You find that, sometimes, this job gets to you.

You lay awake at night, like all those TV and movie cops do, wondering if there is going to be any end to the amount of scum, that we have to track down and bring to justice.  I thought that the insomniac cop, who is tired of his job, painted by the media was just an overused cliché, but it's not, because I am not.  What I am, that is not for me to judge, only God can do that, and since I don't believe that he exists anymore, I might be in luck.

I leave my beeper on, all night, to see if there has been another murder.  I work homicide.  I am in the middle of trying to track down a serial killer, he has killed eight  so far, to our knowledge.  There could be more.  We just don't know.  I've worked on this case since the beginning and feel that once the killer is caught, I will walk out of the job, after only four years as a detective.  Otherwise, it's gun to the head time, and then just a statistic for suicide cops.

There is no pattern to the killings, we can't protect the next victim, as we know not who they are.  All that we know is that someone is exercising their grief of others habits, with extreme prejudice.  Each killing has had a note attached, printed by a computer, on a common printer, with a common ink, which makes the list of suspects over 40,000 strong.  The only sequence that is repeated is the timing, one killing every two weeks, this is one of those weeks, this goes against most serial killers routines.  Your garden variety killer will kill once a month, on the full moon.  This is done not for the reasons of lunacy, but as a net that will catch them if we do.  The killer, he, we always say he, statistically it is a he, well, he is killing those that perform no great injustice to him, as the first killing indicated to me from the start.

A cold November morning, 16 weeks ago.  The multi-storey car park was empty, the night watch doing his final rounds before the morning crew got in.  He is just about to finish his rounds when he decides to check the roof top.  When he opens the pedestrian entrance to the roof he is hit with a smell.  Later this smell was found to be blood.  The man walks over to what he thinks is a cloth sack laying on the ground.  He thinks nothing of it, due to the fact that patrons of the car park try to drop off unwanted items here, sometimes, dog, cats, and other family pets can be quickly disposed of here.  It's only when he kicks the object does the night watch discover that this is no family pet.  It's a member of his family, his son.  Night watch falls to his knees, and holds the head of his boy, Jason, 18 yrs old and just finished his school.  Dad had given him a part time job watching the rest of the building with him, and thought that he had gone out for the night with his friends.  But now in his arms, Jason lay, a rusty metal spike jabbed through one ear and out the other.  We comforted the father as much as we could, saying that the force that the rod had been put through would have killed him instantly.  We found Jason's walkman and headphones about four feet away from him, instead of a tape in the walkman we found a neatly folded note.  It read.

'To Whom it May Concern

This is the beginning, and to explain would give the ending away too soon.  But this boy is out of my misery.  He would have lived if the volume control had been stuck and there was no chance of him turning it down, but he made the choice to listen to his noise so loudly.  This was the straw that broke my back.  Expect more.

Yours

Manners Man.'

The best that I can say about the man was that his typing was very well presented, to be honest my Chief told me that we could all learn a thing or two from this notes presentation.  He was not talking about the profile, the V.C.U., the Violent Crimes Unit, would take that part, leaving us to do the leg work, how else would they justify their large budget.  But was talking about the layout and grammar, to which we all replied, 'We are Detectives not Secretaries.'  He took the criticism well.

It's now 0530, thirty hours since I've had an hours sleep.  In two hours, I'm back on duty, in fourteen, I'm back to my insomnia.  An action packed day.

The other crimes by this Manners Man, were along similar but different lines.  A mime from the park, bound, gagged and then had all his limbs removed, while he was still alive.  A blunt instrument was used to separate the joints, then a sharp cutting device removed the limb from the body.  The note there simply read 'At this time he would have given anything to call out, get it?'  This, to my recollection, could be the only time that I've laughed at a crime scene, I shared the hatred of mimes, but I wouldn't never go that far.  After the mime came a clue to the identity of our killer.  We know that he lived in a house, that was cut out into two separate apartments.  Everything was divided, apart from the hot water tank, which they shared.  It seemed that the young lady in question was using all the hot water before our friend could.  So he tied her up in the bath, and poured scalding hot water onto her skin, he would then remove the water and repeat the process.  The Autopsy showed that this was repeated for three hours, then Manners Man stopped, she must have passed out, he skin shrunk and cooked, 90% of her body was burnt badly.  This is not how she died.  Mr. Manners then opened the windows in the house, all of them, turned off all the heating, and he left her there, soaking in the water.  The minus degree tempetures outside, along with the now freezing cold water, made sure that she died from hypothermia.

