"Listen up ladies," lead investigator (or big kahuna, as he liked to be called) of the Fitzgerald case, Jason Grant began as he sauntered into the broom closet of a briefing room he had managed to reserve for this extremely important meeting.

He counted heads. Actually there wasn't even much counting involved. Besides him, there were three people on the case, and only two of them were in the room with him. Montoya and Porter.

Where was Platt?

"Where's Platt?" he asked deciding to voice his concern.

Montoya, of course, was the one to respond, "Gimpy went to get a drink, so you know she'll definitely be late."

Jason rolled his eyes. Montoya and Platt acted like vinegar and oil and he was sure, if shaken up a little, they'd make a wonderful salad dressing. The only time they seemed to get along was when making lewd comments to each other about anything that popped into their perverted heads. He secretly thought that perhaps if Gabrielle Montoya and Isabelle Platt fucked some of their oh-too-obvious sexual tension and horribly fake disdain would magically evaporate. But he'd never suggest it. He didn't want to find out if the phrase "fucking each other's brains out" had any truth to it. He needed them to stay just as smart as they were. "Montoya, you don't watch yourself and 'Gimpy' will kick your ass with that leg of hers." Montoya just snorted in response.

Platt had a prosthetic leg. The right one, right below the knee, and while she wasn't overly sensitive about the metal appendage, if she heard Montoya calling her gimpy she'd probably beat the obnoxious woman's ass, or take off the leg and club her in the head with it.

Wouldn't be the first time it happened.

Jason decided to get on with his little spiel. Platt was a big girl. She could figure out what she missed. And if she had any questions he's happily answer them at the end of the meeting, after ridiculing her a bit, of course.

Well time to break the good news to his team. "We've got us another one," he slammed a large stack of papers down on the table.

"You're shitting me," Montoya whined sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Does it look like I'm 'shitting' you Montoya?" he gave her a piercing stare while pointing to his face. Then he pushed the mountainous paper pile in her direction. "Here's some paper for that potty mouth of yours."

She snatched the papers up giving him an 'I can't believe you actually said that' look and shuffled a few of the papers.

Jason watched her, wanting to know if she was actually reading them. From the way her stern brown eyes seemed to be scanning the pages he guesses she actually was reading them. Wonders never ceased.

Maybe it was going to snow. Unlikely since it was only August. Still, stranger things have happened. Like Montoya actually reading.

An unremarkable bookish girl with fine blonde hair and sweet hazel eyes looked at him questioningly from her seat at the table. "And just what, pray tell, are we supposed to do while she reads that?"

Ahh Sophie Porter, a descendant of Portersville's founder. Jay was quite fond of her. Hell, he loved all of his girls. But there would always be a special place in his bed... ahem... heart (she claimed the bed was a onetime thing, but a guy could dream, right) for the sarcastically polite pixie. He always wondered how she managed to look so small and unintimidating when she had a good five inches on Montoya. Guessed it had something to do with her slight frame. Montoya was all muscle and attitude. She may have been 4'11" but she was a tank.

Jay smirked before giving an answer he knew would piss Montoya off, "Well," claimed a rickety chair at the table and got comfortable, "I thought I'd give you a run-through on what exactly's happened."

"Then why the hell are you making me do this" Montoya yelled, just like he knew she would, throwing the stupid papers down on the table. She crossed her arms and pouted looking very much like a petulant child, if said child were a bodybuilder.

Right as Jason was about to open his mouth with a cheeky answer of punishment Platt decided to make her entrance. "C'mon Gab, you know you like it," and straight to the sexual banter it was. She sat down and set her drink down on the table giving Montoya a challenging look as if daring her to continue her train of thought.

Not one to ignore such an obvious challenge, Montoya took the bait. Hook, line and sinker. "Only when we use the fluffy handcuffs."

Platt's eyes sparkled with amusement. She loved when she could get others to play along. Especially Montoya. "Mmm, and we can't forget the whipped cream," she agreed licking her lips in a very suggestive manner.

Jason knew if he didn't intervene soon the friendly chat would turn ugly. One of them would piss the other off. And Montoya was a bitch when she got angry. Hoping to put an end to their pillow talk Jason quipped, "Is this an open invite? Because I have to tell you, I'm lactose intolerant."

Instead of his desired outcome of all eyes on him, Sophie, sweet innocent Sophie, made a comment, "There's cream made from non-dairy. I'm sure they'd be accommodating."

Platt and Montoya laughed. Platt, covering her mouth with her hand, trying to be all subtle, and Montoya banging her fists on the table with a hearty guffaw. Jason just shook his head and waited for his incredibly work-centric team to shut up.

When the laughing finally subsided Jason cleared his throat, "Okay, so here's the deal. Without any of the nitty-gritty details: our killer struck again. On a Mr. Ezekiel Benet."

