Author's Note: I don't own Obi-Wan Kenobi but I love him and I think he's wonderful. He fitted the story so I borrowed him. I'm sure George Lucas won't mind.
Swear word warning – lots of F word. Please don't be offended.
Not a lot of dialogue in the beginning, but please bear with me, it gets exciting. Please be ready to cheer our hero.
Obi-Wan Kenobi
The malware in Scott's iPhone kept Spike in the loop of what the homicidal maniac was up to. The evening news report said that there was a party being thrown at his Rosedale mansion to celebrate his win. Time to give Scott Packer the good news. Spike changed into a black Tee tucked into black cargo pants; covered his head with a black beanie and wore black leather gloves.
From his workshop, he took out a S3 Spyder III Arctic Laser from his concealed safe. The high tech gadget was a dream come true for Spike. He dreamt of being able to hold a lightsaber since he saw Star Wars as a four year old. Now, he has the world's most powerful portable laser, a real life lightsaber if there ever was one.
The main part of the gadget was the "Torch" – the flashlight so bright it could set things on fire. His personal choice was the blue laser; it also came in krypton green but he didn't fancy that. It emits laser light so hot it takes literally two seconds on the skin before one feel it burn, and it's not a normal burn either – but one you'll feel under your skin. Spike had tested the gadget on just about everything. He was able to set paper, cardboard, and pieces of wood on fire with little to no difficulty.
The S3 Spyder III Arctic Laser is so powerful its beam can go OVER 6800 meters or just over four miles. It came with a lot of fancy stuff but they weren't needed. For tonight, all Spike wanted was its lightsaber functionality.
He left the Apartment around one in the morning. He didn't call for a taxi this time, he was going to drive. His new number plate was ready for collection; whatever he did now wouldn't matter.
He went down to the garage. His trusty 1985 6-series BMW coupe started up quickly. The 27-year old car didn't have GPS tracking device, a good way to remain invisible in a world where hiding in plain sight has become more and more difficult. The SRU Techie was one of the few people around who knew how to remain in the shadow.
He drove to the Parker mansion, parked the car about ten blocks away. He put on his inline skates, a pair of black canvas shoes inside one of his cargo pants' big pockets. He left his wallet and badge in the car for safe keeping. Around Rosedale, no one would bother stealing a 27-year-old car. Not when car nappers were spoilt for choice; a Lamborghini there, a Lotus Esprit there, or maybe a Porsche.
He skated to the mansion and was there in no time. In the darkness, wearing an all-black phantom suit he was not easily seen. Using the laser beam from his lightsaber he took out the exposed cameras of adjoining properties, apologising as he went about the sabotage. That done, he took out the cameras at the house.
Security personnel were distracted by the sudden malfunction of the cameras; as they converged in the security depot trying to work out what happened; Spike with his back against the perimeter gate removed his skates and put on his canvas shoes. He stealthily walked up the path to the main house, popping the lamps ahead with the blue laser beam as he went along. By the time he reached the front door, the garden path was spookily dark.
He entered the house unnoticed for the simple reason everyone were either stupidly drunk or high with narcotics; even those paid to look after the principal of the mansion.
He walked around like he belonged at the party. He found Scott Packer, looking the worse for wear on a recliner and smashed out of his brains as usual. He draped the maniac's arm over his shoulder, "Where are you taking me?" he asked groggily.
Spike didn't bother replying; they side-stepped several bodies before they could reach the stairs. As they were preparing to ascend, they bumped into one of the guards, "Where are you taking him?"
Spike acted dismayed, "To the toilet, man. Or would you prefer to do it?"
The other guy smirked, "Better you than me."
"Right, out of my way then." The guard got out of their way. He shook his head in amazement, how he got away with that boggled the mind. For one thing, he wasn't wearing the carbon copy three-piece suit all the bodyguards wore. One thing was certain then; they couldn't be arse to protect Scott Packer.
