The day was productive, there was a small flaw in the machine, but there was a distinct possibility that Deogol had broken free before it had been destroyed. The odds weren’t great, that’s true, perhaps forty-five percent chance would be pushing it to be honest. More like thirty. Okay, there were odds that Deogol broke free. That is a true statement. “Those odds aren’t exactly good, but they aren’t terrible either,” he thought. I mean thirty percent is basically one in three. If those were the odds of winning the lottery people would be lining up around the block. Yeah. See? Look on the bright side! He debated the fate of his old friend.

Keung picked the lock to Officer Jenkins door and walked in as if he owned the place. He smiled feeling that. He took a glance around the apartment and noted the decor. The cop had fair taste. A guitar that looks like it has been gathering dust for years, a common music system for 2001. A tabletop computer that looks about ten years old. “Meh, what do you expect on what they pay cops today?” he asked himself aloud as he continued to inventory the officer’s home.

About an hour later Keung was cleaning up after himself. The shower was nice and the apartment has its own washing machine and dryer in the closet. Apartment might not be the right word, don’t they call these condos now? Condo. Okay, yeah the cop’s condo wasn’t bad, he thought as he moved his clothes from the washer to the dryer with his favorite television show blasting in the background. He couldn’t help it when he had a chance to watch television, he always turned on his favorite shows. Shows about women kicking butt and taking names, slaying. It was all just great.

He was washing his dishes from the sandwich and chips he had, the cop didn’t really have all that much here but Keung was hungry and he never missed a chance to eat and continue working without having to beg for change to keep himself going. The reprieve from his scent as well as the ability to wash the clothes that had been saturated with it, was also a blessing. He sat down, wrapped in the officer’s bath towel, and picked up the guitar. He hadn’t played in years… decades maybe… but it all came back to him after a few cords. He was in the middle of playing an old grunge song, Heart Shaped Box, when he heard the dryer alert that the load was complete.

The young man hadn’t been this clean in a while. His mind was not meant for the daily activity of normal life, he was an arrow, something to be pointed and fired. He didn’t have time for all the other things that life requires. Well, apart from his love of television, and only when he had it available. Even then television was basically just to watch Joss’ work. That is why he begged, it generated an income. Most people felt sorry for a teenage boy living on the streets and gave fairly well to him, not like they had much choice in the matter. Sure some are put off by the fact that he just sets a coffee can down and has a sign propped up against his chair, but those are few and far between. Honestly, he knew that most people believed there was something wrong in his head and pitied him for not having a place to be. It kept him fed, and gave him enough to pay for the necessities, though not the best and not something with regular running water, a washer, a dryer, and Buffy.

Keung had been through several episodes of the Slayer and was sitting in his clean clothes, still warm from the dryer, when he heard the keys in the door. He quickly grabbed his book bag and composition book, then darted out of the officer’s apartment and onto the patio. He pulled the sliding glass door closed as he heard the man enter the apartment. When the shower started the boy’s heart jumped a beat as he tried to remember what he did with the towel he had used. Did he put it in the hamper or did he just hang it behind the door?

Keung allowed Robert a few minutes before he made his way back into the apartment, set a couple of things down for the other man, and then quietly went out the front door.

A smile spread wide across Keung’s face as he walked down the street away from the condo and he heard a man scream out, “Son of a bitch!”

Robert walked from his room wrapped in a towel and looked around his apartment for his gun, just an instinctive reaction. The weapon was not on his dresser where it should have been. His skin went cold as he realized, with a flash of horror, that his pistol was missing. He quietly went to his closet for his shotgun zipped up in the case his grandfather had given him. He knew it to always be loaded so he didn’t even worry about racking a shell.

Officer Jenkins flattened against the wall and quickly peeked around the corner, preparing for the worst. He saw nothing out of the ordinary in his apartment when he peeked. He ducked down slightly and slowly made his way into the room, quickly taking in everything as he did so with expert precision fostered by years of police work. The apartment was black past the den. He moved silently as a cat as he made his way through, checking each corner and closet as he passed. Nothing.

