To Date A Killer

-Brett's POV- Slamming my laptop shut, I spun around a couple of times on my chair. I have been working on a theft case for a little over eight hours without anything to satisfy my famished stomach. Growling for what it seems to be the hundredth time, I made up my mind to feed it. I am Brett Lee Sommers. Twenty-four years old and work as a private investigator. Normally I investigate murders and domestic violent cases but today I am solving a petty theft case, well it isn't petty to my client, you see someone had stolen a family heirloom and an expensive one at that. Opening the fridge, I peek inside, although I am rich and my refrigerator is filled with food and drinks, none of them looked appetizing. Taking out a glass bottle of cold Frappuccino, a jar of pickles, and peanut butter, I make my way back to my desk just as my cellphone rings. I wasn't able to open my jar of pickles but I did manage to open my coffee, taking a sip before I answer my phone. I swiped my screen when I saw the Caller I.D.- Kylar Zhou, my bestfriend. "What up?" I greet in a "I am hungry and can't get food" tone, trying to open up the pickle jar. "Hey man I just wanted to..." Kylar stopped in the middle of his sentence. "Are you trying to open a pickle jar?" I grunted, shaking the jar with one hand. "Yea, damn these jars are a piece of s**t. Who invented these?" Complaining, Kylar chuckled when he heard my cry of frustration. I give up, sorry stomach but you're gonna have to settle with something else and I know you wanted some peanut butter and pickles but...I can't open it! "Need help?" Kylar asks. I was about to nod my head then realized he can't see me unless I face-time him. Here I am, a grown adult and investigator and need my bestfriend's help in opening a pickle jar, I bit my bottom lip at my own lack of muscles. Kylar didn't have much muscles either but he had lived in the streets with his mother, he had to gain some muscles fighting in the streets to protect himself and mother, his one and only family. "I'm on my way, never fear!" Kylar shouts, hanging up. I hang up as well, glancing over at my still closed pickle jar, I sneer at it. That lid jar is a true criminal, always making one go insane, how dare it. A scowl formed on my lips followed by a small pout, guilt settled in as well as a cry for help in my stomach. I'm sorry stomach! I'm sorry I'm not able to feed you! Feeling pathetic, I wanted to cry, what a man I am. I have faced every criminal imaginable and yet here I am, having a stare off with an inanimate object, and I'm about to cry a river over it. "Your hero has arrived!" A familiar voice exclaimed, obviously letting himself enter the house. "Oh! Can't forget to close the door." I chuckled, quickly wiping away the tears that were threatening to fall. Running up to my bestfriend's open arms, embracing him. He was right, my hero has arrived, Kylar has arrived to save the day, to save my stomach, and my sanity. "Oh Ky it was horrible!" I cried dramatically. "I just couldn't get it open! I wanna charge it for assault and attempt murder." I could feel Kylar rolling his eyes, his shoulders shook and his chest purred from his low chuckle. In our embrace I was bent over slightly, I am a bit taller than Kylar. My bestfriend gently kiss my head then ruffled my hair. "Now, where is the culprit?" He asked. *** Together we ate a helping of peanut butter and pickles with some fruit, crackers, salami meat, and cheese. We laughed at a sitcom series- Parks and Recreation, nearly choking on our food. Damn, I could get used to the yumminess that is Chris Pratt I wonder if he goes for men? Probably not but eh, one can dream...and fanfic. "So Brett, how's the case?" Kylar asked, consuming yet another cheese ball. "Yea almost, I was just getting there until my stomach was being murdered by lack of food." I respond, taking a piece of cracker and placing a salami on top. "And of course you know about that damn jar." We both laughed. What a tale to tell. Private Eye Brett Sommers, able to bring down every criminal known to man, defeated by a pickle jar, I, Brett could see it now, all over the media, everybody would get a real kick out of it and I would be famous! I must have dozed off within my fantasy, I didn't notice my bestfriend was trying to gain my attention by calling my name and tapping on my shoulder repeatedly, I was snapped out of my wonderful fantasy when dearest Kylar flicked by forehead. Ouch! "Earth to Brett Brett!" My dearest, drunk bestfriend slurs. "Heeey, my cutie pie, hehe." I roll my eyes, he's drunk; I laugh taking the bottle of red wine from his grasp and chug. The sweet and bitter taste of the wine made it's down my throat, tickling it. From the corner of my eye, I see Kylar attempting to dip a fat pickle into the small hole of another opened wine bottle, groaning in frustration and still drunk, he takes a bite of the pickle and pours the wine in his mouth. Ew. "Oh my lord this is so good!" Kylar moans, doing it again. I couldn't help but laugh as I drank and ate, repeating the process until I was as drunk as he. What times. What great times with your bestfriend. *** I woke up by the sound of a phone ringing and a killer hangover. Groaning in pain, I fall and stumble on my way to the phone. Staring at the caller ID, my vision still blurred, I just decide to answer it. Pressing the