Shoot Your Gun by 22-20s
Detective Michael Nash
Pictures of a gunshot victim, evidences and mug shots littered the bulletin board of Detective Michael Nash. He has been staring at it the whole morning in his damp and cramp office. The itch he always get when he’s about to solve a case has been nagging him. He sighed, lit a cigarette and took a sip from his third coffee of the morning. Nash peeked a glance of his reflection on the computer screen in front of him. He noticed a few graying in his dark brown hair and few new additions of the numerous creases that lined his face. It was bound to happen, He thought, Maybe I should retire after this case but I’ll be bored shitless at home. I need a hobby. Maybe fixing up Charlotte or starting up a garage would set me straight… Ya, little grease between the fingers would do me good…
A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Ya, come in.” Nash invited.
It was the new captain, Simon, six years the younger with a belly that only could mean 36 doughnuts and 12 cans of beer daily for the past decade. The old captain retired two months ago. Nash was offered the position on numerous occasions long before the old man’s retirement but like before, he declined. His official reasons was that he doesn’t have leadership quality and was simply satisfied by serving the people. Actually, he’s just lazy and hates responsibilities besides the one he has now. Their first option uninterested, the department was left with bowling ball belly Simon.
Simon was holding three folders at hand when he walked in and took a seat in front of Nash’s desk and seriously, you can hear the chair creek under his weight. Asides from taking few mental stabs on Simon, he took chance and guess the contents of each folder.
“Le’ me guess, one folder holds the FBI’s offer and you’ll try to convince me – again – to take it up and you’ll fail – again – to convince me.” The FBI has been on his tail after he found crucial evidence against a snuff video ring, sends him an offer annually. The old man knew better than Simon to simply throw it in the trash bin.
“You’ll then move the discussion to a smaller offer, which is to captain this department and I’ll answer with no thank you – again.” Nash wondered why Simon keeps haggling him to take up his job but he doesn’t really care why. He just wants this queue ball to stop asking the same questions.
“You’ll give up and say ‘you caught a case’ and drop the file on my desk then you’ll proceed back to your office. Com’ on Capt, we played this dance many times before. The tune is getting old.” The Bowling Ball Belly simply stared at Nash, silent and expressionless. He probably got some Botox for the road, the detective jested.
Simon began with a light shake of his head: “I don’t understand you Nash. The chief keeps offering you a promotion, the FBI holding you at high regard..... Single, 52 years old yet to move out from his parents’ house,” Simon shook his head again, “You caught a case.” And just like he predicted, the file dropped, the chair creaked and the door closed.
Officer Richard Harmsworth
The crime scene is an alley between two campus buildings, spacious enough for a vehicle but tight enough for a driver to prefer taking the longer rout around. Here Richard watched as the CSI were busying about, taking up prints, photographing evidence or the lack there of. Asides from a small pool of colligating blood, there is nothing that would suggest foul play.
Two forensics were in the middle of lifting the body up to be taken to the lab for further examination. There was a tape outline where the victim used to be. “..... moved here either to attempt to hide the body or hide the the original scene of the crime.” He heard one of them say in passing. He tried to ask them something but Sam, he’s partner, called him out.
“Willy, the detective just arrived and he would like to talk to the first responders. That would be us.”
Sam is a skanky fellow with blonde hair, green eyes and a homely face. He contrasted Richard’s darker hues. His hair being jet black, brown eyes complimented by expressive eyebrows. One can say Richard has a friendly but professional face, which suits him quiet well. He got his nickname during the early days when he joined the force. His classmates deemed him to have a pretty face, so instead of the usual Dick he became known as Willy.
Richard followed his partner out of the alley. There was a crowd of on-lookers gathering. His colleagues were trying to keep them behind the police line and to disperse but that didn’t phased them a bit.
“I heard she was killed by a gunshot wound in the head!”, “No, no, no, according to my friend, her body was found brutally mutilated! There was like blood everywhere”, “Red Rum! Red Rum! Red Rum!”, “Shut up, I want to hear what the officers are saying!”, “Do you think, this’ one of those serial killer kinda cases? I mean Ted Buddy killed college girls right?”, “Ooooh, blood chilling, I wonder if she was stab, shot or smothered to death.”, “Jesus Henry, why would you want to know that?”
The crowd buzzed, the scene was barely an hour old and the rumors are already starting to spread. It’s true when they say, bad news have wings. They were approaching a patrol vehicle where the detective was waiting. He’s an old man and doesn’t look imposing at all. He was irritated by the crowd and flicked his cigarette towards them. One of them cursed but he didn’t paid attention.
“Detective Nash. You’re the first responders?”
“Yes Sir, we were just a couple of blocks away when dispatch radioed in. So the scene is relatively untampered when forensic arrived.” Sam replied.
“Name and Badge numbers?”
“Officer Sam Peter, 6-0-4-75, 6th Unit.”
“Officer Richard Harmsworth, 22-20-5, 6th Unit.”
“Under the guns, huh” The detective commented and scribbled their information on his notepad. ‘Under the guns’ is a reference to Sam and Rick’s unit number. The 6th unit is known to meddle with other department’s jurisdiction. Rick couldn’t blame the detective. The unit’s higher-ups simply enjoy a pissing contest. “Okay, walk me through, you know the drill”, Nash proceeded.
“Yes Sir. Dispatched radioed in at 6:40am. We arrive at the scene at 6:44am and met up with the person in question, a janitor named Herman Reese. As by standard procedure, I checked the victim’s pulse and found none and called it in. We then began securing the scene. I asked my partner to check the vicinity for any possible suspects while I stay behind. There was no one at hand.”
As the detective wrote Richards statement down, he routinely checked his watched. At one point he cursed under his breath. “Good work officer, I would need you and your partner’s assistance. My partner is MIA and the area is too large for me to cover. Grab a pen’n’paper and asked around if they noticed something.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me,” Nash headed towards the crime scene, leaving the two officers perplexed. “We’ll be here the whole day so you better get your ass moving if you want to get home for dinner!”