He carried the millionaire upstairs, opened one heavy door, a bathroom. Great. He sat Scott on the floor while he filled the tub with water; that done, he threw him in. The scion of the Packer dynasty thrashed about in the water, gulping water as he did so.
The dunking seemed to bring Scott to his senses, "Who the fuck are you?"
Spike leaned languidly on the vanity, his arms crossed on his chest, "I heard you've been looking for me."
"How did you get in here?" Scott tried to get up from the tub, Spike pushed him back in. He turned on his laser and aimed the beam on the maniac's face. In two seconds he felt burning sensation, he screamed, "I'm burning, I'm burning." Spike switched the laser off.
"Fuck you, I'll have you arrested."
"Arrest me for what? I can kill you and I can assure that there won't be any forensic evidence. There won't be any shell casing. No gunshot residue. No shell fragments. And how do you suppose they'll perform forensics on laser beam?"
"What do you want?"
"I don't ever want you near Winnie Camden. Not anywhere near her apartment, not anywhere near where she works. Or, I will kill you."
Scott Packer laughed his face off, "You're a cop. You're a bloody cop. SRU. Wait till I tell my lawyer about this. I'll have your badge."
"Really," said Spike. He turned on the laser and pointed it on the water, within seconds, the surface bubbled. It was starting to boil. Scott freaked. "Fucking turn that thing off."
"You know what …. I'm not in the business of giving people, even assholes like you, their expiration date but I swear on my father's grave I will kill you if one strand of Winnie's hair gets out of place. Do you understand me? Am I making myself clear?"
Scott nodded.
"If I ever find out you've got people after her, you will die a very painful death. Is that clear?"
Scott nodded mutely; he seemed to have lost his power of speech.
"Give me one more excuse, and I will erase you from the face of the earth. Understand?"
Scott nodded again.
Having made himself clear, Spike left the bathroom but hid inside one of the rooms. Not long after he left, Packer followed suit. Swearing his head off; and cursing the nameless Italian's forebears.
Scarlatti checked his phone; he was certain Scott would make a call. And, he did. Very predictable. Spike recorded it. As soon as Scott hanged up, he entered the room and blast Scott with a blue laser beam, singeing his hair. The smell of burning hair follicles was enough to panic the monster.
"I told you I would know… call it off - NOW!" Scott Packer dialled the same number and did as Spike asked. That done, Scarlatti opened the balcony door; then turned to addressed the monster, "You have a choice, burn or jump."
"You're fucking crazy."
The Italian tilted his head to one side, narrowed his eyes and spoke with undisguised menace, "I told you if you give me an excuse, I will kill you. Now move."
Scott kept moving back until he reached the balcony. He looked down. What he saw made him smile. Down below was the biggest, deepest, freaking private pool in the country. If the choice was burn or jump, it was a no-brainer. He'd jumped.
"Go ahead, jump."
Scott laughed his head off, except he didn't do the math. The pool wasn't exactly under the balcony. He missed the water by inches, enough to crack his head.
The honourable SRU cop walked back casually to the perimeter, remove his black canvas shoes, put his skates back on and away he went.
He was home by 2:30 in the morning. He turned on the television to catch the breaking news: The female news anchor has just announced "Remorseful Packer committed suicide". Spike slept like a baby. One asshole gone!
Spike woke up at eight in the morning to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, he half expected to feel bad about what happened but he didn't. Not that he needed to rationalised it to himself, after all it was Scott's choice to jump. He could have chosen to be burnt by laser, nothing a cosmetic surgeon couldn't fix. But like always, he chose what he perceived to be the easy way out.
Winnie gave him a smacking good morning kiss, "Georgia's still sleeping."
"Let her sleep, come cuddle with me."
"I'm so ready to go to work," she said. "I missed everybody." He kissed the top of her head, "I miss you when you're not there."
Spike felt especially vindicated when three days later nearly a dozen women came clean about being victimised by Scott. One of them permanently paralysed after one episode of severe bashing.
They were just too afraid to say anything. No one's afraid now.