VIII. Realtime Obituary

The Findhorn residence was a corner lot in the suburbs. At fifteen minutes to nine, the detective's car pulled into the drive next to a luxury car he didn't recognise. He didn't notice the two men standing on the opposite street corner.

One was a tall fortysomething with long, graying hair, smoking absent-mindedly. The other looked to be in his early sixties, short and broad with bushy hair and eyebrows of pure white. His large blue eyes swept up and down the street as he spoke.

"So you got the blood back?"

"Mm-hm." The tall man muttered as he took a drag. "I gave it to the boss, then came straight here."

"So you just left him unconscious?"

"Well, I left a note on his chest. It said, 'Remember to use any bargaining chip wisely. I'll explain everything the next time we meet,' then signed it 'Briggs.'"

"You told him your name was Briggs? I was expecting something a tad more creative from you, Darrus!"

"Creativity's your job. I'm just a problem solver, remember?"

"Is that him now?"

The tall one looked up. "Yeah, that's him. Damn, he should've followed my advice. Oh well--his loss." He turned to face the short one. "I'll tell you what's going on, then you tell me what the story that gets out is going to be, okay Nigel?"

"Just as we planned." said the short one.

The pair watched Findhorn's gaze sweep over the luxury car in his driveway.

"He's checking out the car." said the tall one. "He looks puzzled."

"The Detective surveyed the unfamiliar vehicle." said the short one. "Whose was this?"

Findhorn went to the door, found it locked, unlocked it and went inside. The house was dark.

"He's inside. The door was locked and the lights are off."

"The way had been barred; the Detective unlocked the door and entered his darkened home."

Findhorn unholstered his pistol and called out his wife's name.

"He pulled his gun and called to his wife."

"The house looked abandoned. His fear mounting, the Detective drew his weapon--a 9mm sidearm--and cautiously called Maggie's name."

Findhorn heard the floorboards above his head squeak and moved towards the stairs.

"He heard something on the second floor; he's going to investigate."

"Suddenly, he heard something above him. Fearing the worst, he mounted the stairs, heading for the bedroom he and Maggie shared. The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he rose."

The tall one rolled his eyes.

Findhorn reached the bedroom. The doorwas open a crack and he could hear breathing inside.

"He's at the door. He hears her and someone else."

"Coming close to the door, he heard Maggie breathing--and also another. Who was he--and what had he done to the Detective's wife?"

Findhorn pushed the door open and entered the room. A candle on the nightstand showed him everything.

"He's taking it in."

"No...not Maggie. It couldn't be. How could he let this happen?"

The tall one turned and faced his companion. "You don't have to sound so excited about it, you know."

"Just go on." pressed the short one.

Two flashes of light were visible in a second story window, each accompanied by a muffled boom.

A resigned smile spread over the tall one's face, as if he didn't approve of what was occurring but enjoyed it despite himself. "Two left."

The lights in the window came on. For a moment, the fuzzy silouette of a woman appeared, several feet from the closed curtain. With another burst of light and sound, she was gone. Something liquid splashed against the curtain.

"One left."

"Maggie was dead...he couldn't save her." continued the short one. "He resigned himself that he would never let this happen again."

There was one more boom.

"The final blast was brief; the silence lingered." said the tall one.

"Ooo, I like it. That's how I'll end it." said the short one, clapping his hands together. "You see, Darrus, that's the sort of high-calibre thinking I expect from you."

"That's not the end, you know." said the tall one, flicking his cigarette away and lighting another.

"It's all anyone around here will need to know."

"True enough. Go tell the neighbors you heard a fight and some gunfire. Be sure to sound frantic."

"Don't worry, I've done this a thousand times before. What about you?"

"I'm heading back. It's likely we'll have a new friend before sunup, if you get what I mean. I've got a promise to keep."

"Right then. Until next time, Darrus."

"Goodnight, Nigel."