monday morning

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING?!?" Sergeant Hong screams as I sit across from him in his office. I just love getting chewed out by him first thing in the morning. "First of all, you should have immediately called for back-up, or an ON duty cop. You were off-duty, inspecting the apartment of an extremely high profile murder. You took the victim's girlfriend and locked her in the bathroom of your apartment for a damn hour, and for what reason? You need follow protocol in these situations. I'm tired of your rogue bullshit. You go against me every chance you get, and I don't stand for insubordination."

"With all due respect, Sir," I emphasize the 'sir' to really get him bothered, as he knows just as well as I do, it's said with as much contempt as respect. "I only did what I thought was in the best interest of the victim's girlfriend. I wanted to investigate and secure the apartment and make sure no one else in the complex would be at risk. I certainly didn't know how high profile my neighbors were."

"That's besides the point," Sergeant Hong says, relenting a little. "That Suraj Sama- Samaran-, oh, however the hell you say that last name, was a tech whiz kid. He'd invented some ridiculous computer software application that was going to make him one of the richest young twenty- somethings in America." It's a shame I think, that kid could really have done great things. Well I can't do shit for him now, other than find the bastard or bastards responsible for painting his MacBook with his own blood.

As I walk out of Sgt. Hong's office, I can't help but wonder what's happened to his girlfriend, Tessa. I really should talk to her now that she's had some time to calm down. See if she has any information. It may not help, but it sure won't hurt.

As I step into dim cafe, I can tell how affected she is. She looks exhausted, which isn't surprising after what happened to her. I introduce myself again and ask her how she's feeling. "I'm feeling alright," she replies. "Can I get you anything to drink or eat?" I ask nicely. "No, I still really don't feel very well." "Can you tell me anything at all about what might have been going on that could have led to what has happened? Take your time, you don't need to answer if don't feel comfortable."

"No, it's Ok. Suraj would want me to tell you everything."

"What do you mean by 'everything'?" I wearily ask her.

"It's a long story, but here goes," she replied slowly.

"It all started last summer, back when Suraj had to borrow some money for his new software. He had successfully got his new company up and running. He was seeing fantastic results. Each months he had over a million new hits, with almost half of them downloading and using his software. It wasn't long before people came sniffing around offering to buy his website. There were even a few times where some of the people got pretty aggressive over the phone."

"Can you explain more about that? What did they do? Say? Were you or he familiar with any of these people? I asked with the hope that maybe, just maybe I'd be able to get a solid lead I could follow.

"I don't really know who they were. I saw on the caller ID one day that it said that Stanford University was calling. Another day, University of Washington called. That wasn't as surprising as Suraj worked with U of W on certain occasions, offering professional opinions, he even consulted on one or two jobs there."

"I'm going to have to have his records for those jobs as well as any contacts he regularily worked with there."

"Okay," she quickly answers. "Should I continue?"

I quickly nod and let her know I'm ready to continue.

"Well after the Stanford call, things started getting a little crazy. One morning his windshield was cracked. We'd get calls from restricted phones on the apartment phone and his cell phone. I urged him to sell, he could always make something else. He never wanted to, he had such huge plans for his software. He wanted to do something big, something like Microsoft or Oracle or something, I don't know."

Turns out all he got was a bullet in the head.

All of the sudden, the windows of the tiny cafe shatter. My ears are ringing, but I immediately dive across the table and shield Tessa. I can feel the heat of the fireball. All I can hear are people screaming, running. It turns out that today we were lucky there's a Starbuck's on every corner. Apparently, whoever was gunning for her thought we'd be there. Luckily, I called 5 minutes before our rendezvous and told her to slip out the side door and meet me at the Tully's Coffee across the street.

the beginning

"Professor Bart Snapp sends his regards." Thwap. Thwap.

The two silenced shots that you never saw coming have lodged themselves deep into your skull. Grotesquely, your head slams down on your MacBook Pro with no regard to how expensive that pricetag really was. Slowly, your blood seeps out of the two holes in the back of your head like a faucet on a very low, steady flow.
"A fitting end to a Snapptastic day," your assassin chuckles grimly to himself. "Snapp will be delighted I've taken care of Mr. Samaranayake. And two days ahead of schedule. I think I deserve a smoothie."

"Sounds like they're going at it again. It never ends," I think to myself as I look at the clock. It reads 8:56pm. Damn, I must have passed out after I came upstairs from my work out. The screams from that girl next door sound a little different than they normally do, a little more hysterical.

Whack!...Whack!...Whack! It sounds like door is about to come down. I run over to it only to see the guy's girlfriend from next door. I met her once or twice; I think her name is Tessa or Tera or something.

Though the lights from the hallway have played tricks on my eyes before, there's no mistaking what I see before me; a hysterical women covered in blood. She has a frantic, yet empty gaze. It's as though she she can only half-comprehend what is happening. I quickly try to piece things together as I open the door.

"What's going on? What's with the blood?," I ask, only to have screams intermixed with sobs, thrown back at me. This is bad, I think, really, really bad. I take a quick look around and i tell her to come in and sit down. I decide to put her in the bathroom; it'll be easier to clean her up later on. She's in no state to speak, let alone tell me what has happened over in Apartment 308. All she can do is shake and scream. Quickly, I run over to my dresser, reach in the bottom drawer, and pull out my 9mm. "Damn, I wish I had my .45," I think. "This could get very, very messy."

After I lock her in the bathroom to make sure she doesn't haphazardly run away, I slowly close my door and open the door to 308. It doesn't take long for my eyes to get adjusted to the dark. The new-age digital clock in the corner tells me it's 9:11pm. Looking out the windows, I can see the moonlight shining brightly on the Space Needle. The "pride and joy of Seattle," bah, I never liked it much anyway. It's just a tourist trap in a rainy, demure city that doesn't have anything but coffee and fish. I can smell the salt of the sound as I make my way slowly into the living room. Because it's early summer, there are plenty of muffled conversations that have made their way up from the streets below. As I take a quick scan of the neat and orderly living room and office area, I can tell something's wrong.

I can see something glistening in the moonlight underneath the desk on the far side of the room. It's dark, pitch black, yet it's shining. It looks a lot like an oil slick, unfortunately, I know it's blood. With my handgun cocked and ready, I turn on a light. Just as I suspected. The boyfriend, dead. And just as I suspected, two shots.

I can't be sure about anything in this world; not with what's been going on lately. This is the 3rd victim, two shots in the head. One dead center, the other random. Sometimes above it. Sometimes below, always at a different angle. On top of it, there's always a cut, underneath the right ear. I don't know what to make of it, not yet anyway. It looks like it could be a calling card of sorts.

These murders certainly aren't the work of a serial killer. I've had my fair share of experience with those sick bastards. They always take a trophy, or leave one. These kills look like the work of a trained assassin, a true killer. Because Sergeant Hong has a bug up his ass, he won't listen the facts or look at the evidence. He hasn't ruled out a serial killer; therefore, that's our number one priority. We'll never catch a trained assassin looking for a God damn serial killer, that's for sure. We'll see what he has to say about this kill.

The only thing I do know for sure is this poor bastard didn't know what was happening until it was too late, way too late.