[This was always the toughest part of the job. Just about every cop save for the truly morose or extremely dark ones dreaded this situation over every possible experience a veteran could speak of. Nothing short of shooting a man in self defence is as chilling as this. And yet this was how Sergeant Constable Ken Taylor found himself on a chilly, rainswept Thursday evening. He'd rather be just about anywhere other than here, stick him in a coffin and bury him six feet underground, it was better than having to do this to another human being. But here he was, on the doorstep of Sonia Kagutagaki, apparently now, the last surviing member of that once proud family, yet she didn't know it at this exact moment in time. Ken Taylor hadn't gotten enough courage to ring the doorbell on the upper class home yet. You may ask yourself how hard it is to tell a next of kin that they're father, mother, or sibling has just passed on, trust me, you'd never want to have to go through this. Ken Taylor wouldn't lay this job on anyone if he had the power to prevent it.]
[Nightfall had just completely asserted itself upon the city of Toronto, street lights lit up either side of the street in a perfect row. Taylor stood on the porch of miss Kagutagaki's front door staring at the glowing button connected to the doorbell. A frail wind blew up to offer up even more pathetic falacy for the still, despite already two years experience on a beat, fledgling police officer. His arm stretched out in a futile attempt at pressing the button, he had gone through this motion four times already, and each time he failed to pick up enough steam to do it, it was getting more and more likely it would be the next morning when he'd be found frozen at her doorstep; His arm outstretched as if to point and accuse her of something she had as of yet, not known.]
[As a stronger gust of wind picked up and began dusting eagerly through his fair hair, he let it all go and rang the bell in one fell swoop. He got his grief stricken face in gear and awaited the answer of the door. Behind him, the flashing police lights on the roof of his squad car made a strobe light effect on each out-facing wall on several houses on the street. Ken was surprised none of the neighbours or even miss Kagutagaki had been alerted by the somewhat annoying on and off flash of the blue and red lights. Through the stain glass window at the middle of the door, Ken could see the faint outline of someone approaching the door emerging from some lighted room. As the form grew in size he could tell it was indeed a female, and got ready for her reaction when she finally heard the news. He was actually caught off guard when an extremely attractive Asian woman answered the door.
[For a brief instant he envisioned what his life would be like if he were to suddenly lose all inhibitions and lunge at this woman in pure animal sexuality. Images of her nude and in various provactive poses lured his mind elsewhere, leaving this woman to stand with the door slightly ajar staring into the eyes of a police officer who was either mentally ill or had just been hit over the head. A small grin formed on his lips, just about any many I'm sure knows the one I mean, that one that is somewhere in between knowing what you'd like to do to a specific example of the opposite sex, and pure lusting after something that could very well be the impossible.]
[Sonia Kagutagaki stood for a minute waiting to see if this was an awkward pause induced by the tall policemen. He seemed to stare at her with this ridiculous grin on his face. She couldn't tell if it was pure stupidity staring back at her or enfeebled charm in the flesh. In any sense, she slanted her weight to one side and tilted her head in the opposite direction, looking quite akin to a very curious, yet gorgeous faced dog. She herself knew she was attractive, and had at some points in her life used her feminine wiles to succeed in life. But now, after a long day at a law firm in downtown Toronto, she was in no mood to play flirtatious florence.]
Sonia Kagutagaki: Yes? May I help you?
[With the words split out from her mouth, Ken Taylor was shot back into reality. The situation was right in front of him again. I guess sometimes the mind needs to find clever ways of escaping dilemnas it feels our body and soul just can't cope with. At any rate, Ken Taylor suddenly felt his stomach give way and climb up to his chest to dwell with his lungs.]
Sergeant Ken Taylor: Er, Miss Kagutagaki? Sonia Kagutagaki?
[He had actually accidentally mispronounced her name, but logically, in about five minutes she wouldn't care if he had just told her she stunk. He braced himself for the blow this would no doubt deal to this obviously delicate beauty.]
Sonia: Yes?
[I think when she first saw the policeman standing at her doorstep, she had instantaneously gotten a vibe from him that told her there was something definately wrong. I think anyone who does get a knock on the door similar to this one gets that heart-wrenching feeling. Sonia searched herself, had her husband been in a car accident on the way home? Had one of her children been hurt in someway? And the pangs of motherhood set in even worse as her mind toyed with all the possibilties for this visit.]
Ken Taylor: I'm sorry ma'am. But they're has been an accident...
