It had finally gone to the point where her temptation to make that phone call proved to be too much. Most of the jobs of a Captain are administrative, but she had assigned someone to handle all the paperwork so she could do the one thing she wanted- be in the field. She was desperately combing through whatever evidence they had, but could not get anything beyond the make and model of the gun. The phone started ringing again. ‘Was the bullet used from an unregistered gun?’ ‘Yes. What does that mean?’ ‘The victims were all college students, right?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘They were part of this new secret escort service for rich ladies. These kids get huge sums of money to help them live out their most debauched fantasies. Debauched and sometimes violent. Word is that they were hired by a very important woman. Her husband arranged this in a moment of rage when he found out.’ ‘Wait, this woman had sex with all three of those guys?’ ‘Yes, as it turns out, she wanted something ‘different’. The agency. By 3:30, my truck was loaded, I got in, and started the ancient Mercedes-Benz diesel engine. I grabbed the shift-lever angrily, and slammed it into first, dropped the clutch, and belched out of there.By 4:00, this being my closest market, I was pulling through the gates of our yard, and I noticed that fucking yellow Mustang that was sometimes parked across from the house when I got home. I road on our driveway specifically reinforced to handle this trucks heavy weights, pulled past the house, swung wide in the court, pushed a button to open the warehouse door, shut off that damned back-up beeper, and backed the truck in, gently whacking the loading dock with a light thud.I got out of the truck, and walked through the warehouse door and down the brick path to my house. My wife had one of those bullshit Lexus LS460 things. It wasn't a new bullshit, mind you- it was one of those 2009 bullshits. I don't know why she bought it. How anyone can buy anything but a Benz after owning one.
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