A/N - Sorry about the delay but I kept playing around with this until I felt it was right. Hopefully it is lol. Thanks for your feedback!
"Here are the results from the weapons test, guys. Your murderer used a Colt 5.56mm Automatic Rifle. There's some impressive spray action with this thing. That's why they were able to take down so many targets at once. But we did find a small number of .45mm shell casings. Not a lot but some. It seems like somebody else was there firing this thing too. As you know it doesn't have the same multiple kill capabilities as the automatic but it's a precision weapon. That's all we got."
John absently smiled at the lab technician as he took the proffered results page. So Orton had a few guys using automatics and a few with .45's. He didn't for one second believe that one person did this. There's no way he would take that chance. Despite the little time he had been on this case, he already felt like he was getting inside Orton's head. To catch a killer you had to think like one. And that's exactly what he planned to do in order to catch this bastard.
"Let's take these over to the morgue and see if we can match up what killed who," Paul said, pulling his suit coat back on and heading for the door.
"I have a better idea. Let's call the morgue while we go to lunch. I'm fucking starving," John replied with a small smile. He left the apartment early this morning without breakfast so he hadn't eaten all day. It was either that or face Trish and for some reason, he just really didn't want to. Not when she was acting the way she was lately.
Paul slapped his friend on the back. "Deal. But you know, it takes a sick person to think of food when they are talking about the morgue, buddy. You really should get help for that."
If Paul was good for nothing else, he would always be there to make him smile. John laughed and stalked down the corridor. "Oh fuck off!"
Trish bit her lip in an attempt to keep from snapping at her current customer. The lady frequented the store and she was a God damn pain in the ass. Unfortunately she had been picked to go and see if she needed assistance. She worked in an expensive designer boutique on Fifth Avenue. The store catered to celebrities and socialites, people with money and lots of it. Most times she loved it. But when this old hag came strutting in like she owned the place she hated it.
"Dear, do you have this scarf in a more subtle red? I don't want to be like a warning signal when I enter the room for District Attorney Jericho's Banquet next week."
She offered a tight lipped smile and shook her head. "I'm sorry ma'am but this is the only colour available. It was an exclusive in the Fall collection this year. If you would like I can go see if we have anything else in a more subtle red?"
"No dear. I only buy the best. If Hermes doesn't do a scarf the way I want then I'll just purchase what they have." The old lady thrust the scarf into her face then stalked to the counter. "I'll take the scarf and the red tote bag please."
Trish gripped the scarf tight in her fingers and squeezed wishing it was the old woman's head instead. With a beautiful smile to mask her anger, she got through the transaction as quickly as she could manage and bid farewell to her customer. Hopefully the next time she came in her boss would send somebody else to deal with her arrogant crap. She sighed and raked a hand through her long blonde hair. She just was not in the mood for anything today. She woke up this morning in a sweat after having another dream about her night of passion with a sordid stranger. If that wasn't enough, John was nowhere to be found when she finally dragged herself out of bed. He had left for work without saying a thing. Maybe she deserved it after being so cold to him last night. But they were engaged for Christ sakes. A simple hello or even a note before work wouldn't kill him would it? Her mask of indifference started to appear again. She hated it but lately it was all she could feel towards him. Feeling indifferent felt better than feeling second best. And if this morning was anything to go by, she most certainly was second best.
"Hey Trish!"
She turned to find her good friend Stacy waving her over. She absently walked towards her and joined the small group of women. They were huddled together and it was obvious that they were gossiping.
"We were just talking about that massive homicide down by the river last night and they didn't believe me when I told them that your John was on the case. Tell them!"
She half heartedly shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. "He is. In fact he's on it right now. Probably trying to solve the whole damn thing himself," she muttered.
The other girls looked at her curiously. Clearly something was going on between the future Mr and Mrs John Cena. But from the expression on the blonde woman's face they knew not to pry.
But Stacy knew that something was up. She quickly dismissed the rest of her colleagues and reached out to take her friend by the arm. "Are you OK, Trish? You seem a little...off."
"I really don't want to talk about it, Stacy."
"Trish..."
"Please? We'll talk later. Right now I'm just not in the mood."
