17 Plays A little Grey's Anatomy

"You're quick to learn," he appreciated.

"Well I don't just run my multi-billion dollar businesses with an empty head, Daniel", I quipped.

"However, you mentioned, you can't investigate him unless you have a proof…" I left my sentence intentionally incomplete for a purpose for him to continue.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty here to disclose any further information about this case. I've already said enough. It was nice meeting you Ford, have a nice day." He walked away. Fuck9r had to ruin the moment just when we were getting to the good part; and I was beginning to even like him a little.

Well who needs that priss in their life; when Ford is here, there's nothing to fear. I can tell you all the details about this case without moving an inch. Like how he failed to mention that dear old Fred's so called poor victim 'the fiancé' was also a part of his crime organization working to recruit young girls for their strip clubs all over the country, illegally. Not so innocent, now is she?

Yeah, I already knew who Fredrick was, in fact I'm awfully sure at this point I know more about him then the police do. Like where and exactly what he was up to two night ago when the murder occurred, i.e. In my trunk... nah, I'm just kidding, he wasn't in the trunk of my car, he was in the trunk of his own car. You didn't think I was stupid enough to put his person all over in my own car, did you? Or that I would drive up to a girl's house, whom I plan to kill, in my own car? I'm not Homer fuckin Simpson, you know.

Anyway, long story short; 'Fred the killer' came to my office then he left an hour before the murder, as evident in the CCTV footage. What's not in the footage is the fact that a certain intellectual being tackled him –very gently- before he could get far away and stuffed his greasy ass in the trunk of his car but not before borrowing his jacket, then drove to his fiancée's place. Believe me when I say it wasn't easy, all the while driving, the cognitive individual found himself wound up tight in a dilemma of epic proportions; as only one question swam in his confused and suffering mind over and over; how the hell can a car smell this bad? Or is it the jacket? Bloody hell, can be both.

The rest is simple; he parks the car behind 'the fiancée's' house, goes in, plays a little Grey's anatomy with her, plants that crimson covered knife which became the last touch for dear, 'the fiancée' but not before carefully soiling the blade a little more; this time with the prints of the heartless 'Fred the killer'; et voila! The perfect murder is served and my work for the night was done.