the streets of your beloved city, then go ahead and brush my crackpot theory aside. But if you want to consider all the options before hastily marking this suspicious case as suicide without at least further examination, just give me a chance to find something, just one thing that could perhaps change your mind?”

“Fine, you are right. It is our duty to at least make sure this is just a suicide. I’ll give you 24 hours to examine the crime scene, but if you come up empty my hands are tied.”

“That’s all I need,” quipped Stone, halfway out the door, with a healthy jaunt in his step.

(Chapter Five)

Chapter Four: The Job

                “Stone, you are once again late. I almost decided to retract my offer before, but you got here in the nick of time.” remarked a man lounging on a cushy office chair, the typical fat cat in Stone's opinion. 

                “Save your breath and my time Chief, you’re the one that’s wasting my business.”

                “How dare you? If it wasn’t for the Minneapolis Police Department your little shitshack of a company would never get off the ground! Besides, where do half of your cases come from?”

                “Typically from paranoid rich guys that want us to follow their whore wives.”

                “Okay, where does the other half come from?” Stone breathes out a sigh, annoyed by the Chief’s response.

                “You guys.”

                “Yup, so you better make sure that you follow the rules. Anyway, back to the case.” Klein slides a plain vanilla file with the name Emilia Dominguez printed on it. Stone carefully dissects the file, scanning through old pictures of a twenty something mother posing pictures with an assortment of friends and family, including a daughter around the tender age of five. He notices some scraps of poetry that Klein explained the police insisted to obtain to examine psychologically for depression symptoms. He then sees the image of Dominguez’s head scattered across an apartment wall, along with her daughter."Looks to be a standard murder-suicide. I just wanted to call you over to make sure you haven't gone too rusty over the last couple of months. Just need some extra verification that this is a suicide, you know, to extradite the process." casually opined Klein, apathetic and callous to the gruesome scene, accustomed to even the sickest of affairs.

“Well I am flattered that you checked on me to see if I was still sharp, but you told Marceau that this was a biggie, not some boring suicide. When did this happen?” Klein merely pointed towards the date, 12/25/17. Stone then finds the suicide note, written messily and shakily with the stains of tears haphazardly strewn into the blood-smeared paper, and gulped a little when he imagined the same nerve racked fingers that hastily scribbled across the very same page slowly wrapping and squeezing the trigger while clutching the mangled remains of her daughter, imagining her doe-like eyes widen as the grave realization hits her. But as he further glanced at the handwriting on the paper itself and looking at the scraps of poetry, he reverted back to his unflappable smirk. “This might surprise you, but this is not a suicide. It was murder.”
(Part Two)

Chapter 3: That Heartless Bitch

         “That heartless bitch!” yelled Stone after kicking open Marceau’s door, while tossing his trench coat towards a chair.

                “What the hell is the matter with you?” asked Marceau, slightly puzzled but mostly apathetic.

                “I am so glad you didn’t pick my profession. Who do you think that was?” asked Stone, a maverick look across his face. Marceau leaned onto the wall and took a gulp from his precious Wild mug.

“Let me guess, a hooker that doesn't accept checks?” quipped Marceau.

“Ha, very funny. See, this is why I don't share any secrets with you anymore. What is it that you want anyway?” Stone asked.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Captain Klein wanted to see you. He said it was a big case that he wants you to take a look at. I guess you are a hot commodity as a consultant?”

“Why are you surprised? They always call me up for big cases. Anyway, it beats the hell out of the shitty cases we’ve gotten lately.” Stone replied. Marceau just shrugged, while Stone got up and grabbed his ruffled up coat, but as he left for the door, he got pushed into the custodian closet.

“Well, I usually express company policy during work hours but I am willing to make an exception or two.”

“No, not that you sicko. I am here to help out with your son’s birthday slash make sure that you don’t fuck it up!” said Sterling cheeringly.

“Well that’s sweet, but I’d prefer if it would be just me and my son to be honest." Stone had to think of a lie quick, he didn't want to bear the bad news to Sterling. "Besides, I am pretty sure that he hates you… a lot,” said Stone sternly.

“What?”

"Um," Stone mustered as much imagination as he could, which turned out to be more vicious and biting than what he had planned. “Yeah, he affectionately referred to you as that easy bitch on the side that mommy says is trying to take Daddy away from him. And before you ask, I am not kidding.”