Turning on the lights his eyes locked on the note sitting on the counter in the same chicken scratch handwriting as the envelope letter he had been left. Robert shouted “Son of a bitch!” at the top of his lungs before he even read the letter.

“Hello Robert,

I saw you today on the street and thought I would drop by. You have a lovely condo, it is a condo isn’t it? I hope you don’t mind that I made myself comfortable during my stay. I had a sandwich, did some laundry, watched some television; Oh yeah I borrowed your Firefly and Buffy sets and a book bag. I mean it’s gonna be awkward walking off with so many of your things without it, so I figured you wouldn’t mind. I am assuming this will be my only trip here, as you will most likely react poorly to this for now. I have to say, it’s been a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to talking face to face as soon as you’re ready. Sadly, I think it is going to be awhile before you are. I hope by the end of this letter you have calmed yourself a little, so you don’t go doing anything rash.

Respectfully yours,”

...and just below the closing there was a perfect stamped fingerprint, expertly pressed with all the arches, loops, and whorls beautifully intact. At the bottom there was a postscript.

“About your gun. I just slid it under your bed. Didn’t want you hurting anyone.”

The final line was written in a much more rushed and sloppy hand. Robert crumpled the letter in his fist and returned to his room to look under his bed. The pistol was exactly where the author had said. The officer picked it up, checked the ammunition, and replaced it back on the dresser. He decided to check his shotgun and found it to be empty, as was his rifle, and his spare pistol, a little revolver thirty eight his grandfather had given him. He looked around the room and found all the ammunition neatly placed in his sock drawer, which he would have noticed no later than the morning.

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Robert mumbled a string of curses under his breath and got dressed in his running clothes. He put his ankle strap on and tucked the now loaded thirty-eight there. On his way out of the apartment, he made sure to lock everything tight, not exactly sure how they got into his apartment. Around knee level he placed a small bit of paper torn from a receipt he found in the pocket clutter basket by the door. With that, the officer went out on a run to patrol his neighborhood in search of the pranksters that have been going way too far playing with an officer of the law.

The night air was once again cold, like the first week of this bizarre string of events. As Robert jogged through the neighborhood he could see his breath coming out in billows of steam challenging the cold. His neck and ears burned from the chill night air, his nose and his ears were growing numb but he continued. While he ran he thought of the result of his bringing the letter to Detective McHenry. Michael would probably take the situation a little more seriously, the two having now invaded his home and stolen, what? Some DVDs? Lunch? Laundry soap and water? It was serious, but it also wasn’t at the same time. The thief didn’t steal his gun or even use it on him when he was caught unaware, soaking in the shower.

The thought that he had been so exposed, so helpless before someone that might have killed him. A person whose motives are completely unknown made Robert’s blood turn cold and he stopped for a moment. He hadn’t realized how hard he was pushing himself until vomit plumbed from his lips and spilled upon the pavement while still in mid stride. He kneeled down to rest against a concrete yard wall. Yeah, he was running too hard. It hadn’t been the thought that he might have been shot in his back, naked in the shower, his blood circling the drain, the life fading from his eyes as he looked upon the young boy holding his own gun that had caused him to vomit. No.

Somber, the feeling of having swerved a moment before making an impact with a stopped car that you hadn’t noticed right in front of you. The feeling as if you nearly died but something had spared you at just the right time. Somber was how Robert felt. When he walked through the door of his condo he didn’t bother changing or anything else. He walked to the counter and picked up the letter, his keys, and his keycard. He wanted to get this print looked at, tonight if he could, and he was going to do his best to get it done right now.

Night shift at a police station in a small to medium city is not what the television would have you believe. There aren’t beautiful, well built people analyzing evidence and data all through the night. There were slackers, drones, strange people that no one should really have to ever deal with throughout the station during the graveyard shift. This is where you place the social rejects that could barely score into the requirements of a police officer or dispatcher. These people were just a hair over a security guard, but that hair was thin.