[And that heart-wrenching feeling grew to a horrid twisting, as if everything inside of Sonia's body were being turned inside out on her. Her hand made it's way shakily to her mouth, she wasn't sure if it was there to keep something from her stomach from coming up, or a scream to grown from within her.]
Ken Taylor: Is you're father Tetsuo Kagutagaki?
[A slight groan escaped her lips at the mention of her father. Her eyes welled up with tears at the impending news she was about to get. She already had a good idea of what was to follow, but they're was still a slight chance this was all some trick by the lottery company.]
Sonia: [Speaking through her hand, and with a noticable shakiness to her voice.] Yes...
Ken Taylor: I'm sorry to have bring this news to you miss Kagutagaki. But I'm afraid you're father has passed away.
[The warmth of his voice almost softened the blow, but only for a minute. All at once a rush of thoughts came before her mind's eye. It wasn't natural causes obviously, because a police officer would never come to give this news. As the tears began dropping down her brownish cheeks smearing some mascara down the side of her eye, she fell almost. Luckily it was frontward, as the sergeant caught her with ease, albeit with his chest but he quickly cradled her in his arms.]
Sonia: Oh god.
[Ken was hardly used to having beautiful woman just fall into his arms, but under the circumstances he understood completely. He patted her back in a brotherly fashion, and she swiftly recovered and landed back in a stand. She wiped some of the tears from her cheeks and sniffled.]
Sonia: H-h-how di-did it happ-happen?
[She tried as quickly as she could to regain her composure but the tears continued to flow freely, she wished her husband could be home, or someone other than this man who had just broken her heart.]
Ken Taylor: Well... [The very question Ken hadn't wanted to have to answer. Somethings were just better left unknown in these cases. Why was he repsonsible for telling this radiant woman that her beloved father had had his nose impacted up into his face causing a massive internal rupture. The poor old man must have lay there on the floor for about three days, most likely drifting in and out of conciousness as the blood slowly drenched his insides, and swallowed the rest of him up into death.] We're... we're not completely sure. But we think he was murdered...
[He decided to leave out the left for dead aspect of it all. Somethings WERE better left alone. And he was sure that if he had told her that the man had lain dead on the ground for another few days, approximately five, without anyone entering his suburban home and martial arts school to find him. Sure, he had seen much grislier deaths than the one he was dealing with now, but why would he want to see anymore?]
Sonia: Do... do you know who did it? I mean... any... any suspects?
[Ken sighed a little, relieved that she didn't delve any further in the hows or whys of the event. He was more than happy to discuss suspects; Anything to keep her from crying any harder.]
Ken Taylor: [Clears his throat.] As of now, we only have a miniscule amount of leads. No witnesses, nothing to tell us exactly what happened. Ma'am, I am truly sorry for you're loss. We have our best detective working on this.
[As the last words poured out of his mouth miss Kagutagaki wailed herself into another bout of tears. That final door closing to any shimmer of hope out of this already morose situation, and that realization that the last time she had seen her father, was just that, the last.]
[There is always something about those words; Last, the end, final. They just create this sort of chaos out of an otherwise happy existance. Its hard to say exactly why it is those words are usually the ones to generate so many more tears then the word death ever could. So many worlds being created and destroyed each day of our lives and we're never around to see it happen either. When its an old man or woman that passes on, it is always a shock to those around, unless it involves a long drawn out hospital ordeal. And Ken Taylor truly felt grief for this woman whom he had already, much to his and most likely her chagrin (if she found out that is) had a sexual fantasy about.]
Gaines: Oh come on! [His voices raises in pitch.] This is bad stuff! I want good stuff. Don't you fortune tellers know how to tell you're customers good things? And if all that is happening RIGHT now what happened to the whole fortune aspect of fortune telling? I could buy a portable television and watch all this on HBO right now.
[As we all readjust to our new surroundings, it becomes fairly obvious where we are. The zodiac posters on the wall, the dimly lit room, the gypsy-like beads hanging in front of the doorway. And if Marcus Gaines' own personal hint to the audience wasn't enough, I'll enlighten you all. A fortune teller's shop is our new setting. Seated at a circular table with a fairly tacky tasseled table cloth covering it and a crystal ball holding that down (you can tell its a crystal ball mainly becayse of the mystic of the object, what fortune teller wouldn't have one?) sits Marcus Gaines, bent at the waist and leaning slightly over the table glancing from the ball back up to the other occupant of the room. She is old, and only casually obese, some people you could say are morbidly obese, but she is only across that fine line between obesity and thin. Hers is a withered look, as if time itself has ravaged her, leaving her haggard. She is staring into the ball, but has lost all focus due to Marcus' outburst.]