I was raised to believe that true manners is shown by respecting women.

We checked his room, it was so neat, like no one ever lived there, it was more than he cleared all of his belongings out, knowing that the girl would be found, I got the distinct impression that this man was obsessive with his neatness, and that the motto 'a place for everything, and everything in its place' was well used here.  You see, working homicide, the perpetrator never stays, usually, unless it's involuntary homicide, those usually stick around.  But for premeditated, those bad people get their stuff and get out of town.  Leaving behind them a big mess, the dwellings would be terrible, and then it would take forensics a couple of days to do a sweep of the residence.  I think the boys in the white overalls were in and out of Manner Mans place within the hour.  Nothing to report, not even a good print.  Though I have to say that I never thought, from day one, that this was a repeat offender that we were dealing with.  This is just a clever man, who's pot boiled over.  We moved on to the landlord, which was no help, the tenant of 143 Chapel street, paid by cash, and paid a year in advance.  No wonder I couldn't sleep.

Five more killings, each with a note.  Each victim, picked by their rating of annoyance to Manners Man.  Each note, politely stating the reasons for the kill.  Each death a further thorn in my side, that would go a little deeper with each passing fortnight.  There had to be some way that we could find the killer, some plan that would come to us, plans always do.

*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*BEEP*

Out of the darkness the beeper.  Then an unexpected voice.

"This is getting tiresome."  Calm and dark, from the door to my room.

I reach for my gun, but it's been removed from my Cat boots.  Thought that nobody would look there.

I hear the click of the hammer going back on the gun.  I raise my hands in surrender, part of me feels, sleep finally.  The other part knows that if this guy wanted me dead, I would be by now.

"You've had 16 weeks, next cause and effect will be at 18 weeks, how long is it going to take you ?"  The same calmness, same constant tone, no raising or lowering of the voice.

I turn my head, but the darkness of the winter morning light gave nothing of this mans features away, the silver barrel of the gun is more highlighted to me.  I shiver, close my eyes, and revel in the fact that I open them again.

"You are under arrest, lay down the gun, and kick it over to me....." There was no chance in hell of him complying, but something inside told me to give it a shot.  Should not even think of the word 'shot' right now.  I could hear the hammer being placed back softly.  Maybe he would follow my instructions.

"Up to now, there have been random killings, this does not test my intellect, or yours, the lack of manners in general are shameful.  The message is not getting through.  There needs to be a grand example.  I have noticed that you are afraid.  You should not be.  I will leave here, to plan, and when the plan is ready, you'll receive warning, that warning will, if you are capable, be enough to stop the next killings.  Goodbye, Detective Hobbs." 

All throughout, I could not get a reading from him.  There was a coldness in his speech, he seemed to be lost in his efforts, as though the personality he had, was now lost to the passion of his crimes.  Within a blink of my eyes he was gone, I could hear the gun falling from his palm to the floor as he moved from my home.

I knew that it was safe to get up.  I felt something of this killer inside me, if I was him I would not risk killing a cop, not if I still had something that needed to be done.  A click of a switch and my area is lit with light.  I make it to the hall and see the gun lying there, though I know better to touch it, the boys in prints would kill me, then they’d have to fill out the forms and that would get them more blended to anger and this country does not need civil servants going nuts.

At the lab I wait for the print I.D. to come back, I sit and wait.  The technicians are rushing.  Although Manners did not give me a time, I knew that he would not keep me waiting, that is the height of bad manners.  It seems that the guys in printing are similar in the time scale, it didn’t take them long to tell me the bad news.

It seems that my friend had never been printed by us or anyone else.  Our long shot of checking through Interpol didn’t pay off, but if something happened on a grand scale then we had to prove that we tried, the last thing that we needed at the moment was controversy, no mistakes would be tolerate by my superiors or the media, I didn’t know who to fear the scorn of worse.  But at least now we had a print, and if our Manners Man was picked up for some other reason we could I.D. him quicker.

