Mysterium Casibus Adventures

II: Weary Man and Dead Man

It has been a month since I worked with him after the "interview". We only had a one-week mystery case, or mysterium casibus as Mr. Winston prefers to call it. He told me he was fond of Latin back in he was a kid and to him, those two words sound like a spell.

The said one week all started when a doctor and her husband reported to us that their 12-year-old went missing. They came to us to ask for help since it's been three weeks when the kid was out of their sight. It's not a story I would want to go through. All I could say is that the kid was found in a different city visiting his dying uncle who they wouldn't let him see because of personal history.

Since the rent was affordable, I decided to stay in the same apartment as the detective and ignore every opinion I ever had with this street. Not that I started disagreeing with my thought. This street was still not my cup of tea, and I'm not sure if I'll ever want to go outside if not need. Which is just a minor problem from what I have to deal with.

Let me recall everything. In my first week of lodging, it was full of stress from p finding my way from my apartment to the grocery and back again. Knowing nothing about this small-town place because I lived my whole life in a different city far away from here, going to the grocery was a tough maze for me.

When the tiresome day was over, I desperately to rest and hoped I would regain my energy in the morning.  Boy, I was wrong about being energized when I wake up. My insensitive-ass neighbor started to play a loud guitar with heavy distortions in the middle of the night. God, it was annoying.

That was just an insight into what happened in the first week since we don't want to talk about me and my adapting problems. We're here for the detective to solve his case.

While I was reading a book on my favorite chair, fast, drum-loud steps were beating in the hallway. "Collins," Mr. Winston shouted, barging into my apartment just like as if I need a scolding. The door slammed on the wall loudly, making me jump in surprise than his bass-deep voice. He walked towards me, grabbed the back of my collar, and dragged me out of my place.

Once we reached his part of the apartment, he yanked me to his study. "What do I need that for?," I yelled.

"You weren't answering your phone," he said and sat on his chair. "Heads up," he said, getting my attention. A notepad with a pen stuck to the top of its spring flung into the air and finally landing in my hand. "We have a mysterium casibus," he added and ordered me to sit on the wooden chair from the first day we met.

When I turned to my right, a weary man was sitting in another chair. He was as old as the detective but a bit thinner than him. My eyes were glued to him, wondering what could have made this man quiver.

"Collins, meet Jonathan Rogers. my law enforcement connection.  Jonathan, meet Martin Collins, my assistant," Mr. Winston introduced.

"It's Micheal, Mr. Winston," I corrected for the nth time this month, it was already getting annoying to me. My head shifted to the stranger sitting parallel to me. Nothing was as eye-catching to me as the gleaming shine of a golden-plated badge on the right side of his belt paired with a navy blue uniform. It came to me that he was a police officer.

"Didn't thought you ever need an assistant, Chris," our client said in a trembling voice. There's a hint of fear in him and a pinch of doubt, far as I could tell.

"Um, nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers," I reached out my hand for a proper greeting. It was an awkward moment to do so, but it just made me thought that it might shake off a little bit of the radiating-fear off of him.

"Please, call me Johnathan. Probably Jon is better. No formalities needed," he said with his voice still quaking like the distant rumbling herd. None of my efforts of changing the man's state work, I didn't even expect it to.

After the greeting when both sat back up with our backs straight, looking at the eyes of the detective. Chris folded his arms as his eyes broke contact with the man in front of us, letting out a sigh. In my hands were a few-word-written notebook and the pen on the other ready to add anything vital with this man's problem.

"Now. The fun begins." Mr. Winston clasped his hands together and turned his chair facing the tall window behind him. "What could my favorite police officer offer to me today?" he said.

"Murder mystery," Jon replied.

The police? Needing help for a crime. Right when I told my parents I want to solve crime as a detective or at least a detective's assistant to be my career, I should never expect this to happen. These types of scenarios only happen once in a blue moon or better yet only in the television for a good plot. But we all know that common phrase since the ancient time, expect for the unexpected. This has caught my attention more than I intended for it to have all because I didn't expect the unexpected.

"Oh, do tell," Mr. Winston said with noticeable sarcasm.

"I'm serious about this, Chris. We thought it was over but it happened again. Last year, two were killed, one twenty-seven-year-old male and a forty-six years old female. A 9mm bullet was shot at the back of the throat. Based on the forensic, the gun was triggered nearby since the bullet case was still complete. As usual, we solved it and got someone arrested. Guess what, it all happened again this week. A thirty-one years old man was shot in the throat with a complete 9mm bullet. We are all back to square one."

As short moment of silence came to use before Jon gulped and said, "I really respect your decision that you decided to become a private detective, but you were the best police detective the department could have in the history of police detectives! You gotta help us, Chris," He pleaded.

As he spoke I wrote down fragments of what he said that I believe is important.

°Last year, two dead, one twenty-seven-year-old male and forty-six years old female.
°9mm bullet case still complete
°Back of the throat
°This week, one dead, thirty-one years old man

"Is that desperation I hear?" The detective teased.

Jon hummed a positive sign. "Yes, and I'm not afraid to admit it this time. I would pay you any amount of money you want. Just please help us," he begged. Presumably, his technique in getting the detective to agree with him is using a fair mixture of greed and empathy, creating a perfect recipe for desperation. He hoped either the vice, the virtue, or both would help him make the man facing the window change his mind like the wind blowing outside.

"No," Mr. Winston said, still sticking with his guns I suppose. We were all left in the midst of silence for a half of a minute. "I'm willing to solve it, but I'm not going to do it. Money and kindness aren't talking here so don't think it ever worked, Johnathan," he added.

"Why's that?" my mouth slipped. I was eager to know why he wouldn't take it though I know I'm not supposed to ask why. It's his opinion after all.

"Personal reasons. You know why Johnathan. You were there."

This left me in the misty haze of confusion and placed them in a world of flashbacks as Fred pouted with his eyes descending to the floor and Mr. Winston showing a gloomed face.

"Very well, Chris." Jon stood up. "I'm just going to find another detective. Probably someone who is great at there job and will help me."

The detective shot his head up and furiously glared at Jon "So you're telling me. I'm not "great" at my job?" He scoffed. "I'm the best there is. Fine! I'll do it," he said in an annoyed tone. "Take us to where the action starts."

Jon gave a small nod before standing up and heading for the door. Mr. Winston followed him out of his study and I went out last, hurrying to catch up while I placed the notepad and pen in my pocket.

If there was anything I learned is the 1.) the Detective was once a police detective and 2.) the man has self-control and is full of apathy, even a hundred bucks nor pleads of desperation couldn't convince him, yet a short phrase that was targeting one's pride could greatly affect him than anything else.