[She glances up at him rather fixedly, extending an uncharacteristic long, wiry index finger at him. He seems to jump back from the finger as leprousy personified had hidden itself on the finger. She eyes him with a scornful glance, which quickly turns to a frown, and then to a laboured smile, which could easily hide a dagger behind it. When she speaks, her voice is polish, accenting her fine gypsy heritage, and with that out in the clear, suffice to say she could very well be the real deal in fortune telling, and propheteering.]
Fortune Teller: The future is neither good stuff, or bad stuff. It is just stuff. And this isn't just any present tense event, this is something that could very easily affect you're whole future.
[Marcus never liked the condescending tone so many people got when they knew something he didn't, and often shot remarks back at them with distaste, but quite a lot of verve.]
Gaines: Bah! Spare me the Yoda routine. I thought you were supposed to tell me the future.
[The old woman takes her time, almost sizing Marcus up, looking at him with eyes that seem to say "I know everything there is to know about you." She grins at him.]
Fortune Teller: Okay then. When you say good stuff, what exactly do you want to know?
[Marcus exhales loudly to show his disrespect, as if knowing this will irritate the woman; Marcus seems quite good at finding out what bothers most people, doesn't he though?]
Gaines: Well you could basically tell me anything. Anything of course, as long as it is in fact... [Raising his voice and stretching his neck to the point where his face is only a few small feet from the old woman's haggard mug.] THE FUTURE! Present stuff is for Christmas. [Smirks.] Tell me about GWA stuff. This whole Gladiator title business... I have to face Joe Russa... who is going to win?
[Marcus leans back and rests his arm over the backrest of the chair looking scornfully at the old woman. She looks at him for what seems like an eternity, doing that old sizing up routine again.]
Fortune Teller: [Matter-of-factly.] You win.
[A slack-jawed guffaw rings out through the small room as Marcus possibly tries his hand at a Goofy impersonation.]
Gaines: That's all you have to say about it? [Points directly at the camera, but never takes his eyes off the old woman.] You think I want to spend a good hour of my time talking to interviewers, people on the street, or anyone else for that matter about this stupid match against stupid old Joe Russa? Why the hell do you think I brought the camera along for this l'il trip, anyhow? Don't you have anything entertaining to say about the match? Like I beat the man to a bloody pulp? He gets in a few good shots but I still blow him out of the water? What? Have you no sense for the dramatic?
[She stares from Marcus to the camera then back at Marcus, where she holds her gaze steadily looking into Marcus' eyes, and quite possibly his soul for a moment.]
Fortune Teller: [Grins widely letting Marcus and anyone watching to see into her gaping maw of a mouth, missing a few of the teeth up front.] You win.
[She laughs a hearty belly laugh, the kind you'd think only Paul Bunyan or Goliath could make. Marcus stares at her blankly until her head comes back to its normal positon atop her neck.]
Gaines: Are we quite done? Let me know when the bombs drop?
[And as quickly as her mirth had begun, she quit the routine and sat quietly as Marcus bit gingerly at his fingernails occasionaly glimpsing in her direction.]
Fortune Teller: You'd like to know about miss Coleman wouldn't you?
[Marcus completely stops his fingernail biting. The mere mention of his therapist Debra Coleman causes him to bolt upright in his chair at attention. He had completely forgotten to ask about Debra, and what the future could possibly hold for her and himself. The old woman grins much like the Cheshire cat from Lewis Carrol's classic Alice in Wonderland as she watches Marcus' interest feign and then in an instant, grow. She knew this was the focal point of this man, the very chord anyone could pull to get at him, one mention of her and he'd suddenly grow more interested than anyone could ever hope to imagine. She glanced at him, seemingly into Marcus, and the Cheshire cat smile faded into a knowing grin.]
Fortune Teller: [Speaking almost tauntingly, as if hold a carrot in front of a rabbit, but far enough away for it to run after, but never gaining any ground.] Debra.... Coleman. [Changing her inflection to a hypnotic monotone voice.] You're therapist. You want to know how things turn out between the two of you, don't you?
[Marcus nodded, his eyes glazed over as if he were in a trance. Possibly drunk on the knowledge that he could very easily find out things that would satisfy him for the rest of his life. Since he first met Debra Coleman so many years ago, he knew he wanted her, he knew he had to have her. He had developed a love for her that even he couldn't understand. He burned to see what this woman saw, to know what she knew.]