Three hours passed since the results came in and now the Violent Crimes Unit wanted to talk to me.  ‘Oh joy to the world.  The big boy’s are here.’

Agent George Silverman, a portly gentleman sat with a file in front of him, a coffee stain rained on his shirt, though he tried to hide it with closing his clouded grey suit jacket over, I could still see the brown flecks of the dried stain though.  He seemed pleasant enough, though for the life of me I don’t know how the V.C.U. had ever become the leading force in crime prevention in this country.

“Detective Hobbs, I’m Agent Silverman, please sit down, I’ve a lot of questions, and not much time.”  His haste mixed with politeness made me uneasy, like being the sheep that the wolf was smiling at.  I sat, though I felt that I needed to stand.

The husky harsh voice was a change from the calmness of Manners Man.  Agent Silverman opened the file and removed a page, then a pen evolved from the inside pocket of the suit, showing more of the stain.  I wanted to run out and buy the man a new shirt, but then again, the V.C.U. didn’t pay peanuts so he could buy his own damn shirt.

The pen met the paper and the questions began.

“I’ve read your report, and I first want to let you know that we, the V.C.U., have no intention of taking over the case from you, though I will be working with you from now on.”

I had to smile.

“Fine, that’s great, but not a question, so do you want to hurry, I am expecting a call to say they’ve found the next scene any time now.”

“Why do you think he called on you ?”

“Wow, you’ve read my report, and still you ask such a fucking awful question, I’ve no problem with the V.C.U. but sometimes you guys can’t find the wood for the trees.” Starting to think now that the V.C.U. are overpaid.  Agent Silverman seemed to be unmoved by my reply.

“How’d you mean ?” You could tell that he was suppressing a great deal.

“I mean, he’s called Manners Man, by his own admission, it’s polite to tell someone you are involved with what your plans are.”  I knew how that sounded and I didn’t like the insinuation that followed.

“You telling me that this guy wants to be involved with you, someway sexual maybe ?”  Silverman knew that I would not take kindly with the intention of being thought of as gay.  I smile, though wryly.

“Agent Silverman, what is your first name ?”

“George, Detective, why the interest ?”

“Well, George, if I was Manners man, you’d be dead right now, you knew what I implied when I answered your question, yet you turn it around to mock me.  Get the point!”

Silverman was taken aback by my statement and closed his file and placed his pen back in it’s spot.  I got up and left, I knew that he was serious about us working together, so I expected him to follow me.  Ten minutes I spent sitting at my desk before he showed up.

“We’ve gotten a call.  It seems that your friend is holding a dozen or so people hostage at the Abbey Theatre.  He says that he has an explosive device set up in a parameter around the group, with motion sensor’s around them.”

I get my coat on, when it hits my shoulders I know there is something that I need to know.

“Motion sensor’s, that’s odd.”

“They can move freely around the circle, but if one of them touches the parameter, or if one of us goes within a three yards of it, the whole building blows.” He seemed to have some respect for Manners man now.

“Call the bomb squad, and SWAT, if we can’t take him out with care, we’ll just blow the fuck’s head off and.. “ Silverman’s face pasted a thousand words for me.

“There is one small problem with that, the bomb squad have been, thankfully our killer left the schematics for the bomb design at the box office.”

“That’ll be him then, so what’s the problem ?”

“The design shows that the bomb can only be disarmed from inside the circle.  He left a mobile number for you, we tested it, and that freak won’t talk to anyone but you.”

“Right, and the SWAT team, have they moved in ?”

“What would be the point, we need this guy alive to disarm the bomb or the twelve people are fucked.”

I saw his point, I didn’t like it much, but still I saw it.

We left for the theatre and didn’t talk all the way there.  Finally, through the Dublin traffic we made it.  I waited until I was outside the building to put on a vest, I knew if Manners Man was going to shoot me he would have done it already, but better to be safe than sorry.  SWAT was waiting outside the doors, a threat from our killer to move or have to sift through the rubble.  Silverman started to place his vest over his shoulders when I stopped him.

“Hey, I don’t want to be blown up, until I have his permission, I’m going in on my own.”

Silverman was not happy.  He understood though, he handed me a headset so that I could keep in contact with him.