speaker button, I announce myself. "You by any chance find the culprit?" A man through the other line asks. Shit! My client! I forgot about them! Racing to my office and rummaging through papers, I finally crack the case in less than ten minutes. Eureka! "Um, yes, yes sorry my apologies. I did find the culprit I will notify the police straight away." I said, quickly scribbling down the name of the culprit. The culprit's name was Jason Amos, a young Hispanic with a history of theft and s****l assault having assaulting his victims before stealing them clean, he would do his best to leave no marks, this time he made a mistake. Jason was in a fight with a female victim, she grabbed a few strands of his hair which became the perfect forensic clue in capturing the man. "Yes, the culprit is Jason Amos." "Amos? Jason Amos?! He did our lawn, I shouldn't have trusted him into our home. I am such a fool." My client, whose name is Tyler York, sighs in frustration and disappointed. I could almost see him running his fingers through his hair, hell he might even be pulling it. Ouch. After about twenty-twenty-five minutes of talking and hearing his wife cry about how she was a fool for too, trusting Amos, we finally hung up. I glance over at my still sleeping friend grimacing at the most awkward and uncomfortable position I have ever seen. Kylar was on the couch but one leg was on the head while the other was on the floor, one arm was wrapped around his neck in a self-head lock and the other-dangling on the floor and his head, oh, his head looks like it's about to snap at any given moment. Carefully, I reposition Kylar in a more comfortable position, he stirred a bit but didn't wake. "Sleep well." I whisper. Not even fifteen minutes of cleaning, there is still a huge mess and what I hope isn't a stain at first I was about to get annoyed at my friend but then noticed the wine was on my side of the couch, oops. I gather up all the trash, empty wine bottles, crumbs, etc...finally I can get the "stain" out. Luckily it wasn't wine it was just blood, an easy clean. Gathering the supplies to clean the blood, Kylar groans, waking up, I smirk at the sight of my bestfriend who still look sleepy. Getting down on my knees, I clean the blood. I thank myself for taking some forensics classes now I know the proper way to clean all sorts of stains. Once I was done, I place the cleaning supplies on the coffee table and threw the rest of the trash away. "Did we get robbed?" Kylar asks, yawning. I chuckled and shook my head. My bestfriend everybody! ***** A client or even a boss would say I am late but that is an understatement for I am never late nor am I early, I arrive precisely when I mean too and yes I did just quote Gandalf from Lord of the Rings sue me for copyright! I make my way up the stone stairs and into the court house, today we're hearing about the robbing of my client, the York family whose precious family heirloom was stolen by Jason Amos, a man they once trusted into their home. I was present because my clients wanted me to be, I wasn't allow to testify but they wanted me there for support and the father said something about a reward as well. "Ah, Mr. Sommers you're here." Tyler York, my client says, shaking my hand. "This is my wife Elizabeth and my daughter, Fiona. We want to thank you again for hunting down the thief, hard to believe it was someone we thought we knew." "Yes, it is hard to believe but do not worry I had some fellow police officers give your lawyer some evidence against Amos, justice will be served." I assure the man and his family. I ignore the looks Fiona gave me, as pretty as she is, I did not swing her way besides even if I did, she is my client's daughter that would be unprofessional and this girl cannot be more than sixteen years old. I am gay and have been since I was five, it was kindergarten, during recess did I discover my s****l orientation at first I didn't think much of it, thought it was nothing but the feelings of being attracted to the same s*x grew more and more intense, especially in highschool and college where at the beginning all boys started as looking cute and feminine to hunks and Greek gods. I had many dates and many fails, had s*x with a couple of my now ex-boyfriends and now I am single and not looking for I am too busy with work. "We wanted to give you this." Mrs. York says handing me what looks like a piece of paper folded in half. I take the paper gingerly from her hand and open it up, a check a check for five hundred dollars! Taken aback I didn't know what to say, a mere "thank you" didn't seem good enough for this generous reward. "There is no need to thank us, although we have already paid you for some service we thought this would be a good way to thank you." Mr. York smiles before he and his family were led into the courtroom. I stood there in shock, five hundred dollars right here in my hand, after the hearing I am immediately depositing this to the bank and cashing out two hundred in cash to keep in my wallet. I am rich but I only keep a few hundreds in my wallet, never do I take my credit card, only for dire emergencies. Placing the check carefully in my wallet and then my back pocket, I make my way into the courtroom. ***** "Brett I need your credit card!" Kylar cries as soon as I walk into my house. My eyebrows raise at him in confusion, what could he possibly