Stacy watched as her friend walked away and started aimlessly fixing a small rack of blouses. Something was most definitely up with her and it had something to do with John. For some reason she had a really bad feeling in her gut about the whole thing.
Randy dragged himself from the messy bed and stretched his tired limbs. He glanced at the naked woman still dead to the world in front of him and smiled. That had been some night. With a heavy sigh he rubbed a hand over his face and reached for his pants. His eyes caught sight of the clock on the nightstand and widened in surprise. It was almost two in the afternoon. Damn he hadn't meant to sleep in so long. Then again he had been up well into the early hours getting his rock soft. He felt a faint vibration in his pocket and quickly pulled out his phone. It was Ted.
"What?"
"Where the hell are you, Randy? We were supposed to be meeting about the new alcohol shipments a half hour ago!" Ted's angry voice boomed down the line.
Randy frowned. He felt like telling him to fuck off. Instead he told him that he would be there as soon as possible. The frown stayed in place when his nameless lady friend rolled over in the bed. The sheets had fallen off her body and he got a perfect view of what she had to offer. Too bad he wouldn't be able to enjoy her again. "Fuck sake," he muttered under his breath as he tugged his shirt on. With a final glance towards the bed, he finally turned and exited the apartment.
"Where the fuck am I?" He said to himself when he walked out onto the street. He barely remembered last night. All he could manage was when he picked her up in the bar and they had made out at his table. She was almost ready to give him a hand job in the booth but he stopped her. He wanted more than that. He always did. After they stumbled out of the bar he couldn't remember a damn thing. Well nothing other than how good she felt wrapped around him. Brushing those thoughts out of his head, he glanced at his surroundings. Fourth Avenue. Well that was easy enough. He pulled his cell phone out again and punched in a number. "Cody, send a car to Fifth Avenue to pick me up." Around ten minutes later and he was lingering around some women's clothes boutique. His foot tapped impatiently as he waited for the car to pick him up. He had a quick peek through the window and his face scrunched up in confusion when he saw the knockout blonde standing inside. She was messing around with shirts or something but he wasn't the least interested in those. He felt as if he knew her from somewhere. She turned to start working on something else and he finally got a good look at her. Yes, he definitely knew her from somewhere. He debated on whether or not to go in.
"Mr. Orton."
That settled his question. This chick could wait. Right now he had to get his alcohol shipments sorted. The last thing he wanted was for his bars to dry up. He promptly turned and got into the waiting car, his mind focused on the meeting ahead.
"Fuck, I needed that," John sighed as he patted his full stomach. With that feast under his belt he was now fully ready to jump back into work. He took a long pull of his soda and watched as Paul answered his ringing phone.
"Six guys shot with the same .45 and the rest with different automatics? That's perfect. Thanks." Paul quickly hung up and nodded at his partner. "You heard it. Whoever was using that .45 took out nearly half of the victims. He must be a good shot alright. Jesus."
"Why would one guy use a different gun than everybody else, especially if he was the best shot? Why wouldn't they have him using an automatic?" John questioned.
Paul shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe he wanted to be different or make a statement."
"Do you think Orton does his own dirty work?"
"You think he was using the .45?"
John frowned as he thought about it. The guys on top never got their hands bloody. But somehow he had the feeling that Randy Orton was different. He had to have some balls to order a hit for fifteen people all at once. Maybe he liked to get involved. "Why not? From what the psych guys have said, we know Orton's a bit of a lunatic. I bet he gets off on that kind of thing."
"The lab didn't have any way of tracing the gun did they?" Paul's gears were now spinning too. He had a feeling that his buddy was on to something. They were starting to build a profile of their target.
"No man," John sighed. "The registration was filed down and there were no prints or anything. We aren't going to catch this guy out like that. Orton's operation is a well oiled machine. It's going to take a while to crack him." As he thought about that his head began to throb. More time on this case meant no time for Trish. She wasn't going to like that.
Paul noticed the almost worried expression that crossed his friend's face and frowned. He had been really out of sorts these last few days. "Hey, you alright?"
"What? Yeah, I'm fine." John got to his feet and tried to smile convincingly. "Come on, this thing isn't going to solve itself!"