"Definitely is a serial killer," Hank said sarcastically.
"No shit," Nick responded.
"Seriously though. Let's talk what we're looking for. We need a profile, obviously. I think the homoerotic view is pretty good, but we need more than that. Age, personality, fuckin hair color. Anything, really," Hank sighed. "The beauty of being a tattoo artist is that you can use gloves and sanitizer. No one will think strangely of a highly sanitary and clean tattoo artist...no matter how shit he is."
"Is it just a ploy or-"
"No. Definitely a signature," Hank explained. "No one has this serious pattern like this and doesn't have a point besides a way to get into their apartment."
"Pattern," Connor mumbled out loud. He immediately picked up a file, opening it up, and taking out an image. I watched as his LED flashed red.
"Is there a pattern?" I asked sneaking behind his shoulders.
"These tattoos. They're incomplete in such a way...I would think they made something. A shape or design, or at least something that gives us a clue," Connor said, searching through the file. He picked up a couple of more files, taking out their pictures.
"Oh, please don't mess up my organization," Nick begged.
"It's almost like I have a perfect memory," Connor sassed.
"No," I ordered the two of them. I sincerely don't want to hear another hour of banter, albeit, comedic. Connor took 5 of the images and applied them together to create a strange floral background. Seeing as though there were 15 other pictures, there seems to be a point to all of this. Connor picked up another set, 4 images, which was also floral, but this time, it created a new image. In fact, it created a large circle. He took a set of 3, which created a strange triangle symbol. Picking up the final 3, Connor created another set of symbols. This time, they looked like Jewish stars.
"What the fuck is that?" Nick asked. Hank stood up and looked over. Connor tried to analyze it and looked confused.
Analyzing...
Unknown Symbols...
"Oh. That's a magic circle," Hank answered simply.
A European magic circle. I suppose it is. Connor turned to Hank confused.
"Oh, c'mon son. Knight of the Black Death? A Satanist band?"
Connor gasped. "Is that what they are?"
"But this could be Wiccan," Nick answered.
"Yeah, but Wiccan's don't ritualistically kill people," Hank explained.
"Of course. But a ritual involving an overdose?" I asked confused.
"It's not too far-fetched," Connor explained, standing up and pacing. "In some magic practicing religions, psychedelics and other forms of drugs are commonly used. Think Peyote. It wouldn't be insane to think that someone uses red ice in the same manner."
"Yeah, it would," Nick answered. "Red ice isn't a psychedelic. It's a stimulant."
"Regardless, the overdose part is still strange," I explained. "I don't think it's a good way to go out."
"I agree, but I wonder if our suspect has even tried red ice?" Nick questioned.
"He would either have to be an addict or smart enough to know the overdose levels. With the fact that he's charming enough to get non-addicts into a room alone with him so that he can tattoo them, I'm thinking he's incredibly smart," Connor explained.
Hank looked us confused. "Incredibly smart? Are you two so far removed that you two forget how easy it is to use Google?" he asked.
"It's not just that. Putting in the effort to measure the amount though is overkill," Connor answered.
"Or he could just be using a shitload and hoping that they overdose," Nick said shrugging.
"No. Their toxicology was just barely above the lethal limit," I explained to Nick. "That's no guesswork."
Hank took out a notepad. "Extremely intelligent and charming. Anywhere from what...21 to 35? Male, of course. He has connections to the criminal drug rings, clearly. He practices some form of satanist magic. Great. We just accounted for every edgy gay guy in Detroit," Hank sighed. "I need more details on the culture inside of one of those clubs to create a full profile."
Hank and Connor stared at Nick and me for a moment. "So...I take it we're going undercover?" I asked. Connor nodded shrugging.
Nick turned to me and sighed. "Ready to go out drinking?" Nick groaned.
"You don't drink," I answered sighing.
"Yep. I wish I did though."