need my credit card for? Kylar is almost as rich as I and he's a photographer, a traveling photographer to be exact. "Please, please, please, pleaaaaase." Oh no, now he's begging this is dire. I roll my eyes and grasp onto my friend's shoulders, stopping him from jumping all around like a crazed kid high on candy which reminds me... "Brett!!!" Kylar complains, looking at me with his puppy eyes. For an Asian with small eyes, his puppy eyes sure are adorable. Oooh...I can't resist I'll know what he purchased through my bank. Rolling my eyes, I unlock my mini safe where I kept my credit cards, social security, a gun, a swiss army knife, and another ID. I give Kylar one of my credit cards before locking the safe up, the beaming look in his eyes was like a kid seeing Christmas or a candy store for the first time, hugging and hopping, he puts my card in his wallet and runs out the door, not bothering with good-byes, where he was going, or what he was doing. That man. Sitting on my chair in front of my desk, I spin around a couple of times but not too much to make me dizzy, after about the third of fourth spin, the phone rang. I stopped spinning hoping to face my desk but instead I faced my bookshelf, scooting my way back to the front, I pick up the phone, placing it in my ear. "Private Investigator Brett Sommers speaking, how may I be of service to you?" I answer. "I need your help." A man on the other line said. I immediately knew who this was, it's another detective, Francis Jules, he's known for doing kidnap and hostage cases, the only times he'll ever call me is if a case is growing cold. "I have a missing teenager, we had her but now the traces are gone. Dead end." I grab a pen from a cylinder metal container and began to chew on the lid. I listen to the detective's description of the missing teen; red hair, pale skin with freckles, emerald green eyes, standing at five foot six, shoe size-seven, mom-Aoife and father- Patrick, is an only child. The teen missing is named Alice and she was last seen coming home from a friend's after a sleep over, there were no witnesses and signs of struggle or assault, they found foot prints but they didn't do much justice. "That's all we have and there are hundreds maybe even thousands of people with that same shoe print." Detective Jules says. I can almost see him pacing around, tugging on his hair possibly creating a bald spot. Francis Jules has a little thing where if he's too stressed he'll pull his hair, not healthy. "I can email or fax you all the details we got so far." "Send me the emails and fax them, you know how I like having information in my hands." I said, turning on my printer. "Sending them and I will speak to you later." Detective Jules hangs up the same time the printer makes a noise, indicating the files have come revealing a young teenager's face. Alice. ****** As always I am working on the case, not eating, drinking coffee and water, staying up all night. I could feel my body getting weak but knowing my stubborn mind, it won't let my body give up until we get something. Franics called again earlier and said they were able to find clips from a gas station security cameras but claims they didn't show much, I'll be the one to judge that. I watch the clip again and again, putting it on high speed or in slow motion-nothing, absolutely nothing. I sigh in frustration, pausing the video and throwing the papers down on my desk, I lean back on my chair pondering. Who is the person? Where did they come from? And where is Alice? I was about to get out of my chair when I hear my front door open and footsteps come in, I quickly grab my gun and hoist it in front of me, ready to shoot the intruder. "Jesus don't shoot!" A familiar voice cries, shielding his face with his hands. I chuckle, "I'm not Jesus but I can certainly be the Grim Reaper'. I joke putting my gun back in it's hoister on my right hip. "I bought Chinese food in case you are hungry." The sound of my stomach calling for the take-out even got my hands grabbing for it. Kylar chuckles, "I guess that means a "yes"." We ate in my office, I needed to get on with the case and Kylar brought his work along as well, he needed to edit some photos for the modeling business-Victoria's Secret. I am amazed at Kylar's talent with the camera, he really does capture the essence and beauty of each model and scenery. I was about to take a bite of my fried rice when I got a call, stopping me in my tracks. "Who that?" Kylar asks, his mouth full of food and his hands occupying the keyboard on his laptop. I shrug my shoulders getting myself up from the floor. Stretching my body, I make my way to the ringing phone to take a look at the Caller ID- Unknown/Private. What? I glance over at Kylar who still had his eyes glued to the laptop, I didn't know whether or not to pick it up, I usually don't answer unknown names/numbers but this caller could be the key to helping us find the missing teen. I answer the phone. "Hello?" I greet in a low voice. The person on the other line doesn't say a word, all I could hear was the sound of them breathing. I tried asking who the person was, this time being firmer but again, I am met with silence. I waited patiently for the person to say anything, still nothing. This was getting on my nerves, after about ten minutes of silence I was about to hang up until... "Hello Brett." No...no...NO!!!