Welcome to ACT III. I hope you enjoyed it so far. Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to read this story and even review. It's much appreciated. Let's see if Steve is right about his hunch.
Oh, also, I haven't got the faintest clue why my stories keep disappearing, then reappearing. May some sort of systems issue? I promise I won't delete them after uploading all those chapters.
ACT III
"He didn't fit the picture when he stood by that Continental, but once I saw him run, that slight limp in his right leg, I knew it was him."
He'd watched his partner feverishly go through books after books of mugshots, all consisting of a mix of the worst products of mankind to ever walk this city; Murderers, rapists, gang-runners, drug lords; all of them behind bars at one point or another, many of them still incarcerated for the rest of their lives.
"You said it's a guy that used to work for the Lombardo's?"
His prying caused Steve to nod enthusiastically, as he finished another page.
"Early…early days. I remember hearing about him during my time in Vice. He came from out east. They called him "The Prankster" because he had a morbid sense of humor when it came to the people he iced. Sometimes they ended up in the bay with a concrete block tied to their legs, other times they'd be falling through glass ceilings into the midst of a restaurant or museum. He had his own way to make people look like fools even after their death, leave his mark, create some sort of message for the people who'd find the bodies. He wasn't here for very long until he got busted. Somebody tied him to a robbery that one of the Lombardo brothers committed. Everybody knew that wasn't his style whatsoever but they covered their family before covering their hired hitman. I know there were a lot of issues with indictment between New York and San Francisco, but he ended up here. A killer behind bars for a robbery he didn't commit."
"I feel like I heard about him before. Didn't he get out early because he folded on someone? Probably the Lombardo's?"
Scratching his chin and the two-day stubble that could be found there, Mike pursed his lips, hating the feeling of helplessness as his mind searched through nearly three decades of faces and names.
Outside his office, the bullpen laid in the dark this early in the morning, the coffee machine brewing away eagerly creating the only noise besides the two weary detectives.
"That's him. Right here. I am sure of it.", Steve suddenly blurted out, frantically pointing at the mugshot of a mid-40's man, Caucasian, clean shaven, short black hair, with the darkest and most dangerous eyes he'd seen in a long time.
"Cornelius Esteban. That's not a name I would associate with organized crime on the east coast…", Mike mumbled and rested a hand on his partner's back, as he leaned forward to look over his shoulder.
He could feel Steve take a breath to answer, when the phone rang, making both of them flinch slightly.
Taking a step to the side, Mike reached for the receiver, as he cleared his throat.
"Lieutenant Stone?"
"Mike, it' Charley from downstairs."
The low undertone in the lab techs voice suggested grave concern and Mike reached over to tap his partner's shoulder, hoping to get his attention.
They'd called Charley in a couple hours earlier than he was due for his shift, hoping he'd find some evidence on the vehicles towed in that would provide a direct link to their killer. By the sound of it, he had done just that.
"Mike, I think you guys should come downstairs for a moment to take a look at this."