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An uninvited guest...

Later that night, after dropping Jimmy off at his place, Alex came home at just some past 10. He found a sandwich on the table. Cold but tasty, he thought, as he took the first bite in 10 hours. With the sandwich in his right hand, bag on his right shoulder and a few files in his left hand, he made his way upstairs. He took a quick peek in the bedroom to find his wife and stepson fast asleep. Shutting the door as quietly as possible, the detective made his way down the hall way to the study, opened the door and quietly placed his bag and files on a chair to the left of the entrance. But, as he moved to the right to turn on the lights he saw, in front of the window, a silhouette of an uninvited guest. "Do you make up the collective," he said, "Or does it make you, detective?"

"What the heck!" the detective said as he flipped the light switch. Both the light bulbs in the room had been removed. Even so, Alex instantly recognised the masked man and also made the obvious deduction of his true identity as not being Zander Ford. "How did you get into my house?" he inquired and thought to himself that his height, built, the way he talked, his accent, nothing matched Zander's profile.

"How do you think, genius?" the masked man chuckled. "I used the front door! Just took the liberty of picking the lock."

Alex moved to the table on his left and opened the drawer. He quickly picked up the gun inside and pointing it at him, said, "Hands in the air!"

He then also turned on the lamp illuminating the room just enough to see his home invader. He was wearing a metallic mask that covered his entire face except the eyes, with cloth covering the head and neck. His build was that of a man who paid quite a lot of attention to physical fitness. The jacket he wore was of a dark colour. In the dim light Alex figured it was dark brown. And his jeans seemed pitch black. His voice is calm, the detective thought, but his figure is not. That is odd...

But he did not budge. "Put the gun away detective," he said, without changing his tone, or his position. "This is not worth me beating you up. Besides, didn't you hear? Bullets don't hurt me."

"I am dying to find out first hand."

"Where's your side arm?"

"Why asking?"

"I thought I was going to be going through some trouble but this is easy."

"What?"

"That one's out of bullets."

"What?"

"The gun in your hand... it's empty. I took all the bullets out when I came in here. I don't like the risk of getting shot by a 357. Here, look," the masked man took his hand out from the side pocket of his jacket and in his hand were the bullets from Alex's gun. The detective quickly checked his gun then threw it away throwing his arms in the air. "Great! So, what do you want?" he asked looking away.

"You don't look afraid?"

"Why should I be?"

"I'm a murderer. I kill people."

"Not all of them."

"But, I do hurt them."

"Not all of them."

"Jolly good!"

He moved to the small side table right next to the window. "That's a good coffee maker, detective," he said, pointing at the dusty black coffee maker. "Can I have some?"

Alex sat down on a couch next to the study table and said, "Sure! Help yourself."

"Don't mind if I do."

"The coffee is cold though."

"Eh. Don't worry about it. I'm just a little thirsty."

Alex looked most unamused. He gave his uninvited guest a stare as if to say 'enough with the small talk', but he was not to be distracted from his ruse and slowly said, "First meeting between detective and vigilante, a friendly chat... I like this."