Fortune Teller: You want to know if all those things you've done can be washed away from her field of vision until there is only you, don't you?
[She was basically only toying with him now, much like a cat toys with a mouse it has caught. Teasing him until he was practically begging her for this knowledge. It was her way of getting respect from those who would never consider respecting an old gypsy woman.]
Gaines: [Nodding.] Yes. Yes, I do.
[As she eyes Marcus again, they're almost a glimmer of something ultimately sinister about her glances.]
Fortune Teller: [Pauses a brief moment, rehearsing her words before she says them, carefully.] Debra Coleman is bad for you. Stay away.
[Marcus drifted out of his trance-like state with a hanging jaw, quite surprised at what this old woman had just told him. It wasn't what it was that she had said, it whas the way she said. As if there were absolutely no doubt in this woman's mind that what she said was true.]
Fortune Teller: You don't want to take that road, do you?
[Marcus knew very well that even if he wanted to stay away from Debra Coleman, it was impossible. He felt magnetically attracted to her, and no matter what he did now or ever could severe that bond. And again as Marcus glance back at the old lady's face she wore that Cheshire cat smile, it irritated him immensely already, and now he knew how Alice felt when she first encountered it.]
Fortune Teller: No... of course. You can't.
[Her Cheshire cat smile melted away to a tiny toothless grin, he wretched, not from her toothless jaw, but from what she had said and how she had said it. "Debra Coleman is bad for you.Stay Away." He couldn't do it. Even the mere thought of it could have easily made him vomit were he not trying his damndest to control any vomiting reflex housed inside his body.]
Fortune Teller: [Tossing her hand up in the air as if she could read his thoughts... come to think of it she probably could.] Don't worry about it, Marcus. You go on doing what you're doing. Nothing I can say can change the path you've set.
[Marcus nodded, this settled him. What this old woman jsut said had settled him completely, and right there and then he put her previous statement out of his mind as best he could; Or failing that, he shelved it away, trying to store it as far away from his concious mind as he could. He felt satisfied again, like nothing was wrong in the world.]
Gaines: Okay then.
[That taunting Cheshire Cat smile appeared again as she crouched down towards the table, her necklaces hanging down loosely from her neck and resting on the surface of the table cloth.]
Fortune Teller: Marcus, I have to tell you more.
Gaines: Preach on Witchay woman. Anything else to add about Russa? How 'bout telling me what he's up to right now? Talking to his house plants I'd wager, and I didn't need a damn crystal ball to see that much.
[She looked up from the crystal ball at him with a frown plastered on her haggard, contemptable face.]
Gaines: What? I booked the damn camera, I might as well say something about the guy, shouldn't I? I mean you're not going to. That Russa guy talks ten times more than you ever could. He has whole conversations with inanimate objects! Why, I've seen him enter the ring, and chat it up with the very ring post he was getting smashing into. [Pauses to think about what he just said.] Well I haven't as much as seen as I have pretended I've imagined seeing it, if that makes any sense at all. The guy is a fungus, a slime mold on the wrestling ring of life and I have to exterminate him with extreme prejudice.
Fortune Teller: [Sighing.] If I had anymore to say about that man I would have said it. What I have to show you is indeed the future, it is one you're heading for, and I don't see anyway of getting yourself around it, the way you're handling yourself.
[Marcus guffaws the statement and leans back in his chair vehemenantly.]
Gaines: Oh yeah? And what is this future that is so bleak? See any human skulls being crushed under foot? Or how 'bout tank treads crushing skeletal remains of Earth's last remaining resistance against the machines. 'Pheh, what a joke.
[The old gypsy woman gives a laboured frown, as if Marcus disturbed her from a deep sleep. She glances at him, revealing that oh so obnoxious Cheshire cat smile, then looks back into the crystal ball.]
[As again we're forced to reassert ourselves in our new surroundings, we see that we are now in some sort of office housing three men. One man sits behind a wide, lightly varnished pine desk with his feet resting comfortably on the top, another stands to the first man's right leaning against a window looking out over a vast parking lot topped with the glistening whiteness of freshly fallen snow. The third man stands in front of the desk leaning against a filing cabinet a few feet away. Each man is dressed in dress shirts with ties, and judging by the badges each man wears on his chest, they are all employed as policemen, or possibly detectives.]
