12:00 A.M.
The late Countess Cucamonga’s dressing room had become a full fledged crime scene. FBI Agent Sharon Walker supervised as an army of forensic technicians worked the scene, placing every blood soaked item into individual evidence bags. She was a tall woman in her late thirties. Her long black hair was pulled back behind her head in a ponytail and a pair of sunglasses sat on top of her forehead. Much like her black pantsuit, her demeanor was all business.
“Bag and tag everything, people,” Sharon said. “And God help you if I see those butt implants being sold on the Internet.”
Sharon’s partner, Gordon Bishop, was a snappy dresser. He wore a dark suit with white pinstripes, suspenders, and a wide white tie. A red pocket square poked ever so slightly out of his breast pocket.
“What do you suppose could have done this?” Gordon asked.
“I don’t know,” Sharon said. “Chainsaw? Wood chipper?”
“I suppose,” Gordon said.
“What else could liquify a human body within seconds and leave it sprayed all over the walls?” Sharon asked.
“So I’m a world famous pop star with a fat ass,” Gordon said.
“The fat ass part is the only believable portion of that statement,” Sharon replied.
“Shut up, bitch,” Gordon said. “You know I work out more than you do. So anyway, I’m a world famous pop star with a fat ass. I just did a big show. I say good night to my manager and my security guards. I come inside my dressing room. I enter my bathroom to take a shit and what, some psycho with a chainsaw is waiting for me?”
“Or a wood chipper,” Sharon said.
“OK,” Gordon said. “Assume for the sake of argument that some whacko was able to sneak a chainsaw or a wood chipper or some other kind of large cutting device into the building and get past all of the security and end up lying in wait in Countess Cucamonga’s dressing room and he slices and dices her, what happens next?”
“Both guards made it clear in their statements that the second they heard the Countess scream, they ran into the room and found the bathroom in the horrendous state it is in now,” Sharon said.
“Right,” Gordon said. “Which begs the question, ‘How did the perp get away?’”
“It’s like he vanished into thin air,” Sharon said.
“With his giant cutting device as well?” Gordon said. “Something doesn’t add up.”
Sharon poked her head into the bathroom, where a technician was taking photographs of all the blood and guts stuck to the walls. “A lot of things don’t add up.”
“Why would the suspect bust up the toilet?” Gordon asked. “Why would he break the water pipe?”
Sharon sighed. “It’s like every question generates a new question…and the answers never come.”
Gordon’s ringtone blared. “Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”
“Hello?” Gordon asked as he raised the phone to his ear. “Uh huh…”
Gordon looked to his partner and raised his pointer finger up in the air as if to say, “one minute.” He then stepped out into the hallway.
Irving, Countess Cucamonga’s manager, sat on a couch, crying with his head in his hands. Sharon took a seat next to him.
“I’ve answered all your questions!” Irving snapped.
“I know,” Sharon said.
Irving wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Sharon said.
“Good,” Irving said.
Sharon ran her left hand along the soft, velvety couch arm. “Although in my experience, people with something to hide usually don’t blurt out, ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’”
“I didn’t do it,” Irving said. “Why would I? The woman was making me a fortune. She was my cash cow, my meal ticket, my, my…”
“Relax,” Sharon said. “I don’t think you did it.”
“Thank God,” Irving said. “I wouldn’t last a day in prison.”
“What I would like to know…”
Irving interrupted his inquisitor. “Seriously, they’d pass me around the yard like a doobie and do all manner of unspeakable things to my butt hole.”
“Your butt hole is safe,” Sharon said. “Now, what I would like to know, is who do you think did it?”
Irving sat back and stared at the ceiling. “Who do I think did it?”
“Any suspects come to mind?” Sharon asked. “A jealous ex-boyfriend? An ex-employee with a grudge? A psycho fan, a…”
Irving snapped his fingers. “A psycho fan.”
“She had one?” Sharon asked.
