[My Detective Story]

A cold breeze blows around my neck, and crawls down my back. I shiver. With my shaking hands I manage to light up a cigarette, unfiltered. It takes my shaky hands three attempts to get it lit. I put the smokes and the zippo back in my coat, and then I stick my hands in my pockets. I suck in through my shivering lips and blow the smoke out of my nose. All I hear are my footsteps. The street is empty this time of night, and I'm the only soul on it.

Click Clack. Click Clack. My shoes amd breath are the only sounds I hear beside the ambient winds and distant sounds of the city. As I walk under a street light I feel ten feet tall, my monsterous shadow dragging behind me. Just I get beneath the night- Zzzzrrrtttt!! All is black, even this city knows what I've done. They lie in the movies; murder does really change people. In tonight's case, two and several more by the time they find him, lying in bed full of painkillers with an empty bottle of wine in his hand.

I walk over a sewar hole and I can hear the water fall and splash against the bottom. I listen to it echo through the hollow tunnels and I become colder. I take my right hand out and with it I throw my dwindling butt in front of me. By the time I snuff it out with my click clacking shoes I've already lit another one up.

I see head lights in the distance coming my way. I continue to walk normally, but who really walks these streets at this hour?

I'll tell you. Me. A killer. That's who.

This damn driver's got his highs on and is blinding me. I look down, its too damn cold to cover my eyes with my arm. And as the car passes me I feel as though the driver was staring me. I always feel that way, but more than normal on a night like tonight. Tonight is like a black shadow, those nights that are highlighted for the rest of your life. Tonight is the living nightmare, that slow fear that builds in the bottom of your stomach and makes its way up to your throat. Yeah, tonight's a night I already regret.

I make a right into the park, down the big knoll. My shoes and the bottom of my pants are getting wet and grassy, great. As I make my way through the winds cackle through the trees. Their shrill laughs chill me like a martini, and I quicken my pace. The trees dance their evil witchcraft all around me. I go through four cigarettes in the whole three hundred feet that make up this park.

At last I reach my car, my hands are shaking too much for me to even open the door, I get it at last and sit inside the cold interior. I sit there for a minute and after just staring off into the distance of my fogged windows, I start up the engine. I can't feel the warm air. But even still I drive home.

She's sitting there in my office, on my nice leather chair. That's 356 dollars of brown leather she's sitting on. She has her legs crossed at the ankles, her black leather shoes on my desk. Slim black and white pin striped pants, matching suit jacket, and a black laced corset. I'm destracted by her tits; practically pouring out of her corset, just for a second, and almost as instantly, my gaze is diverted by a shinny rose locket she's wearing around her neck.

The light from the street lamp outside floods through the blinds and draws itself on her in a set of diagonal pin strips. The intersections look like crosses. The light catches on her locket and the glare makes me squint. She moves and her tits jiggle like jello. She gets up and introduces herself.

"My name is Alice. Alice Carpenter." She holds her hand out to shake my own. I look down at it moving just my eyes, then I pull both hands out of my jacket pockets and light a cigarette. With my left hand I hold it, and my right lights it. My eyes are fixed on the orange ember, the cherry, and its ash footprints trailing behind it. I walk around my desk, giving her the hint to move-she gets it. I sink into my leather chair and exhale. Then after I inhale again, I introduce myself.

"Hello, Ms. Carpenter. I'm Jack Ace at your service." What a name, right?

"Its Mrs. Carpenter." She says sitting in the brown wooden chair my secretary picked up from an ex she once had.

"Okay, Mrs. Carpenter, what can I do for you?" I ask.

She sits there, sizing me up. Then I see tears slightly start to form in the inner portion of her eye, near her nose. She clears her throat.

"Mr. Ace." She says biting her lip. "My best friend was murdered." I lean over the desk with my arm outstretched. In my hand is my pack of smokes, on of the little bastards is a quarter of the way out, just waiting for her to grab him. She moves forward slightly, then pauses. She looks me in the eye. Then she continues and granes the little bastard. And I switch hands. Now I have my lighter in my hand, outstretched to her. With the cigarette in between her big juicy lips, she leans towards the orange flame. The tip touches the flame and she breathes in, her eyes roll into the back of her head as she closes her eyes and leans backward.

"I'm very sorry to hear that." I say to her, sitting in my leather chair. "But death is a normal thing. I hate to say it, but so is murder. Homicide is more frequent in this town than a nice day." Its true you know, its been raining for three months straight. There's been a lot of destruction caused by it, but I'll tell you this; it does wonders for the ozone layer.

"So did you want me to investigate the murder? Investigate the possible murders? The sky's the limit here." She looks back at me, the cigarette almost gone. She stands up, and tosses a bar napkin onto my desk. Then she walks out and slams the door on her way out. I pick the napkin up and examine it. With my eyes. Its a ruff white, yellow stains spot it. Written in red ink there are words. In english. "The Shell Beach Club. 11:30" I toss it outward, look up at the ceiling, I do not have a good feeling about this. I tap the button to the intercom,

"Marcy," I say to my secretary, "Go have yourself a nice night." Silence.