[The office itself is rather shabbily arranged, with the desk at the very back of the room, the filing cabinet the man leans on just a few feet away and blocking the path for anyone to sit down in. Said filing cabinet also extends a few feet out from the wall creating a sort of cubicle. Outside of the cubicle is another office belonging to one of the other men in the room, but it seems we have interupted a meeting of some sort. Of course no one can see us, we are mere observers, ghosts observing everything in sight.]
[Each man seems tired and out of breath, we have definately missed either an argument or a very fast-paced debate in which all three men took place in an almost competing manner. The man at the window sill sighs loudly at something we, the viewers can't possibly know. Just as he does so a man walks into the office with a sheet of paper in hand, he resembles the other three, as detectives often seem to. The name on the badge this fourth man wears is Jenkins, the man at the sill and the man against the cabinet each rise to a stand eagerly awaiting what this new man has to say.]
Jenkins: [A relieved sigh permeates from his lips.] Gentleman, we have a lead.
[Each man approaches Jenkins trying to get a look at his lead before he can even mention it. The man sitting down, Detective Cuddy, stands up out of his chair.]
Cuddy: And?
Jenkins: Forensics found some DNA on the victim, refutably not his own, though it's kind of hard to tell. When they found it, it was half dissipated. But they're pretty sure it belongs to our suspect.
[Each man gets that giddy, excited look in their eye, similar to the one visible in every child's eyes who is under the age of twelve at Christmas time when they awake Christmas morning to find a tree surrounded by wrapped gifts.]
Cuddy: Have we matched it with anybody we have on file?
[Jenkins sighs a little and the other detectives circle around him closer like a pack of vultures waiting for the lion to quit it's feast.]
Jenkins: As we speak, they're running a check now. But as far as we know, the DNA doesn't match anybody we have on file, no.
[And like a child popping another child's ballon, the other men slowly back away from Jenkins to their respective places in the office. It is clear to see these men have spent hours working on this case, devoting time they could just as easily be spending on other cases, or with their families.]
Gaines: Boring. Get to the point.
Fortune Teller: We're there already, let it grow more then just a skeleton, Marcus.
[The man previously at the window sill paces back and forth from there back to the desk. In each and every man's mind comes the question of motive, alibi, modus opperendi or M.O. But perhaps what they're after isn't any of these things.]
Cuddy: I don't know fella's. We need more to go on. A trace of DNA is a start but we'd probably have to go through all the citizens of Toronto just to find out who killed this Tetsuo guy.
Gaines: [As soon as Tetsuo's name is mentioned Marcus recalls the whole event.] Toronto?! Pisshaw, I'm in Los Angeles.
Cuddy: Guys, this is hardly the situation we want to find ourselves in when two of us are going on two weeks vacation after this weekend. This isn't something me or Revalski wants to be thinking about while we're at this thing.
[The man who had been leaning against the filing cabinet stands up straight revelaing his name on his badge to be Stromburg.]
Stromburg: Ah, F*ck that's right. You guys are going to that Gladiator Wrestling Pay Per View thing aren't you?
[The man near the window who is obviously Revalski nods his head in agreement.]
Cuddy: Yeah , and I don't see any way this thing is going to be solved between now and when we get back.
[Marcus pulls himself away from the crystal ball. No real emotion melded on his face, only that look he wears every single day of his life. The old woman also pulls away from the magical ball and smiles her Cheshire cat smile at Marcus. She looked so arrogant to him he just wanted to snap and slam her head off the table and right through that damn crystal ball of hers.]
Gaines: I see absolutely no reason for any of that sh*t. Why are you showing me any of that. Number one, what are the odds that I'm going to be even booked at that event. And secondly, the odds of two police officers on vacation bumping into me, somehow getting a sample of my DNA, and then comparing it with the one they found is pretty damn unlikely.
[Much to Marcus' chagrin, that familiar Cheshire cat smile appears. Always at the most heightened moments. Marcus clenched his hand into a fist feeling almost ready to hit her smack dab on the nose, but something inside told him he had better not.]
Fortune Teller: Sometimes.. its what you don't see that gets you. [Chuckles.] In you're case, its what you have seen that is going to get you.
[Something about the old woman seemed to grow demonic right in front of Marcus' very eyes. He wanted to hurt her, but that look she was giving him was something that reminded him of something he had seen before...]
[As the image floated back into his mind, and the words "Debra Coleman is bad for you. Stay Away." made him wretch again. As he rose from his chair and steadily left the building not turning back to face the old woman's menacing stare.]