It was cold and rainy as he stepped into the apartment building. Making sure to slam the door behind him. It was a decrepit building and things were broken everywhere, and it would not due to have an open door banging around in the storm tonight. This night of all nights was special, and everything needed to be perfect.
The next morning I awoke to a horrible screeching as the black woman down the hall yelled out her window and the ruffians who hung out around back of the building. The screaming reached my ears just as the alarm clock in my room went off. Practically deaf in one ear, I scrambled out of bed. I pulled on my worn jeans and a white tee. Same thing I wore almost everyday. While I was putting on the tea water, the phone rang. When I answered the cord phone in my kitchen I heard my boss' voice on the end. Not today! Today I was on a break. My one day in the whole month I get to spend home doing nothing my boss calls. There was a murder, in an apartment down the road. The apartment was old, rundown, and mostly deserted except for a few people who still paid rent. I knew what he was going to ask even before he said it.
Driving down the road, 15 minutes later, I looked for building numbers. 27 Fisk Street was the location where I would find the crime scene. It was hard to miss with all the bright yellow police tape around it, and people mulling around. I parked to car and approached one of the cops guarding the tape line. I flashed my badge to him and he nodded. I located my partner, who was also supposed to be on his day off a little ways away. As I approached him, he gave me a false smile. He asked me a question, but I was to distracted to hear it. The wall on the side of the apartment was thickly coated in blood. It wasn't the blood that had bothered me, but what was written in the blood. Someone had taken the time to write some graffiti. A closer look told me they were numbers, 7 and 2. It was puzzling, but my partner so rudely broke my concentration by shaking me.