“That heartless bitch! Not the kid, your ex." Stone nods in agreement, subtly thinking in retrospect that a little too harsh for Sterling, clearly pained that Stone's son apparently "hates" her. "Okay, fine. So what are you planning to do?”

“Well, I am a millionaire with plenty of dinero for my son to blow it on whatever he fancies for his damn birthday, and he better damn like it!” Stone shouted proudly.

“Ugh, I really feel sorry for that kid.”

“I’m sure he feels the same about you too.”

“I don’t get it, we’ve been together for eight years, but your son still refers me as the bitch on the side.”

“Whoa, sorry but we haven’t been ‘together’ for anytime at all.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You want a strictly sexual connection because you’re not a man enough to love again.”

“Well, sure when you put it that way it makes me look like a jackass. But I’ll say it again, I don’t give a fuck! No need to be doing another debate on this topic. Shit, I’m already late!” As Stone burst open the door, all of the people in the office wore looks of shock and horror as the two stagger out of the utility closet—with the lone exception being Marceau laughing behind his mask of a hand—and Stone casually waves goodbye to Sterling and hustles out as fast as he can, keys in his hand.
(Chapter Four Right Here)

Chapter One: A Rude Awakening

A noise, irritating, nasally, almost shriek-like, distresses a man who merely writhes in his bed. He slams his fist hard on the alarm clock, killing off the noise. Then he hears a somewhat similar whiney tone across the room, which forces him to scramble to it, and he clumsily flails at the phone in a hurried fashion, before the ringer expired. As he finally reaches, he is lambasted by an outraged voice.

                “Stone, where the fuck are you?”

                “Oh, it’s just the Lawyer. I thought I told you that you should only call this damn phone in a life or death situation. Since you clearly sound nice and safe, I’ll continue to take my extended break,” said Stone nonchalantly.

                “It’s noon Stone. Get your ass out of bed, get dressed and get here quick because we’ve got a case that I’m sure you’ll be really interested in.”

                “Five hundred bucks says I’ll be able to solve it in ten minutes.”

A sigh penetrates the silence. “Yeah sure, whatever. If you want to give me free money then that’s your problem. Come by quick, alright?”

                “Ah, don’t worry. I’ll be right over.”

                A man finely attired in a three piece suit, dress shoes and an aura of fine taste is impertinently tapping his shoes, staring at his watch while consoling a crying huddle of grieving family members. A run down, beaten up car pulls up, with Mr. Stone wrapped in a ruffled up and stained trench coat, topped off by a 1950s era fedora. The family members flash a puzzled look, while the Lawyer reluctantly acknowledges him as a colleague.

                “Hello, the name is Detective Jacoby Stone. So what appears to be the issue here?” in a voice as sincere as he could muster. The mourning family turns from flabbergasted to enraged, with the Lawyer face-palming on the side.

                “What is the issue here? My son just fucking died! How the hell is that just an ‘issue’?”

                “Okay, I take it you’re the mom then, right? Well, can somebody please explain to me the full situation here, perchance even get a look at the crime scene or the body? Where’s Sterling anyway? I’d at least want some witness testimonial and some decent pictures of the body.”

                “Time’s a ticking Stone. You better hurry up, or you’ll be down half a grand,” mocked the Lawyer, transfixed on his watch.

                “Why, you wanna double it? I’ve still got like six minutes left.” Before the Lawyer could utter a word, Stone replied,” On second thought, I’ll just do my damn job.” A couple of police officers approach Stone, one scrawny, nervous and twitching, the other portly, callous, and clammy. “So what do we have here?”

                “Yeah Stone, we were the two officers that were pursuing the victim at the time. Me and my buddy heard a complaint from the neighbors about suspicious activity around the area, saw this kid and a few buds messing around and ordered them to vacate the premises. They then withdrew weapons on us and we were forced to use lethal force as self-defense.” Stone scans the two, and is impelled by the agitation of the other officer.

                “So I’m taking that you were the one to kill the kid then right?” implied Stone, pointing at the intimidated policeman.

                “No, I was. I told you, it was for the safety of not only me, but my partner and those around us,” responded the portly officer.

                “Okay, so can I at least see the body and the supposed weapon that he had, then?”

                “No because the guys from the morgue already grabbed and bagged him. But, the medical examiner Ms. Sterling gave us some pictures, and attested that he died the way we are trained to kill, a couple of shots to the head killing him instantly. Textbook. Also, here is the weapon in question found on the person himself.” The officer hands him a bag with a gun, and some grotesque pictures of the young man’s body.