“Bomb squad said this won’t interfere with the signal, got any ideas how you are going to get the freak out ?”

I smiled at the ground, it didn’t appreciate the gesture and would not return the facial lifting.

“The only chance is a trade, he might take me for them, I will use the balcony and talk down to him, I don’t want to go near the parameter.”

“I wish you well, if you need something just ask.”  The hint of hope in Silverman’s voice was needed, I just hoped, myself, that I would come out of this in one piece.  When Hollywood shows us Serial Killer movies there is this part where the killer and the hunter show the same traits, the lines that divide them become more and more blurred until the finale.  I wish that I was now stereotypical, and came out fine.

“Right, I’m going to go in, if something happens, tell people my last words were, Fuck me an explosion!” My attempt of humour was not lost on Silverman.  He patted me on the back and took a step back as I entered the building, catching the failing sun in the mirrored door, I have to believe that I will see such a sight again.  I look at the lobby, making sure that there are no booby traps waiting for me, should I make one mistake other’s would pay, that would be acceptable to me, I would be dead.

The balcony was draftee and right from the top the view of the stage set was amazing, so were the acoustics.  The whimpering of the hostages below me was clear, a wonder came over me if they knew what their future held should someone breach the circle around them.  I believe that they had to know, it was only good manners, and my target would have at least informed them of all their choices.

“This is Detective Hobbs, Dublin City police, I am here to talk to you.  May I come closer to the balcony rail so that we can talk ?”  I keep a even tone of politeness in my vocal arrangement. 

“Thank you, you may come near.” As I come closer I hear his calmness come forward again.  “What, may I ask, is your first name ?”  I reached the barrier of the balcony and kept my hands out so that Manner’s Man could see that I was no obvious threat to him.

“It’s Henry, can I ask you for your name ?” This was getting tedious, but for now pandering to his need for politeness was mine and those people’s hope.  I could say ‘only’ hope but that is painfully obvious.

I don’t get a reply, so I proceed to check the guests of our killer.  Apart from the plain terror from the situation they seem to be in good health.  Manner’s man is holding a gun, and in his other hand there is a detonator that looks like a modified TV remote control.

“I will spare my identity for now, not for me, it matters not for me, but for those who are related to me their affiliation must be remained.  If you would like to you can join us down here, much more polite, rather than this strained vocal recourse.  Don’t you think ?”

I started to make my way back down the stairs, once out of sight from Manner’s man I could contact Silverman.

“Did you get all that ?  What do you think ?”

There was a short pause, worrying to say the least.  I knew what I thought, and believed it to be true, I just needed some form of back up, mentally and professionally.

“I think you should get out of there, he seems to be indicating that he knows that he is not going to be walking out of there, one way or another.”

“That your opinion or the V.C.U.’s opinion.  Manner’s Man may deserve to die, but those people don’t.”

Another pause, this was getting worrying.

I need to know what to do.  Instinct tells me that partly Silverman is right, me leaving and letting SWAT and the Bomb Squad take a go would be a sensible thing to do.  On the other hand, I’ve never been sensible.

“I’m staying here, my fate won’t be any different from those people.”  I sounded brave, and for a few seconds confused myself into thinking that I was.

As I made my way to the C4 circle I looked around at the terrified people, a bakers dozen of people, all in their late twenties with mobile phones lying on the ground beside them.  I move with my hands held open beside me, he knew I would not have a gun, but being on the safe side and C4 go hand in hand.  I wait for him to speak first.

“Stop there!” The first time that his calm still voice moved in anyway, this was something that he obviously felt passionate about, he wanted this time with me.

I stop.

He point’s the TV remote control device to me. 

“In one heartbeat, the world will be lighter.” I know what he is saying, it’s a reminder not to try anything funny, so telling a joke is definitely out.  I reassure his command by simply nodding my head.

“I know that those outside wish for you to negotiate with me for the release of the cattle, so what’s the offer ?”

“Me for them, I know you can see the plain fact that my life is worth more to them, kill one of these and you’re just a nut job that had an itchy trigger finger.  Kill me, and your point will be kept in their minds, forever.”

