Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring.
Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring.
Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring.
Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring.
“...Hnnnnahhnnanfuuuu.”
How odd. Why won’t Detective Fraulein pick up her phone? It was only an arms reach away. Why let it ring and ring and ring, all night long.
Well the answer was simple: if you were all comfy and cozy in your warm bed, under soft and gentle blankets, and closed the world off with a sleeping mask – even you would ignore the noises.
So she had every right to give the phone call the cold shoulder. Maybe if she laid very still, she either fall back to sleep through the noise or the phone will just give up and leave.
And if all else fails, voice mail can take care of it.
[Fraulein! I know you blocked me on your cellphone! This is important! Pick up the call!]
“Nein!...hnmdffhgmg…”
Yeah that was a straight up no. And the rest was sleepy mumbles.
[Listen! Kim and I found something!]
The detective attacked the voice mail machine with a spare pillow, before punching the one she had to fluff it up and just lay on her side to faux snore.
[It’s about Keekee! We ran into the Taxi Driver who hit her with his vehicle! Get this, the driver confirms the accident occurred at 8:45 PM.]
“…….Hnnnngffnnn..”
[The Director--] Click...5 minutes up.
Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring.
[Dammit! Make your message thing longer! Anyway! The Director was murder in the evening hours between 8 PM to 10 PM, right? Exactly what the coroner said, that part is accurate!]
“...Hnnffffnn...zzzz”
[Both murder and car accident happened exactly the same day. Meaning Keekee would only have 45 minutes to murder the Director.]
“…..Hnn...aahn?”
[Think about it Fraulein. 45 minutes. 108 stabs! Fraulein? Fraulein! Do you hear me, pick up—]
The call got interrupted. Not because the voice mail hit a time limit again, neither was it’s storage capacity maxed out.
Rather, the call was choked in mid-speech when Detective Fraulein brought it to her ear.
“Stone. What time is it? I mean right now?”
“3:45 AM.”
“SCHEISSE!”
Yeah, that was definitely a curse word.
Back in the crime scene, before the crack of dawn.
A lot of officers and police guards had a lot of mixed feelings, if not complaints. But they kept it to themselves, because they don’t want their badges shove down their throat or up their...well you know.
Officer Roland, however, he was different. Not that he was trying to brown nose anyone or shine the right shoes. He was the type to follow these simple philosophy: early bird gets the worm; daily work out at the gym; a cup of blended fruits and vegetables in the morning; long jogs every weekend; etc. etc.
Meaning he was bright and ready! Especially with the task that fell upon his shoulders.
Why, he even brought his favorite sweat shirt and pants for the challenge he was about to face!
“Born ready, Ma’am. Just give the word.”
“Alright Officer Roland, standby your ass.”
Detective Fraulein, on the other hand, tried not to yawn every 10 seconds. So if you see her constantly fidgeting or pacing about to stay awake, let her be. She also tried to keep her mind occupied with a clipboard, stopwatch, and a training whistle. Like she was about to coach a sports team.
She even brought a megaphone to make herself clear.
“Stage, ready! All hands on deck! Anyone not involved in this trial run, stay the hell out of our way or you WILL be shot with a starting race pistol. IS THAT CLEAR!?”
YES MADAM!
“Okay! Officer Roland, get into position. Beginning Keekee Murder Trial run in 3...2...1”
BANG!
AND HE’S OFF TO THE RACES!
Essentially the officer was taking part in a simulation. Was Keekee capable of murdering someone and make a broad mess in 45 minutes, well anything could happen – until you put it to the test!
So the entire race course involved: barging through the door, tackling a policeman clad in full bomb disposal armor; stab them 108 times with a rubber blade sitting on the prop wall display; attempt to search the place and make a mess with recycled paper; race up the stairs to search and crack open the safes; clean the rubber blade and return it to display; then get the hell out.
This wasn’t exactly a race, per say – but man did Officer Roland wanted to win first place in all this!
“Jesus, pant pant, Christ! Ma’am! C-can I stop at 60 stabs, and say I did the whole 108!? M-my arm is about to give out!”
Detective Fraulein didn’t bother to reply. She simply responded by reloading her starting pistol. Blanks, of course, but they still hurt like hell.
“...Y-yes, ma’am….Oh god. 61 – 62 – 63, fuuu, 64 – 65 – 66 – Aaagh. My shoulder! 67 – 68!”
By the time Officer Roland went over 112, by accident, his entire sweater was drenched inside out as if someone splashed an ice bucket into his face. Even when he took a 2 second breather, he could feel the sweat running down the his chest and back like the Niagara Falls!
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Phew! Alright. Up stairs—Wait, wait no! Search the house! Throw the paper and—”
“Roland. Just stop.”
