Adrian Moss Posted December 31, 2011 Share Posted December 31, 2011 Paul Krintzki was dead. It was neither surprising, or alarming. Paul had not been a popular guy. He had been a low-down, swindling, dirty, lying scumbag of a human being. He was the kind of Private Investigator that gave the entire profession a bad name. He had been to engrossed in a baseball game going into extra innings to attend his own Son's funeral. He got paid in cash so he didn't have to pay his wife alimony (or taxes). It was widely suspected that he had a hand in the death of two of his 'clients' who he blackmailed until they committed suicide. What was surprising was how much care and brutality had led up to his death. There were pieces of him found a half mile from the main crime scene. His gun was missing, but the police determined that he had fired it. They had to test his palm and sleeve because they couldn't find (initially) any of the fingers on his right hand. The scariest part of all, though, was that Paul hadn't died of any of his numerous wounds. Paul had died of fright. He had a massive coronary, brought on by decades of chili dogs, greasy fries, booze, and bad coffee. What had finally kicked him over the cliff though was the terror that had him running the last mile of his life. Someone joked that they didn't know he could run that fast. The response was that no one knew he could run at all. Yes, he was unloved. The two detectives who drew the case groaned over the graveside humor. They groaned inwardly as well. Paul had way too many enemies. He was an easy guy to hate. That made the list of possible suspects in the hundreds. Their key limiting factor was that whomever had run Paul to death was that they ... hell, there were no limiting factors. The attacker, or attackers, could have had a gun. It was likely that they probably had an instrument of terror - maybe a blowtorch the guessed. When the beat cops finally found what seemed to be the crime scene, the detectives moved in to investigate. The site was a loft apartment that was unoccupied, though it looked like more than one person had inhabited the place. It was cramped quarters. There was Krintzki's gun, empty. They found the seven bullet holes brought about by Paul most likely emptying his gun - a seven round clip without one up the barrel. No doubt Krintzki feared blowing off his dick. What he had shot at, they didn't know. CSI was looking over the site, but suspected that none of the bullets had passed through a living body. The cops had to think about that one. Seven shots at someone who couldn't have been more than twenty feet away. Was he really that bad a shot? Had he been drunk? What the hell had he been shooting at? One thing was for sure, the shots had been clustered by the mattress near the window. It look like two people had lived, or still lived, there. Had they been involved. Well, hopefully some DNA evidence, or fingerprints, would give them a suspect. Until then, they might as well take a look at the bastard's office and see who he had been working for. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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