Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was night. Just a cold, dark night. No stars. No lights reflecting their ominous glow on the black canvas we call the sky. Not a soul was to be seen. Except one: David Catillo. He stalked the streets. He had to. He was a homicide detective. Well, a homicide detective fresh out of graduation, but you had to give him some credit. How could you tell that someone was there?

Well, perhaps the steady breathing or the beat of a heart, that seemed magnified somehow, gave it away. David was given a lead to follow once he got into the precinct, that’s why he was out here, at midnight. He had just left the crime scene. The scene went like this: a female. She was five feet, eleven inches. Dirty blonde hair fell to her shoulders. The girl had lifeless emerald-green eyes, which were circled with purple eye-liner. Lush-looking lips with poison-green lip gloss, and a cute nose. She was a hooker. But why someone would murder a hooker, was as good as anyone’s guess. Her name was Dascha Klinden, and you could find her on the corner of Fifth and Haton Street, somewhere in down town Brooklyn, New York.

The lead that David was now following was one that had come into the precinct many a time, but no one would take it seriously. So David took the initiative, and decided to follow it. The other detectives and even the officers would just laugh at David. Telling him he was just going on a wild goose chase. The lead had come in anonymously. Who ever had called it in, said that Dascha was a regular with Mayor Winden. That alone would not make the Missus happy, that was for sure. There was something that puzzled David at the crime scene, was that there was a note left, on top of Dascha’s body when the police found her. The note read: “Miss Klinden is the first. There will be more like her.”

What in the hell did that mean? Will the killer attack another hooker? Or just kill another woman? David shook his head. Leaning against a local CD store, he sighed heavily. Closing his eyes, David thought to himself. ‘I should be home now, with my wife. It’s our first Christmas together as husband and wife. And here I am. Chasing a lead about the Mayor and his hooker.’ David opened his eyes when he heard a scream. It came from his left, in the alley by the CD store. Pulling out his gun, which was a .44 caliber, he began walking slowly against the wall, toward the alley way. Pleading could be heard. And so could a rough-sounding voice.

“You’re just a slut! A stupid little whore!” The rough-sounding voice screamed at the pleading voice. Silently turning the corner, Dave saw the man that fit the description the witnesses of Dascha’s murder gave. From what Dave could infer, there was about to be another murder, and now he could interfere. The frightened woman whom was being yelled at saw Dave. Dave gave a silent nod, and gave the woman a look that said: “I’m here to save you. Don’t look like you’ve seen me.” The woman blinked once in understanding, and faced the man again. Dave gently pulled back the hammer of the gun, and aimed for the man’s wrist. Dave was shooting to hurt, not kill. Dave focused, and then pulled the trigger of his .44. The bullet hit its mark. The killer yelped both in surprise, and in pain. The gun in the killer’s hand fell to the ground with a clatter, and the frightened woman whispered a quick “thank-you” as she rushed by David, into the night. David just nodded, and then put his full attention onto the killer.

“So, you’re the killer that murdered Dascha Klinden, yes?” David said, as he circled around the killer, never taking his eyes off of him. The killer merely nodded, and nursed his bleeding wrist. The bullet was lodged in the bone, David could tell, because it didn’t go completely through. He quietly congratulated himself on a job well done. If it went through the bone, David would’ve sent the guy to the hospital, and he didn’t want that. David wanted to question the guy first. He wanted to know why this man, who seemed to be a former lawyer minus the rough voice, killed Dascha. So, he asked him. “Why did you kill Dascha Klinden?”

The killer, his name was Freddie Thomas, spoke. His voice was rough. He had the build of a lawyer, but the face of a convict. “I killed her, ‘cause I was paid to. I’m the Mayor’s personal hit man.” This news hit David hard. The fact that Freddie was working for Mayor Winden was absolutely mind blowing.

The boys at the precinct were not going to believe this.