There was a barely audible gasp from Sophie and two "shits" from his other girls.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Jason agreed, scrubbing a tired hand through his hair.

"Why weren't we called to the scene?" Platt asked causing Jason to focus on her. She really was pretty in an awkward giraffe kind of way. She had dark straight hair and equally dark eyes. She was tall too, hence the giraffe reference, a solid foot taller than Montoya. She had confided in him once that if not for the accident that had taken her leg, she might have considered being a model. It was the only time he ever heard her say anything about the injury changing her life.

"Outside our jurisdiction," Jay answered.

Montoya jumped out of her chair, "Bullshi-

"The only reason," Jason continued, yelling over the obnoxious one, "we have the lovely file now is because chief forced the idiots to hand It over after noticing way too many similarities to the case from two weeks ago."

"But why weren't we called in? There should have been more than one responding police force," Platt just wouldn't let the matter drop.

"There was. They took our name off their call list. Apparently they don't like working with us anymore," can't imagine why.

"Bastardos," Montoya seethed slumping back in her seat. Getting some control of her anger Montoya asked, "The case two weeks ago. You mean the Zabien Fitzgerald case?"

"The very one," Jason confirmed.

"What was so similar?" said Sophie quietly, deciding to speak up for the first time.

"Fuckin' spray paint," he spat. Just another reason to hate those damn graffiti artists. They ran around all over the city vandalizing and the other officers turned a blind eye. Not Jason Grant. No, he always got them because, as far as he was concerned, they were all bad. And these murders just proved he was right. It was obviously one of those would be artists turned killer.

He could feel himself getting angry. In order to reign in his anger he took a long deep breath. There was plenty of time later to bitch about graffiti artists.

"Is that all, because if it is..." Sophie let her sentence trail off.

Jason didn't need her to say it. He knew spray paint alone wasn't much of a connection, but there was more. "No," he said after a pregnant pause, "not even the half of it." He smiled grimly and quickly rattled off the other disturbingly similar details, "He left the paint can there just like last time. Painted the time on the body just like last time. No finger prints at all, but it was determined that the same pair of leather gloves were used.

"As for the actual murder; you'll be happy to know the victim wasn't burned. This time the bastard tried to make it look like the kid was huffing. Sprayed the whole fuckin' bottle of spray paint up his nose. Had all other orifices blocked. Kid ended up suffocating.

"And guess what else kiddies?" Jason asked excitedly.

He got a dull chorus of whats from them.

"Guy called it in himself again."

"Do we have a copy of the call?" Sophie asked calmly.

Jason watched as they all sat up a little straighter in their seats ready to hang on his every word. He loved the power he had. Definitely worthy of the title Big Kahuna. "Yeah. I got it. Let's listen to the thing then call this little meeting to a close."

"Ooh, wait," Platt said excitedly, "I'll go make some popcorn."

Jason rolled his eyes. That girl was always eating. He briefly wondered where all that food went. She was a stick. Probably went to a hollow le- oh never mind...

Porter sat reading the file that Montoya had discarded and Montoya was playing with her frizzy hair, pulling at a curl until it was straight then letting it go and watching it spring back up to join the rest of the tight curls. Montoya only looked (and cursed) like an adult.

Jason started his laptop up and waited for it to warm up. Once it was ready to go he located the desired MP3 file and prepared for when Platt got back with her popcorn.

She came in and sat down, shoving a huge handful of popcorn into her mouth.

Jason pushed play.

"Two weeks," the caller began, slippery as a snake in that accent Jason was reasonably sure was fake. "Two weeks and you don't even have a possible suspect. I'm disappointed," he didn't sound disappointed. Sounded positively jovial. Like this was the most fun he had in... oh, about two weeks. "I've already given you so many clues, but I suppose a few more won't hurt...

"It's 1.01am.

"You'll find body number two

not far from the first.

Find the link between Fitzgerald and Benet.

Do your worst."

The line clicked off and the MP3 ended.

"Wow," whispered Sophie.

"Yeah, I agree," Montoya said in a hushed tone, "that was some of the shittiest rhyming I've ever heard."

Platt smacked her on the back of the head.

"Ouch! What the hell? You liked that shit?"

"No! Just... just shut up," Platt huffed. When she got tired the sexy witticisms went right down the toilet.

"Nice comeback Izzie," Jason complimented. The girl just pouted. Then addressing the whole group, "Is there anything you noticed besides his first grade rhyming skills?"

He swore he could practically hear their thinking caps trying to work. Montoya's looked like it was malfunctioning. Her face was red and, he swears, smoke was coming out of her ears.

Sophie was the first to speak up. "He admitted to killing Fitzgerald."

"Exactly," Jason confirmed with a grim smile on his face. We have a potential serial killer who likes to play games." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. And no promising suspects.

Could definitely feel a headache coming on.

Fuckin' spray paint.