For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc
UCLA, Saturday, Feb 21, 2009…around midnight…
Ernie Namura was feeling pretty lucky tonight, so lucky in fact that he could hardly suppress the shit eating grin that wanted to spread across his face. This might be the end to a long dry spell he hoped. He wasn't exactly Don Juan, but the Prof seemed to be responding to his subtle advances. At least that would be his story, the one that he planned to share around the poker table with his frat brothers, score or no score. Besides, you never know, maybe she really was warm for his form, it could happen. Glancing at his Timex he checked the time again. It was ten minutes later than the last time he'd checked. Dr. Looney, Judy, was officially late. She said that she'd forgotten some notes and had run back home to pick them up. She said she'd be right back, but that was three hours ago. Maybe he'd come on too strong? That was probably an understatement, given the condition of the condition he was in. In any event he decided to give her another half hour before giving up and taking care of his personal business personally.
The horn dog lab tech stepped over to the SEM and removed the samples that Dr. Looney had been evaluating. They didn't look very sexy, just a few blue threads with various contaminants associated with wherever they had come from. You never know what sort of smegma, sap, or spooge that clothing gets dragged over, under, or through in the course of a day. Ernie decided not to take any chances and transferred the glass slide to an airtight container then set it on the lab bench for Judy to collect when she returned, if she returned that is. That's when he remembered that she had taken the test results with her when she left, which meant she was likely in analysis mode by now, which also meant she wouldn't be back anytime soon. Ernie sighed audibly, realizing that he'd been had. Typical he thought, women, can't live with em, can't shoot em!
"Why am I always getting played," he muttered, wondering aloud?
No use wasting time pondering that question, it was as old as the ages and completely unanswerable. Might as well ask why ducks quack, why, because they're ducks stupid! Ernie grabbed a cold slice from the pizza box and fished in his pocket for some change for the vending machine out in the hall. He and Judy had finished the beer hours ago and he needed something to wash down the meat lover's special with extra anchovies. Looked like it was going to be a Mountain Dew night now, given all the time he wasted zooming on Dr. Feel-Good, oh joy! Arriving at the brightly colored soda dispenser he stuffed three quarters into the coin slot and punched the familiar oversized back lit green, yellow, and red button of his beverage of choice, and listened to the aluminum can run down the track to the bottom of the bulky machine, landing with a loud thud.
It was the last sound he ever heard as the business end of a 38 ounce framing hammer connected with the soft fissure that separated his skull into left and right hemispheres. His head imploded like a smashed pumpkin and Ernie Namura was dead before he hit the ground. The death process began quickly, his bowels releasing, his blood cooling and coagulating, no longer running through his veins and arteries, while his eyes stared lifelessly at the baseboard that ran along the wall behind the vending machine.
UCLA murder, postscript by an artist…of sorts:
The lab doors shut softly behind me as I silently exited the building with the threads Dr. Looney had carelessly left behind. The cops were already on the way, called from Ernie's own cell phone, a little stroke of genius that would send them down a few blind alleys. The CSI team wouldn't be far behind, but they would find nothing useful, they never do. Another work of art if you ask me. Satisfying this blood lust requires perfection; it is something that I deliver routinely. Too bad Dr. Looney was a no show; I had something special in mind for her tonight. Pity that one cannot plan for every contingency, the world is rife with random elements. Not to worry though, her time was coming soon. I hope she isn't wasting her last moments with that rube of a private eye, but I suspect she is. Oh well, no accounting for taste. Whitey's time is coming as well.
Never rush, savor every delicious moment. They are an amusing pair though, are they not? I think so. I am curious what they will do with what they know so far, or what they think they know. The threads will only lead them away from the truth that they seek. Ah but Whitey is smarter than he looks; he'll figure that out, but will it be in time? Will I give him time? I haven't decided yet. This is a new experience, the hunter being hunted, I like it.