Description: The body count in Miami is soaring, and all Dexter wants to do is add one more. But his job and…ahem…Project Get a Girlfriend are getting in the way.
Rating: T
A/N: I eat feedback when I'm hungry. It's yummy!

CHAPTER FOUR

Dexter came to work peppier than he should have—especially for a Saturday. His night out with Rita—that had wrapped up around eleven—was just the prelude to the highlight of his evening:

Prepping his kill site.

He'd settled on Cranston Elementary School—a place that had been condemned years ago after one of Miami's perennial hurricanes had rendered it beyond repair. These days, there were more rats using its facilities than humans, and it was virtually covered in bush, making it the ideal location for a man of Phillips' particular brand of murder.

He got a call the following morning—multiple homicide victims on 79th Street, and they needed a certain blood spatter analyst to assess the damage. Dexter practically skipped to the crime scene—a week worth of frustration was almost behind him.

"What're you so happy about?" Masuka asked. "You know it's Saturday, right?"

"I didn't realize my happiness bothered you," Dex said as he pulled out his camera. "What have we got here?"

"Teenagers who watch too much TV. It's a gang fight right out of the movies. Bodies on the pavement, bullet shells everywhere, and nobody's talking."

"Can you blame them?" Dex asked.

"Not really."

"Well, good thing I wore my dancing shoes," Dexter said with a bright smile. "This is going to be a ball."

Masuka squinted his eyes, deep in thought. "Jolly, cocky…you're getting some."

"It depends on what you mean by 'some'," Dex replied as he snapped photos.

Vince responded with one of his trademark giggles, then walked off.

A minute later, Deb appeared.

"Nasty, huh?"

"Yeah," Dex agreed.

"So?" she asked.

"So what?"

"So, how'd it go with Rita?"

"Good…then bad."

"What? Why?"

"I think we broke up before we even got together."

"That odd. Are you sure it's over?"

"Yes, I'm sure. We just…don't have any chemistry."

"I don't know about that," Deb objected.

"Well, no sexual chemistry anyway. We have a great time together, but at the end of the night that's where it ends." Deb shrugged her shoulder disappointed. "What about you? How'd it go with Reggie?"

"We have the exact opposite problem. All we have is sexual chemistry. But when I woke up this morning, I was like, 'what are you doing here?'"

"Wait," Dexter said. "You slept together last night? After that horrible date?"

"It wasn't horrible Dex." She paused. "OK, it was horrible. But when he dropped me off, we made out a little in the car and one thing led to another." Dex turned his head accusingly. "Don't give me that Dex. Besides, I dumped him this morning."

Dexter didn't know whether to be sympathetic or elated.

"Turns out he's married. Separated actually. His wife's back in Albuquerque, but he's still not over her. She called around two, and—get this—he took the call! Turned all wussy and stupid. I kicked him out right then."

"Well good for you."

"Good for me my ass. Is there one decent, single, upstanding guy in Miami?"

"I…don't know," Dex answered.

"You don't know? That's you answer? You're the worse confidant ever," Deb said. She turned to leave then stopped. "Oh, and thanks for footing the bill last night. I owe you one."

"What are big brothers for?" Dex replied.

Dex crouched over one of the bodies, but quickly got lost in thought, mentally reviewing everything he would have to do that night.

His phone rang. It was Rita.

"Hey," he said, walking off to the side.

"Hey." She sounded…better. "I was just calling to find out if you could stop by tonight?"

"Why? Is the A/C still giving you trouble?"

"No, no. It's fine. I guess I just want to explain last night—"

"Forget it," Dexter stopped her. "I tried to force something that wasn't right. I totally understand."

"But I don't think you do," she said. "Please, Dexter. I want to see you."

"Tonight's not good for me. We got a quintuple homicide in today and I have to work late."

"That's OK," she said. "Come by after 8, when the kids will already be in bed."