“Tons of them,” Irving said. “Literally every man in the world was in love with her enormous behind.”
“I’m aware,” Sharon said. “I have a TV.”
“Thousands of letters pour in everyday, weirdo perverts ranting and raving about all the terrible things they want to do to her butt,” Irving said.
“The price of fame,” Sharon said.
“Yeah,” Irving said. “But there’s this one guy. Freddie Milton.”
“What about him?” Sharon asked.
“Insane stalker,” Irving said. “Sent her videos of himself naked, cutting himself, saying he wanted to crawl up inside her giant ass and live inside it forever.”
“Ugh,” Sharon said.
“She had a restraining order against him,” Irving said. “Last year, she came home and found him lying on her bed, wearing her clothes, two giant soccer balls stuffed down the back of his underpants. Told her he wanted to be with her while he was dressed like her.”
“What happened?” Sharon asked.
“Security goons beat the shit out of him,” Irving said. “Drove him out to the desert and threw him out of the car. Judge ordered him to stay a thousand yards away at all times. She never heard from him again.”
Sharon pulled a small notebook out of her pocket and jotted Freddie Milton’s name, as well as some of the details Irving had shared.
“I’ll definitely be passing this along to Miami PD,” Sharon said.
“Miami PD?” Irving asked. “But the Countess deserves the best!”
“Honestly, sir,” Sharon said. “We came at the request of Miami PD to back them up as this is a high profile celebrity case but ultimately, this is Miami’s jurisdiction here.”
Irving pointed towards the bathroom. “I know a lot of people wrote her off as just another flighty diva, but she was an angel, I tell you.”
“I’m sure she was quite special,” Sharon said.
“She was literally on the verge of saving the world with her exquisite ass!” Irving said.
“I’m sure she was,” Sharon said.
Gordon appeared in the doorway and motioned for Sharon to join him. As soon as Sharon entered the hallway, Gordon started walking. Sharon followed.
“Where are we going?” Sharon asked.
“You’re never going to believe this,” Gordon said.
“Try me,” Sharon said.
“Two more murders,” Gordon said. “One at a nursing home in Boca Raton. One at a community college.”
“Holy shit,” Sharon said.
“Same circumstances,” Gordon added.
“Same circumstances?” Sharon asked.
“Victims killed on the toilet,” Gordon said. “Their bodies eviscerated, nothing but blood and guts on the walls remaining. Toilets and water pipes broken.”
“A serial killer?” Sharon asked.
“Or a serial killing cult,” Gordon answered.
“Holy shit,” Sharon said. “The FBI has jurisdiction then.”
“Damn right we do,” Gordon said. “Special Agent in Charge Baker says we’re on this mess for the duration.”
Sharon pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and popped a smoke into her mouth. She then pulled out her lighter and lit the cigarette.
“Guess I’ll be putting off my plan to quit smoking until next month,” Sharon said.
The duo reached an elevator. Gordon pushed the call button.
“Do what you want,” Gordon said. “But can I give you some free advice?”
“Would it matter if I said no?” Sharon asked.
“No,” Gordon said.
Ding! The elevator doors opened. The duo entered. Gordon pushed the button for the lobby.
“If you wait for your life to get easy before you fix it, then your life will never get any easier,” Gordon said.
“That was exceptionally profound, Gordo,” Sharon said. “You pull that out of a fortune cookie or something?”
Gordon shook his head. “Read a book, bitch. Read a book.”
Ding! The elevator doors opened. Sharon and Gordon made their way into the lobby, through a sea of unruly fans and out of control paparazzi. Their camera flashes were blinding. Sharon dropped her sunglasses over her eyes.
“Where’s the community college?”
“Sitwell,” Gordon replied.
Sharon’s face turned red. “Son of a bitch.”
“Something wrong?” Gordon asked.
Sharon went into a trance for a few moments, then snapped out of it. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started dialing. “No. I just need to get a pervert arrested.”
Bookshelf Battle 