The limo pulled up at a small wood hut at the edge of a large pine forest. Jackson got out and was greeted a small, plump, pale faced man. He was sitting on a plastic deck chair that didn't seem like it could hold his weight. It started to sag so he heaved himself off of it and came to stand next to the limo. Once in a comfortable position he started to talk, "You are the famous detective William Jackson?"
"I am," came Jackson's reply.
"As you may or may not have heard, we have had a quite serious murder here in Cedarvill last night. The town police think it may be the work of the Marathoners, a knew terrorist organization organized in..."
Jackson cut him off, "Las Vegas."