"But Jack," She says back, her voice filtered in static. "Its only seven thirty." "I know, you go on and have yourself a good night, I'll close down shop." And a few minutes later, I hear her knowck on my door, saying goodnight, and the front door close. I recline, and relax, and I muse about later this evening.

You know, its true what they say, time does seem to slow down while you're looking down the barrel of a gun. But not in the way 'The Matrix' portrays it, there's no special effects. Your heart races and your veins turn electric with adrenaline. If I weren't already sweating I know I would be now. And because your heart is racing, your breath becomes short and fast.

You'd think your last couple of seconds of life would be memorable. I mean, no one wants to be the guy who died taking a shit at Starbucks. I always imagined dying in some kind of iconic way; like that old guy who died of a heart attack when he had an orgasim. Yeah, his hot model wife didn't know what to do, I mean he was still hard and smiling, it was just that whole 'breathing' and 'being alive' thing he was lacking.

Oh, did I mention your thoughts become erratic when you're looking down the barrel of a gun? Well, they do. I digress. I'm lying on my back, the shit kicked out of me thrown all over this back alleyway. This big buff muscle head is waving a gun around my face and he says,

"The boss said you were snooping around." He digs in his left pant pocket. "And that you used our method to get rid of a body." He pulls out a handful of bullets; I'm not a gun guy-hate the things- I've never even held a gun before, and he puts them into that spinning thing. I think its called a chamber. " Now the boss said to have some fun with you."

"Like our little dance just now?" I'm obviously referring to him beating the shit out of me, and me being a smartass.

"No, even more funner than that." He says, I'm guessing his name is Bubba or some biblical name, they're all stupid down south.

"Yeah, like how?" I ask not wanting to know the answer.

"Let's play Russian Roulette." He says with a big smile. Great, I have a 17% chance of dying right now, depending on if he only shoots once. "Only this time we play by my rules; I'll leave once I fire a blank and this will be your warning." Okay, I have a one is six chance of dying and the rest will just be a splat to the wrist, I'm more than okay with that. " So we're clear," Elijah says. " Five bullets in, one out."

"What?" All the blood just rushed out of my face, I'm as white as a ghost. Noah looks at me and smiles, he lifts the gun and points it at me. I take a deep breath. I'm standing over a cadaver, some young female; probably sixteen, max. She dressed up for a night club; black stiletto platforms, long torn leggings, a small plaid mini skirt, and some white button up school girl top. Her hair in pig tails.
"Typical rap victim." Josh tells me, my friend. He's the mortician, and an old high school friend of mine. He walks around the table to examine the body from a different angle. "Contusions around the jaw line suggest she was forcefully held by the neck, and these penetration wounds suggest she was killed by a knife of some kind, none were found at the scene of the crime." He unbuttons her shirt. "You see here, ecchymosis resulting from contusions." That's just fancy talk for 'bruises from being hit' basically. Then he removes her skirt, there's a blood puddle in between her legs, I turn away. "Oh, sorry Jack." He says as he puts her torn clothes aside. "The victim appears to have been a virgin before the assualt." He walks around, I can't tell what he's doing exactly, I'm too busy looking at the floor and imagining pretty things, like fancy cars and flowers.
"So, Josh. All these 'suicides' piling up lately, can you tell me anything about them?"
"Mhm." He says, I turn around. This jackass is eating a sandwhich with one hand and 'disecting' this little girl with the other, I nearly vomit. He swallows his mouthful of food and says, " They all have the same incision across the back." He sets down his sandwhich and walks over to me, with a glass of water. "I'm telling you this next part because I still haven't forgotten how you got me that date for prom our senior year," He whistles. "that was one piece of ass, let me tell you." I take a drink of the water. Its stale and warm, I'm wondering if maybe there're any formaldehyde remnants left floating around in the glass.

"These cuts are the calling card of 'The Night'," He says with a grin the size of canada on his demented face. "You know, that gang that's been terrorizing our city." The Night? What a stupid name for a gang.
"The Night? What a stupid name for a gang." I say.
"Yeah, I know." Josh says with a chuckle. "Why'd you wanna know, got some kind of plan?" I turn to him and smile.
"Yeah, something like that."
I drive up in my piece of shit, hunk of junk, phase two, car. Its a Moskvitch 408 I got for $115.00 at an auction. It putt putts its way up the driveway before whinning to a hault. I open the door with a slam of my whole body; it flies open and bounces back. But I'm too quick for it. I hop out the car and stumble to my feet.
"Not today door!" I scream while pointing at it. "Not today!" The door slams shut with a long annoying creak, my whole car rocks side to side when it hits. A hub cap falls off and spins in circles on the driveway. I'll pick it up when I leave. I walk up to the door; 1022 Wall blvd, and I ring the door bell.
-Sir Jestro