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The Founding Dad's Bar & Karaoke
Highland Springs, Virginia
September 12th, 2010
1:15 AM

Being one of the only bars that were open 24 hours, 7 days a week meant Jane could work at night and stay at home with her only child during the day. That didn't mean she really enjoyed her job as a bartender, though the tips she brought in every week weren't too bad. At this time of night, the place was mostly scarce of souls, with only four or five customers, and herself.

Julie glanced up at the glowing Coca-Cola clock that her boss was just too damn proud of, sighing as she went back to wiping up the counter. Only forty-five more minutes, she thought. After her shift she would go home and crash for four or five hours, and then wake up and spend most of the day with Aaron, her rambunctious four year old. Every night she tucked him in at seven at her Momma's house, and then picked him up the next morning. It wasn't the best situation, but she took what she could get as a single mom.

At just about that time, one of the regulars at the end of the bar called for another beer and she looked up. "Henry, don't you think you've just about had enough?" she teased. "Enough is when I can't ask for another, Jules," he answered back, with a bit of a stutter. The old man certainly could hold his liquor, though his speech was becoming a bit affected. "Alright old man. Just a second." Just as she reached under the bar for another glass, a loud sound caused her to nearly drop it to the ground.

The pop of what couldn't be mistaken for a gun shot rang out just outside the front doors, and then was immediately followed by the sound of tires pealing out as someone raced away. "What the hell?" she exclaimed. The few people inside all made their way to the glass front door and peered out onto the quiet, dark side street. Julie grabbed the emergency shot gun and jogged to the door. Yelling at the men who crowded her way to move aside, she took a deep breath and then pushed open the door.

At first, she didn't see anything around. Then as her eyes swept over the nearby dumpsters a few hundred feet away, she noticed a dark figure slumped on the ground. Moving closer, she screamed as the realization hit her that the figure was a man. A man in a white uniform with dog tags, who was covered in blood near exactly where his heart would be. "Hello? Can you hear me?" she desperately called out. She heard groaning, and rushed immediately to the side of the man's head. "It was... her," was all the man could seem to get out in a gruff voice, and then he began coughing up large amounts of blood.

Turning her head to Henry and the others, she screamed, "Call 911! Now!" As she yelled, the man stopped coughing and his eyes closed for the final time.

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The Elevator, NCIS Headquarters
Washington D.C.
September 12th, 2010
8:33 AM

The only sounds that Tony heard as he went up to his floor were the whirring of the elevator, and even that was too much noise. Luckily, he was the only one in the elevator at the time so he had no reserves in cursing and groaning when the doors slid open to a number of bright lights where his office was located. The previous night's adventure with a redhead had only brought him a massive hangover, with no follow through from the girl he'd met at the bar. "I will never drink again. Ever, ever again," he grumbled out as he slowly made his way to the bullpen and layed his gear on his desk. Moving around to sit at his chair, he immediately put his head down. I should be doing this on a pillow, in a bed, he thought.

"Someone had a nice night!" remarked McGee.

"Or a really bad one," added Ziva with a chuckle.

"Hangover. Loud mouthes. Shut up." Was all he could manage. Alcohol. Never, ever again. His desk was hard against his forehead, and just as he began to put his arms up to cushion his head, something that felt like a wad of paper hit his right shoulder. Raising up, Tony began to threaten, not noticing who stood in the center of the bull pen looking at him, "Who ever did that is about to- Oh, hi Gibbs- Boss. Boss, morning, Boss."

"DiNozzo, what were you about to do to me?" questioned Gibbs, with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed, trying to appear angry, but with a slight grin.

"Oh, Boss. Well I was going to say, that I was going to, um, well throw it back. Throw the paper back," stammered Tony. The chuckles of the Probie and Ziva sounded, and Tony cleared his throat. "Sorry, Boss. Hangover. Long night. My fault."

"Of course, DiNozzo." he answered back with a slight chuckle of his own. Then turning on his heel to his own desk, he reached for his backpack and gear and sounded out as he always did, "Grab your gear! Dead sailor found in Highland Springs, outside of a local bar." Ziva and McGee almost immediately popped up grabbing their gear, and began preparing to leave. Tony groaned ever so slightly, before grabbing his backpack once again and stood. "Can I get coffee first, Boss?"

Gibbs answered back, "Sure DiNozzo. If you think you can do that and have the van ready in five?" he questioned sarcastically.

"We'll stop on the way, then," he sighed and headed off towards the elevator with Ziva and McGee in tow. Gibbs smiled for only a second and then coughed before following behind them, slipping in the elevator right before the doors closed.

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Parking lot, The Founding Dad's Bar & Karaoke
Highland Springs, Virginia
September 12th, 2010
9:56 AM

The clicks of Ziva and McGee's cameras, added to the gathering crowds chatter behind the yellow tape, and the suprisingly sunny Fall day made DiNozzo a bit more grumpier. The only good part of this morning is the Starbucks, he thought. Turning back to the body of the dead sailor, he snapped his own pictures of the single gunshot wound to the chest, apparently right through where the heart would be. Lifting his sunglasses to the top of this head, he remarked, "Whoever shot this guy has been to target practice more than a few times."

"Good conclusion, Anthony. I would concur, because the bullet went right through the middle of the heart, and he most likely died just a minute or so after the shot. Not an amateur hit, though a bit surprising," said the beloved coroner, Ducky, in his British accent.

"What do you mean?" questioned Gibbs.

Ducky answered back, "This type of hit, in a parking lot, late at night, seems almost mob-like. But he wasn't shot in the head. It would have been very painful, I assure you. He was made to suffer, if I had to guess, but not enough to last a long time. A merciful killer."

"Never known most killings to be merciful." Gibbs says, then continues thoughtfully, "Time of death?"

"Between one and two this morning," he announced, just after pulling out the thermometer from the body.

"Matches the witness statement, a single shot fired around 1:20 AM this morning outside the bar. A handful of drinkers and the bartender heard it, along with a few neighbors. None of the witnesses recognize the victom, but they were all surprised to see a man in full uniform," Ziva said as she read off the details she'd gotten from the local police chief.

McGee stopped taking the pictures of the tire tracks near the dumpster and said, "How could there be no witnesses to who did this? Or the suspect's car?" He continued exasperately, "There were people right in front of it!"

"Yes, well Probie, drunk people don't make good witnesses," Tony sarcastically answered.

"What about hungover ones?" McGee fired back with a grin.

Tony gave what could only be described as a death glare, then looked back at the body. "Dogtags say Petty Officer Reginald T. Davidson..." He trailed off, then added, "I wonder what he did to deserve this?"

Gibbs looked at the body, then looked pointedly at Tony. "Maybe nothing. That's what we have to find out. Now get back to work, DiNozzo."