Dexter played it over in his mind. A tight day was turning impossible. Could he get it all in? The fact that this was even an issue was…trying his patience.

"Just come when you can," Rita pleaded.

He relented. "I'll be there."

LaGuerta poked her head through the door of Dexter's office.

"Hey Dexter."

"Hola," he replied from under a stack of lab sample envelopes. He always tried to put on a happy face for the bosslady... even when he wasn't that happy.

"When's the earliest you think you can get in tomorrow?"

"On a Sunday?" he gasped.

"I know, but—," she stepped into his office all the way, shutting the door behind her. "Today's bloodbath took a dump on the Chief of Police's crime initiative, and now he's under the gun from the Mayor. He wants suspects' names and he wants them yesterday."

Dexter tilted his head back. He was thinking about skipping killing Phillips altogether and just offing himself instead.

"I know it's asking a lot," she said. "Maybe if you could just stay back a little later tonight—"

"NO!" Dexter yelled. LaGuerta jumped back. "I mean, I can't."

"Um…ok. Then do you think you could put in a couple hours tomorrow? Just something until we figure out who did this."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'll be in."

"Thank you," she mouthed and left.

Dex was running info through a database when he caught the time: it was 8:47. He was already late for Rita. If he was going to get it all in, he had to leave… now. He grabbed his satchel and headed for the door.

"If I have to stay, you have to too," Masuka shouted after him.

Dexter paused, realized he didn't care and kept walking.

He literally ran to his car; he had to get to the carnival before it was packed up, but after it had cleared. Tomorrow this time would be too late. He was about half an hour away, and the carnival technically closed at 9. With traffic, he should get there a quarter after the hour.

Dexter searched for an ideal place to park his car, settling on a clearing along the back fence of the carnival property. As the area was poorly lit and off the main road, he could lure Phillips away from the carnival, subdue him and drag him to his car undetected.

As Dexter made his way in, the other patrons poured out. He maneuvered his way through the crowd in a series of near misses.

"Excuse me, sir," a security guard called to him. "I'm afraid you're headed in the wrong direction. We're closing down for the night."

"I know, but I left my cell phone…somewhere. My wife's in the car calling it. I'll grab it and be right back out." Dexter looked panicked and thankful. The man hesitantly waved him in.

Once inside, he found that, despite the bustle near the entrances, the park was a ghost town. In reality, this is the way he knew the carnival best: after hours. It had been the location of more than a little of his recon work. The transient lifestyle of the performers, the masterful disguises they wore and the carnival's compatibility with night made it the favored location of freaks of all types.

Including murderers.

He looked around for signs of where the employees may be. Until he found it…a series of trailers out back. He searched through them until he found one with several names, including one for Chago "the Chatterbox" López.

Bingo.

Dexter jogged back to the park entrance. He saw the security guard and waved his cell phone in the air.

"Found it," he yelled. The guard nodded.

Dexter ran back to his car, and now that the park was clear, the street was even darker than earlier. He pulled Phillips' card from his wallet. "305-555-5289," he muttered. There were three rings and then someone answered.

"Chago."

"Hey… Gary Phillips," Dexter said. There was silence.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

"I don't believe I do," Dexter countered.

"Who is this?" Phillips said, clearly panicking.

"I know where you are," Dexter said. "And that Chago bit isn't fooling anybody. We're still going to get our money."

"Did Agwe send you?"

"What the hell do you think? And he needs a payment… tonight."

Dexter heard sighs on the other side of the line. Phillips was thinking hard. "Look, I can give you $200 in cash. That's all I have."

"I'm in front of the huge palm tree on 35th Street behind the fence. If you aren't here in five minutes I'm telling the cops what you did to José."

With that, Dexter hung up and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Within 90 seconds, Phillips appeared under the tree, desperately looking around. Dexter ran up to him.

"Hello," Dexter called. Phillips turned to him, "WTF" written all over his face, but it was too late. Before he knew what hit him, he was in Dexter's trunk speeding off into the night.