“Ma’am! I-I swear, I’m taking this very seriously! I-I haven’t even reached the finish line yet!”
“You’re already at the 45 minute mark, and you still haven’t gone upstairs.”
“...Oh.” Well there goes breaking world record. “...C-could I do it again?”
“NEXT!”
One by one, every police man and woman took turns in running the experiment. Clearly, they all had different approaches to the challenge and obstacles, to try and one up each other.
For instance: one police woman bull rushed the armored victim into the wall so she could swipe the dagger at the same time, shaving some seconds; another policeman tossed and the armored victim around in a tussle, knocking over recycle bins and making a mess BEFORE grabbing the knife to stab his ‘victim’ near the stairs;
Then of course there were the outliers. Like one officer tripping over his feet and breaking his nose within the first second.
“DAMN IT OFFICER TANNER!”
Trial after trial later, all the times were recorded and tallied. Finally, the results...wrote despair on the detective’s face.
“Oh my god! You’re all horrible killers! Stone! This isn’t working! There’s something wrong with your idea!”
“Quite the opposite, Fraulein—I mean, Detective. Ahem. It’s working just fine.”
Prof. Stone walked past the men and women who were either laying across the grass, vomiting in the garden, or just sitting on the stone steps with shaking hands as they sip on water. All dead, physically and mentally. After handing out a few more water bottles to the others, he approached his companion to look at the clipboard.
“This,” He jabbed his fingers at the abysmal scoring, “Is exactly what we’re supposed to be looking for.”
“Well you got a screw loose,” The Detective hissed. “Everyone here are trained cops, with at least five to six years of experience. They’re practically the best guys I got on hand. Yet as you can see, no one could finish everything in the manor within the time limit!”
“Exactly!”
“For crying out loud—ENGLISH! DO YOU SPEAK IT!?”
Prof. Stone clicked his tongue but sucked in the air to be patient, “This whole experiment is to test whether or not Keekee was capable of: murdering the victim, ransacking the house like a storm, go up and empty out the safes in the house, clean and put away the dagger, and leave the crime scene within 45 minutes – BEFORE she got into her car accident! This isn’t about who’s the fastest to complete the trials, it’s a process of elimination through scientific simulations! Surely you’ve done something like this in Grade 11 Science or something, right?”
Detective Fraulein gave a death glare. End of story.
“I never should should have gotten out of bed for this,” Detective Fraulein frowned and started to pack up. “This, was a complete waste of time. As if the Judge and Jury is going to buy this crap!… Wait a second, did YOU even went, Stone!? Why don’t you show off your Grade 10 Chemistry in this!?”
“A-are you kidding me, detective! I am a scientist, not an Olympic Athlete. I’ll just froth from the mouth in 10 minutes! I don’t want to ruin the statistics!...Actually wait… Why don’t you give it a whirl, detective!”
“...What?”
“I mean, look at you. Tall, slender, well built. Not to mention, a female like Keekee. In fact, you seem to bear similar physical traits with Keekee...Granted you’re shy in the uuh...pectoral muscle area, compared to the poor girl. Perhaps you be more aerodynamic, or—”
Detective Fraulein reloaded her starting pistol – as loud as she could. It was enough to silence Prof. Stone from finishing that simple sentence.
...In saying that, the detective chewed on the thought. Was she going to really take that jab to her body and let some bastard walk away with it?...Nah. Not in a million years. So she put on her best game face and ripped off her jacket, kicked off her shoes, peeled off the skin of her socks, and did a little boxer’s ritual to warm up her body.
“You sure you want me in this?” Detective Fraulein was smirking at this point as she stretched her arms and legs, “I don’t know Stone. I might just ruin the statistics, stretch the bell curve enough to make you all look like sloths.”
“...Hah.. Ahem. Alright, ready?...Get set……”
BANG!
Wow! Look at her move! There was something about her grace and form that made her look like a gazelle prancing through the savanna at break neck speed. It didn’t take long before she knocked down the armored victim, stabbed him exactly 108 times, kicked over the pile of papers in every direction, bolted up the stairs, the sound of wooden furniture replicas being split apart—
CRASH! BANG! CRACK! Tumble, tumble, tumble!
—And ended with a fake safe tumbling down the stairs like a dead body. The fall completely crushing the safe door wide open and board game money spilling out like blood.
To top it off, Detective Fraulein ended the trial by walking out of the doors with arms wide open. As if walking into a wrestling match for the gold belt.
“...T-Time!” Prof. Stone clicked the button and squinted at the results. “...45 minutes, on the dot.”
“HAH!” Detective Fraulein threw her fists up into the air in victory. “I win! Suck on it!”
“Congratulations, Detective. You forgot to clean the blade, ransack the entire second floor, and you missed the second safe.”
