“Gee Chuck, thanks.  After that third Emmy, I’d sure hope someone might consider me a pro.”  Sarcasm dripped from his voice.  Chuck ignored it completely.

“Listen, kid.  Let’s walk and talk.”  Chuck took Alex by the shoulder and guided him away from prying ears.  “You know how you like them shows with the cops and all that?  The cop shows?  Well, guess which lovable lug went and bagged you an audition on the hottest new series by Derek Fox, New York Vendetta.”

Alex stopped dead in his tracks.  He’d never met Derek Fox, but just about everyone who was anyone had worked on at least one of the dozens of shows he’d directed and produced.

“You got me an audition.  An audit—” Alex spun on his heel, excited, clasping Chuck’s arms.  “You got me an audition?!”

Chuck laughed.  Alex was the only client of his that could get away with that sort of thinly veiled insult.

“Man, I could kiss you!”  Alex squeezed Chuck’s cheeks, very nearly kissing him.  He caught himself and spun away, triumphantly marching down the hall and gesturing wildly with his hands as if he were describing the biggest wonder in the world.  “I’ve wanted to be on a cop show my whole life!  Something like CSI or NCIS or SVU or, or, or…or anything.  Chucky, Chucky my friend…you are fantastic!”

Chuck stood, flabbergasted, in the hallway as Alex strolled off toward the parking lot, grinning like a drunken idiot.  Chuck scratched his head and adjusted his comb-over, muttering to himself.

“Can’t believe the rat bastard brought up Charlene.  But at least he didn’t mention the pool.”

Chapter Two

              Detective Dick Trilby adjusted his outdated, crumpled fedora to hide a rogue strand of sweat-soaked hair.  He lit a cigarette and took a deep puff before coughing so heavily he blew it from between his fingers.  He scrambled to pick it up before it burned his classic mahogany desk.  Collecting his cool, he leaned back and took another drag, managing to release only a slight wheeze this time around.

              “Farrow, get in here!”  He hoarsely yelled for his assistant, whose heels tapped lightly on the floor as she pattered energetically into the room.

              “Yes, Detective Trilby?”  Rena Farrow was a fair-faced but buxom redhead.  A hard worker with a keen wit, she possessed a host of well-rounded qualities.  Nevertheless, she’d been hired for the well-rounded qualities beneath her blouse.

              “Captain Richards needs a write-up on the body they hauled in this morning.  I wanted to go over our talk with the medical examiner, see if you have any insights.”  He swept his arm across the room as he motioned to the chair on the other side of the desk.  “Please, have a seat.”

              Rena smoothed the back of her skirt as she sat across from Trilby.

              “Well, boss, the M.E. said there were signs of a struggle, ruling out any potential connection between the victim and her killer. But….”  She trailed off, uncertain what to say next.

              Trilby made a rolling motion with his hand, a sign for her to keep going.

              “Perhaps you had another thought?”

              “Oh!  That’s right.  I had another thought.  Witnesses stated that she was last seen entering her apartment around sundown, yet her body was discovered several blocks away, and her body temperature indicates she was killed only four hours after she was seen.  So the only reasonable explanation is that she left with the guy.  I wouldn’t let a strange man into my home, much less leave with someone I didn’t know.”

              Trilby smiled.  “Well, good to know you’ve got sensible instincts when it comes to men.  Is there anything you want to add?”

              “No,” said Rena coyly.  “Except that if I had sensible instincts when it came to men, I would’ve filed for reassignment the day I met you.”

              “Very good, Farrow.”  Trilby buttoned his jacket as he stood.  He fumbled a bit on the second button, unable to find the slit where it went.  Rena bit her lip.

              “Um.  You’ve got, uh….”

              She pointed to his jacket.  He looked down, seeing that he had done up the wrong button.  He laughed nervously as he unbuttoned and did it the right way.

              “As I was saying, Farrow, you’ve got a good eye for the details on this case.  But you’re not asking all of the right questions.”  Trilby went to the window, lifting up one of the blinds.  He flinched backward, caught by surprise by the brightness outside.  He turned back to Rena, pacing behind his desk.  “You’ve got a solid point that she must have left with the killer.  And it’s not unreasonable that she would have put up a fight once she realized that her life was at stake.  But why would she need to struggle if the kill was premeditated?  Why would the killer give her that chance?”

              Rena furrowed her brow.  “Well, obviously, the kill wasn’t premeditated.  Whoever killed her, wherever they went, the killer didn’t know any better than she did what was going to happen last night.  That’s why he picked such a sloppy dumping site, right there in the middle of the parking garage on East 51st and Lex.  He probably left her in a hurry.”

              Trilby spun, trying to snap his fingers but producing no sound.  After failing a couple more times, he simply pointed dramatically at her.  “That’s where you’re wrong.  Her body was left with her arms folded over her chest, and he managed to avoid the cameras in the garage.  That’s not something someone does when they’re in a hurry.  But more importantly, there’s the lack of fingerprints, hairs, or any other evidence that might provide us with some clue of who the killer was.  He couldn’t have spent much time covering his traces, given the body was still soaked in blood.  Which means….”

              Rena’s eyes widened.  “Which means that there were no traces to clean up in the first place.”

              “Exactly,” said Trilby, taking another belabored puff from his cigarette.  “The killer definitely knew what he was doing, and…and….”  He sneezed from the lingering smoke and wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he tried to wave the smoke away from his immediate area.  He sniffed loudly and swallowed before finishing his thought.  “And he knew her well enough that she was willing to leave quietly with him, presumably from a back exit, since the doorman never saw her leave.  So the struggle implies that at some point, when he decided it was time to go in for the kill, she knew.  He didn’t sneak up on her when he had the opportunity to do so; if he had, there would be no chance for her to struggle, seeing as she was stabbed from behind.  Instead, he must have told her that she was going to die!”

              Trilby smiled, pleased with himself.  Rena tilted her head to the side, pouting her lips.

              “I don’t see the point.”

              Trilby crossed to the front of his desk, leaning against the edge as he bent forward, closer to Rena.

              “The point is, he wanted her to know.  It wasn’t enough to kill her: he wanted to feel it.  He wanted to feel the power, the control he had over her in her final moments.  Whatever it was, he had some sort of personal motivation for her killing.  He wasn’t just taking a life; he was taking out a vendetta.”

              The pair covered their ears at the screech of feedback as director and producer Derek Fox held down the button on his megaphone.

              “Cut!”

              Fox hopped down from his director’s chair and flipped back his long hair.  He greeted the duo with a winning smile as he approached the set.  His gawky assistant, Megan, followed silently behind.