Robert let himself in and waved at Livana behind the desk with her coke bottle glasses set into birth control frames. The woman never seems to brush her hair properly and always has this untamed rats nest resting upon her head. She kept that nest filled with at least one pen or pencil resting within it. Sometimes those implements would rest around her ears, but not quite behind them. Her face was buried in a book and she hardly seemed to notice him walking in as he passed her.

Walking by the rest of the staff, all lurking in the shadows like monsters from a horror novel, Robert came to the man he was looking for, Samer. Making his way into the lab where Samer worked was always an interesting pastime. Samer was not immune to our current political climate, but he was also not one that would allow himself to be bogged down by it. He would rather laugh off the insanity being pitched by our nation’s leader and try to live each day to the fullest than to worry about the ban on muslims that the man keeps attempting to force down the throats of congress. Samer wasn’t born in the United States, but he had been here since he was a two year old. His papers were completely in order, and he had been married to an American woman for over a decade. There was little chance that the issues within the White House would have anything to do with him, so he just tries to stay on the positive side, though he does say he won’t be leaving the country or flying until the office changes hands.

When Robert walked into the lab Samer was busy checking through his collection of rodents and arachnids to ensure they were all well fed and healthy. Unlike Livana, Samer was not a clueless night dweller that tones out the rest of the world throughout his shift at work.

“Robert! It is so nice to see you. What brings you in, have they put you on night shift again?” the man said with an energy that was completely foreign to the atmosphere of the rest of the staff on shift.

Out of true enjoyment of the man’s energy and character Robert put on a wide smile without thinking about why he was currently here.

“Sam, my friend, it has been a long time. How is the wife? The kids?” He asked his friend and began a lengthy conversation that turned into an hour or more before Robert remembered the letter in his pocket.

“Listen Sam, I have a favor to ask, off the books. Can you help me out?” Robert asked as innocently as he could.

Samer’s smile never left his face. “Of course, of course. What can I help you with?” He replied without hesitation.

“You might have heard that some kids have been screwing with me over the course of the last month, that light show in the alley, the letter under my door. You know. Screwing with me.” Robert said as he fished the letter from his pocket.

“I have heard a little. I’m really sorry that nothing was turned up in the…” Samer began but was waved to silence by Robert.

“No, no, not that Sam. No. See, they keep leaving me letters inside my house, and this last one, it had a fingerprint. No one is taking me seriously in the station about this, but I want to see if the print leads me anywhere. Like, to the kids house. I can put a little wrath of God fear into them and maybe just knock this crap off. You know, talk to their parents or something.” Robert stated flatly.

Samer thought for a moment listening to his friend and when Robert was finished he uncrossed his arms, flashed his wide smile and reached out for the letter. “Robert, for you, anything.” He said taking the letter and beginning across the room to the scanner.

The machines in the lab kicked on and Samer scanned the print into the system, handing the letter back to Robert. He was not a nosy man, he didn’t want to know what the letter said, he just wanted to help his friend. If these people were causing his friend problems, then he would do what he could to stop them.

Samer ran the print against the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, then ran it across the missing persons. Within a few minutes a hit popped up.

“Keung Chen.” Samer said as the computer flashed the result across the monitor.

Robert walked over to the display and looked over the file. Keung Chen, missing for ten years, last seen on his way home from school at age seven. AMBER alert turned up nothing in the first forty-eight hours, after that it went to missing persons and has since been ruled a kidnapping and possible homicide. Robert’s eyes widened as he read the file and then scrolled down to the boy’s picture and the age-progressed image. It was him, the beggar kid.

“Keung.” he said, as if he just took hold of the boy in handcuffs. There is a power in knowing the name of one of his tormentors, and there was something satisfying knowing that there was something more to this than just pranks.

“The kid is a little far from home Robert.” Samer said as he pointed on the screen to the location where Keung had been reported missing.

Robert looked at the city, Sterling Heights, Michigan. “Well, at the very least I have something to tell his parents. I also have a name to go with the face. Print up a copy of this will you Sam?” Robert asked. Samer nodded and printed the file.

There was a short conversation before Robert decided to, “let Sam get back to it,” and left his friend to work, while he returned to his condo.