To Catch A Murderer...

Death was private detective Alex Dale's call to arms.

Dale, a young man in his 20's with his work written all over his face in bags and shadows, never feared death, never understood why so many did. But yet, seeing innocent civilians be brutally slaughtered by the scum of the Earth always gave him a chilling, burning feeling, and his dissatisfaction with being unable to solve a case would keep him up late nights, operating on cups and cups of ice cold, stale coffee that burned the back of his throat as it went down, tracking leads and testimonials until he brought the culprit to justice.

Dale had dreamed of establishing himself as a known detective, one that would be regarded as the "real life Hercule Poirot". He imagined getting calls from all over the United States from wealthy families with dirty backstories, looking for a private detective to help them solve a certain special mystery (one that they couldn't necessarily get the feds involved with).

However, reality hit the young man hard, and his leads were becoming fewer and fewer. Like a hawk watching its prey, he'd stalk the streets of New York City every night, waiting, watching in the city-lit night, listening through the sounds of traffic for a cry for help.

His call to the Island Hotel, then, by the famous author Ford Atkins, was a godsend.

There was an interesting scene awaiting him, when he walked in. In the grand lobby where soft, golden light caressed his worn-out face, a party was occurring, celebrating the author's success on a new novel, titled, "The Corrupted Lifestyle". After he checked in and put all his luggage away, he locked the door behind him and made his way down the grand, soft, blood-red staircase towards the room where the main event was taking place.

"Ladies and gentlemen", Ford began, "welcome to my private, book success extravaganza! I'm very honored to say that my book, 'The Corrupted Lifestyle', has taken off so well. It truly is a great feeling to know that not only is my message being received, but that it's being received well!"

He raised up his glass, and many others in the event followed suit, all saying cheers. Few, however, did not.

Dale had thought he had seen the Indian upon walking in, but now he could get a closer look at this man while he was sitting at this event. Clearly, this was a Hindu pandit. He simply stared at Atkins, watched, not even gracing his complimentary glass of champagne with a glance.

Next to him was a young lady who was red-faced, throwing the champagne down her throat, and immediately taking a swig from a flask she hid with her. The lady spit out, "Yeah, sure, keep sweet talking us, like you're not some pompous greedy scum who only wrote this shit for the money!" and promptly was escorted out of the room by the Pandit.

Dale and Atkins both simply shrugged off the spectacle, like the others in the room, and the event went on.

"Clearly, we can't all see eye-to-eye on such a sensitive topic as this. But, I gotta warn you guys, I really hope, for your sake, that no one else in this room is waiting to attack me, because I know Tae Kwon Do, and these fists were made for fighting!"

The room erupted into laughter as Atkins made a fool of himself on stage, throwing weak punches and kicks out. Dale laughed out of pity, crediting Atkins for at least being able to take a poor situation and make it funny at his own expense.

"I hope you all enjoy the selection of music and food here tonight. I'll be right there with you all, so if you have any questions, or just want an autograph, feel free to come up to me- just being your own pen!"

More laughter, and finally the lights dimmed and the jazzy music kicked off.

The party itself was a blast, but as Dale would soon understand, it wasn't the main event of the night. Amongst the odd crowd Atkins chose for his celebrations was a man Dale found quite interesting to talk to.