“GOD DAMMIT!”
The detective kicked at the fake safe – hissing under her breath when she stubbed a toe or two. Never before has she felt this humiliated, especially after all that ‘ruining statistics talk’. What can she do to make her feel better?
“...Hey. Hey hold on.” The detective finally realized. “What about Kung-Fu Boy? Why doesn’t HE get to go!?”
Martial Kim was present. Don’t worry, he wouldn’t miss out this scientific experiment for the world. As for why he wasn’t taking part, that’s because:
“...Miss Detective. Can’t you see I am very busy?”
“Passing out water bottles does NOT count as having your hands full. Drop the box and get your ass over here!”
The young master rolled his eyes, before he passed the package to Officer Roland (who snagged a couple of bottles to cool down). As he approached the starting line...he hesitated at the last minute.
“Why should I partake?” The young master asked, more out of curiosity than resistance. “Why, I was with Teacher during the hours of the murder, having drinks. And I immediately took to Keekee’s side the moment I heard of her accident. I don’t see how my partaking would be relevant—”
Detective Fraulein snickered, wiping the sweat off her brow. “What’s the matter, Kung-Fu Boy. Gonna show me how to do the CHICKEN STANCE!?”
Oh? How daring? To call Martial Kim a witless chicken. Hah! As if such a goading tactic would move the young master. Sticks and stones may break a bone, but words cannot move this mountain!
“...Hahaha...HAHAHAH! Oh please, Miss Detective. Even if you were to acquire 50 years worth of martial arts cultivation from a divine Golden Pill – you are still 100 years too early to challenge the likes of me! You, have courted death!”
(Feel free to face palm).
The arrogant young master took his position at the front of the manor. He gave the building a quick look over and he already calculated where and when he will go. All that was left, was to wait for the signal to move his feet.
“…” Prof. Stone thought he should say something, maybe to stop this madness but, either he was too interested in what was going to happen or too tired to bother. So, he readied his starting pistol and aimed it to the air. “Alright. On your mark. Get set!”
BANG!--JESUS! WHERE DID KIM GO!?
Martial Kim soared through the manor like a crane over the river, striking with a single and flawless swoop! WHAM! A graceful kick and he sent the armored victim flying into the wall. A sharp spin and the young master manipulated his Inner Energy to summon the wind, lashing it like a whip, to snatch the rubber knife off the wall and into his palm (telekinesis!?).
1, 2, 10, 12, 35, 60, 75—Oh crap, it was impossible to keep count!
What was supposed to be a dull rubber knife tore through the cloth and padding of the coverings that were meant to withstand an explosive! Every wave of the edge would trail ever lasting marks like scars of battle!
Next thing anyone knew, Martial Kim vanished. Like the breeze, he was never too early neither was he ever too late and chose to show himself to the naked eye exactly when he pleased. Every time he ‘teleported’ each room exploded from a flurry of fleeting hands and blasting winds, sending paper crashing about like the sea foam of a raging storm!
An explosive kick and he launched straight up to the second floor! Who cares about stairs when you got flying skills! That was when people lost track of his movements as he transformed into a blur as carefree as a shooting star.
It was only when everyone heard a loud BANG did they realize the young master had returned to clap two safes together like hacking open coconuts! To top it off, he commanded the wind once more to sweep up the scattered board game bills and clump them together.
He ended up forming a large ball of crushed paper into his grip, as if he was holding the world hostage in his palms.
……………. Oh right! Prof. Stone clicked his timer! Everyone peeked at the number that was frozen in place.
15 minutes.
“CHEATER!” The big baby—er, Detective Fraulein screeched. She even lunged at the young master to avenge herself, had not the forensic chemist and officer tackled her down. “YOU – FREAKING – CHEATER! STONE, HE DOESN’T COUNT! THIS BASTARD KNOWS KUNG-FU!”
“Exactly my point, Miss Detective.”
“WIPE THAT SMUG LOOK OFF YOUR FACE, ASSHOLE!”
“You still don’t get it?” Martial Kim would place the ball of paper money onto the floor, as if it were an innocent puppy, “You and your officers are trained professionals who have chased after crooks and vagabonds their whole lives. Yet they cannot achieve the perfect murder within the time limit. And I am a martial artist with over years of cultivation! I know exactly how to defeat my enemy in less than three steps with time to spare!”
“Are you explaining or bragging, Kung-Fu Boy!”
“Keekee is neither a trained officer no martial arts cultivator! So tell me, Miss Detective, how is it possible for a civilian like her capable of stabbing her employer 108 and pillage the entirety of his manor – in only 45 minutes!?”
Surely this should be enough evidence to free Keekee right? Right!?
