'Nothing suffocates you more the passing of everyday human events,
Isolation is the oxygen mask your making your children breath into to survive.'
The song blared out of the stereo at full blast. The dirty glasses on the table were vibrating with the bass of the song. Anyone looking around the apartment would think that it had been abandoned along time go. Dirty dishes sitting discarded on the sides, old newspapers scattered around. Empty cans, and rubbish just tossed around with disregard.
The walls were stained a nicotine yellow. The carpet, what you could actually see, was a muddy brown, or at least one would assume it was mud. The single light hanging from the ceiling giving out very little light. Every once in a while a newspaper on the floor would move, possibly by the vermin underneath it.
It was home, if you could call it home, to one. He was in the bathroom. Leaning on the sink. His head moving up and down in time to the music. His shaven head bowed down, looking into the dirty sink below. Wearing just jeans, his sickly thin frame was exposed. His bare arms covered in scars. Between his shoulder blades was a single tattoo. 'Poenitentia' written in bold italic script.
He lifted his head, staring at the refection coming back to him in the filthy mirror. A smirk crossed his face. Taking his shaving brush, he slapped foam over his cheeks, chin and neck. Lifting his cut-throat razor, he slowly shaved the foam from his face. Wiping the blade every so often on a dirty towel beside the sink. Finishing removing the foam, he took the towel, and wiped the small bits missed from his face, then ran his hand over his extra short hair. It felt rough and spiky to touch. While his face felt as smooth as a babies bum.
He tossed the towel into corner of the room. He splashed a little aftershave over his face and neck. The feeling of burning on his skin brought the smirk back to his face. The pain of the freshly exposed flesh being covered in the aftershaves alcohol a pleasant pain.
He walked from the bathroom to his bedroom. The room was small. Just enough room for a double bed and a chest of drawers. The carpet covered in beer cans, empty whiskey bottles, general rubbish and dirt. Going over to the drawers, he opened the top draw. in it were freshly pressed shirts. Taking one out, he slowly put it on, covering his scars and tattoo. Tucking it into his jeans he looked around for a moment, then seeing a jacket grabbed it. Smelling it first to ensure that it was clean. Clean enough he put it on and walked out, heading towards the living room.
The stereo still blaring. Heavy metal assaulting his ear drums. Loud enough to make most people's bleed. He held his yea back, and just listened. Listened to the thumping drums and base. The insanely quick guitar. The lyrics being shouted at the top of the singers voice. His smirk growing larger as the music played.
He felt something vibrate in his pocket. Reaching in he pulled out his mobile phone. Flashing a text message on the screen.
From: 07891456531
Your late.
The man smiled at the message. Not really caring. He had had a good few days, and nothing was going to ruin his mood. But he did suppose he better get his ass in gear. Moving a few papers from his desk he picked up a holster. Removing his jacket and placing it on the back of a battered chair, he slipped the holster over his shoulders. Securing his gun underneath his arm. He picked up his jacket again and put it back on. Making sure that the holster couldn't be seen easily. Concealing his weapon nicely. He looked at the desk, and his smirk turned to a huge smile. Lying on the top, were three files. He opened the first.
Subject: John Gardner
Serial Rapist.
Arrested 1999 - GBH on then girlfriend
Arrested 2000 - Suspected rape, later released, lack of evidence
Arrested 2001 - ABH
Arrested 2003 - Suspected Abduction, later released, lack of evidence
Arrested 2007 - Suspected rape, charges dropped
Arrested 2009 - Public Order
Arrested 2010 - Public Order
Arrested 2011 - Suspected rape, charges dropped
The man ran his finger over the photo attacted to the file. Closing it carefully he put it to one side and opened the second.
Subject: Gregory McAiden
Rapist, thug, murderer
Arrested 2005 - Suspected Rape and Murder, lack of evidence
Arrested 2006 - GBH
Arrested 2008 - Rape and Murder of two school girls, sent to prison for four years after helping police with another enquiry.
Again the man looked at the picture paper clipped to the top right of the file. Smiling he closed the file carefully, and with equal care, placed the file on top of the first. He picked up the final file on the desk.
Subject: Isabella Ortiz
Theif
Although never arrested, this master thief is suspected of numerous thefts, as well as multiple accounts of attacks on the victims of the said thefts. These attacks do include murder.
The man looked down at the photo on the top right of the picture. He smiled at the dark haired woman in the picture, tracing her outline with his fore finger. He closed the file and placed it carefully on top of the other two. Looking back across the desk, there was a stack of files just like the other three. Atleast another fifteen files lay closed on the right hand side of the desk.
"So much work, and such little time." Remarked the man to himself.
He smiled and picked up his wallet. Checking his phone again, to make sure no one had been in contact. As he did so, the display sprang to life. Across the black background came the number 07891456531, with the words, 'Incoming call' underneath it. The man didn't really want to answer, but knew he better. Reaching up to the stereo, he flicked off the heavy metal. He could hear his ears ringing against the sudden silence.
"Hello." He answered the phone.
"Where the fuck are you? The boss is gonna go fucking mental if your not here. He wants us all together. Has something big t share or some shit." came the voice at the other end of the line.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The man replied. "I'm on my way. I won't be long."
"You better not be." The voice told him. "You can't miss another meeting. He went bat-shit crazy at ME last time you did."
The man laughed. "I know, I'm sorry. I had some stuff I had to sort out. I know, my bad."
"Fucking right your bad." was the response. "Look, just get here."
"Im on my way out the door right now." The man told the voice, and hung up.
He checked his pockets once more. Wallet and phone. All good. He patted the holster under his jacket. All good there too. Suddenly he remembered. He tapped his belt. Missing. He moved more papers around the desk. Nothing. Leaning down he searched under the desk. Underneath the pile of papers, cans and bottles he finally found it. Breathing a sudden sigh of relief, his smirk returned. He better not forget that. Or he really would be in the shit again.
Grabbing his keys, he opened his apartment door. Stepping out into the corridor he closed the door and locked it behind him. Then reaching into his pocket, he clipped it on to his belt. His detective badge.
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