                “I’m sorry, but the way you described the medical cause of death you almost seemed to relish it, as if you enjoyed killing this kid-”

                “Hey, what kind of bullshit are you trying to pull?”

                “Let me finish. Also, this weapon that you claim was found on this person. Are you sure that it is one hundred percent, without a doubt anyone else’s?”

                “Hell’s yeah I am!”

                “Just wondering because this is a police issued Glock 22, in fact I have the very same type. Now it could be possible that he somehow got this needlessly rare piece of weaponry or you shot him in cold blood and you planted this gun to cover your ass!”

                “How would you ever prove that obvious lie?” asked the cop in a quivered, nervous, voice, his eyes shifting, his skin drenched. Stone prowled over to him, a shark sensing the blood of his prey, anticipating the kill. The cop shuddered when Stone sniffed out his scheme so quickly, so effortlessly. How could he have known, was it that obvious?

                “Well, even if you used gloves and made sure that the kid’s fingerprints were on the gun, I am sure you had a bone to pick with this kid that we will find. Also-“ He turns to the scrawny officer, carefully examines him, and a reassuring smirk draws across his face. The same one that doomed his fellow comrade. “Hey, I know this guy probably threatened you really badly, but trust me when he is found out, I am going to personally gun for you and press charges for conspiring to kill and accessory to murder which will mean spending a good chunk of your life in jail. Or if you ‘fess up, I’ll let you go scot free, hell not even a slap in the wrist.” The cop eagerly obliged with a goofy nod, and soon, carrying his former partner into the back of a cruiser.

                “Time’s up and now it’s time to cough up… Oh bloody hell Stone!” remarked the Lawyer, seeing that he was once again defeated.

                “Don’t worry, we still have to get proof and evidence that will be accepted to court and all of that other bullshit, which I am going to let you take over. So, I guess then it is a push. Anyway, I have to go to a special meeting, and when I come back Marceau, you better have all that shit together.” Stone runs off, leaving Marceau to fully explain the situation to a still infuriated mother that only slightly calmed down.

                “Sorry, I am late. Did not mean it in the slightest. The traffic was busy and I had a hard case and”

                “You are not late at all, in fact you actually might be early,” replied Sterling calmly.

                “I thought you said 5:30, and it is half past 6?” Stone then rechecked his watch, clearly puzzled.

                “I know, I actually just lied and actually came here just a few minutes ago.”

                “Whoa, wait. Hold on, what if I actually did arrive on time?” Sterling gives him her trademark glare, one that impeccably surmised her emotions every single time. “OK, good point. That’s actually not a bad idea, but still hurts me on the inside that you apparently don’t trust me being reliable.”

                “Oh yeah, I’m sure it is just eating you up. Besides Jac, you might have several good qualities, but being punctual is not one of them.”

                “Whatever. Did Marceau tell you about the case and how I solved it in like five minutes?” Stone tried to pass it off nonchalantly, but ended up in a bragging tone.

                “Yeah, he called me a few minutes ago after digging up all the facts, and as it turns out the victim was the police guy’s daughter’s boyfriend that cheated off her, and he decided to take some drastic justice and fuck up at least three lives not even counting the kid’s family. Oh yeah, he also mentioned that I should drag you to the courthouse to testify with the Jacksons.”

                “First off, there is no fucking way that I am going to court, because I am not needed. You guys have all of the evidence, motive, creative and dramatic storytelling, charm and charisma in order to book this guy. I mean it should be a slam dunk, and plus I just really fucking hate courts. Secondly, I just don’t give a fuck. And finally, who the hell are the Jacksons?”

                “The Jacksons are our clients, and we kind of need you to represent the Marceau Stone Sterling Law Firm and Private Investigation considering that you are probably the only one of us that’s actually well known.”

                “Oh I’m pretty sure that Marceau can distract and entertain his fellow soul suckers enough for you to not even miss me. Besides, I have got a lot of cases and I can’t shut down the company for one measly case.”

                “Oh that’s so cute. You think you actually have any say in the matter. Fine, if you’re going to act this way, let the grown-ups talk, but at least attend the damn thing.” A waiter comes by and brings in a couple of gigantic platters topped off with fresh lobster, filet mignon and other delicacies.

             “Wow, we’re going all out with lobster too, huh? You are freaking awesome.”

“Oh yeah, and you better make damn sure that you’re not late.”