(“One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do….”)…Three Dog Night…1971

Chapter Seventeen

UCLA, 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 was his story and he was sticking to it, and that was what he'd share around the poker table with his frat brothers later no matter how the night ended. 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 had checked. Dr. Looney, Judy, was late. She had forgotten some notes she said and had run home to pick them up. She said she'd be right back, that was three hours ago? Maybe he'd come on too strong too quickly? That was probably an understatement, given the condition his condition was in (long dry spell). In any event he decided to give her another half hour before he gave up the ghost and resolved to take care of his own business later.
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 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 had 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 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 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 anchovies. It was going to be a Mountain Dew night given all the time he wasted on zooming Dr. Feel-good, oh joy! Reaching the brightly colored soda dispenser he stuffed three quarters into the coin slot and punched the oversized back lit green, yellow, and red button. He listened as the aluminum can ran down the track to the bottom of the machine and landed with a loud thud. It was the last sound he ever heard as the business end of a 38 ounce framing hammer connected with 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 behind the vending machine.

UCLA murder, postscript:

The lab doors shut softly behind me as I silently exited the building with the threads Judy 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 a 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.
Don't rush, savor every delicious moment. They are an amusing pair 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 they seek. Ah but Whitey is smarter than he looks; he'll figure that out, but will it be in time? I haven't decided yet. This is a new experience, the hunter being hunted, I like it.