Manner’s man smiled, he understood, he pressed a button on the remote and a buzzing started.  He motioned for all the hostages to rise to their feet.  Moving behind one of them, a young lady, who had been born with misfortune, born beautiful.  Those who are born with beauty have attention thrust upon them, ugly people seldom do, if this girl had been born looking as though someone made baseball bats from the ugly tree and went to work on her face, I suspect she would be walking out of there right now.  The others filed out, slowly.

“Step inside, that is if you want to ?”

As I make it into the circle, Manner’s man reveals his gun, placing it into the side of the girls head.  He clicks the remote and the buzzing stops.  In my ear there is another sound a calling.

“They are all safe, Hobbs can you get the last girl out ?  We will full breach if one shot is heard, do you understand ?”  Silverman must have had the V.C.U. playbook out and running it by the numbers.  I stare at the face of Manner’s man, and see that he is not impressed.  I remove the headset quickly, and can hear Silverman repeating the message as the device fell.

Manner’s man smiled.

“Thank you Henry.  Mechanism’s of noise play on my passion somewhat.”

“I hate mobile phones too, especially when at the cinema, sometimes I feel like I want to just shot the noise makers out of their hands.”  Agreeing with him by choice, but also to make him know that I am on his side in a way.

“A hatred shared can make allies of enemies.  Though you stop when it comes to the follow through, I exercise the demon, give him more power.”

“Just like a caveman!”

Manners man must have thought that I had insulted him, he cocked the revolver and placed it harder into the side of the girls head.

“Explain yourself….. now!”

“No insult was intended, just a belief of mine.  Cavemen never had stress, when they had pressure they  picked up a rock and threw it, nowadays when that pressure overtakes us we have stress, we take abuse from others, like if your boss gives you grief you sit there and take it rather than picking up your desk and throw it at the man.”

Manner’s man thought for a moment, tense time was spent in-between. 

“I see your point.” He relaxed the gun at the girls head, though still shielding himself with her to make a snipers job impossible.  The Sniper’s were waiting outside, talcum powder in supply.

“Why keep the girl ?  She has no part in this.”  I needed to get her out of here, then I could maybe get a shot out and end this, I watched the button he pressed to lower the motion sensors, so now there was an end.

“Well one must pay, I let the twelve go, you wouldn’t let my needs go un-addressed would you ?”  He took a step back and pulled the trigger.  Until my dying day I would remember the look of shock on that girls face as the bullet blasted a whole the size of Bruce Willis’ ego through her.

From the headset I could hear Silverman’s voice lower but audible from the floor. “Full breach, SWAT ten seconds.”  But what I could hear so could Manner’s man, who was still calm, which I didn’t like, I took out my secondary pistol, the same one he had pointed at me the previous night.  He just held up the remote and pointed a button.

In a flash, I thought I was dead, but the explosion came from somewhere distant, somewhere outside.

“I couldn’t have then interrupt my killing, before the rhyme and reason is known, that would have been rude.”  He was suffering a mass of enjoyment from the explosion.  “Oh the explosives around you are real, just no detonators.  I need you to pass on the message.”

“What message ?” Shockingly asked.

“Common manners, those inherent in human civilisation are forgotten, there are more like me out there, some may not have woken to the point that I have but they are there, they are coming.  You will now be ready.”

I could not believe this, all of this is just an eye opener.  More to come ?  What happened outside ?  Why me ?  With all these questions rolling down the windows of the oule grey matter it was hard to notice that Manner’s man had placed the gun to his head.  And even harder to care that he pulled the trigger.

I moved in a daze, felling though that five or six days passed on my way to the carnage on the street, Silverman, the dozen patrons and half the man power of the police gone from the earth.  Arms and legs torn from the joints, blood starting to flow like the Nile into the drains.  I could not motion my feelings into sensing the ground in front of me, I took a seat beside Silverman’s head, severed by a piece of glass, and looked at his body, about eight feet away.

In the distance the sirens squealed into action.  In my space of this ball we call Earth I sat wondering would tonight I get some sleep.  Twelve feet from me a mobile phone, attached to a lost hand, started to play the theme to Air wolf.  I raised my gun with my anger and popped a shot into it.  I realised what I did.  Should I know what to do next, cause if I should, I don’t.

The End.