adamcarvosso

The door swung open, revealing a thirty-something man of average stature. He hastily entered the upper class restaurant, leading a slightly taller, similarly aged woman through the door. The couple made their way to a table with half a dozen other people seated alongside it, thoroughly engaged in conversation and appetizers.
“Sorry we’re late; Daniel wouldn’t let the Valet touch his car, and there weren’t any parks for a couple of blocks. Dodgy part of town, I’m shocked we didn’t get mugged on the return trip,” the man’s partner, Tessa, announced.
“Yes, wouldn’t it have been a shame if someone had stolen my money from our wallets,” Daniel retorted. Tessa had nothing to say.
“Have a seat guys,” an older man offered sheepishly, shattering the awkward silence that had ensued. The pair sat down and proceeded to over-analyse the offerings in the menu.
“So who’s this new guy that Sarah’s been dating? I heard he’s foreign,” said the older man, Ben.
“American?” Tessa asked
“Not American per se, but he wears Levi’s and doesn’t know where Afghanistan is,” Daniel interjected. A young waitress approached, pen and paper in hand.
“You guys just about ready to order?”
“Uh yeah, I’ll have an Eye Fillet, rare,” replied Ben.
“And you?” asked the waitress, directing the comment towards Daniel.
“I’ll have the Fillet, Mig-non?” The waitress suppressed a laugh, then replied
“Filet mignon?”
“Yeah, that. Medium rare.” Damn French.

The group finished ordering their meals. And then nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen for a solid twenty minutes, in fact, until his digestive system started happening, prompting Daniel to excuse himself from the table and find the nearest bathroom. Great, my bowels are working faster than their chef. After relieving himself, he turned to exit the room, when his thoughts were interrupted by the loudest sound he had ever heard. The door exploded inwards and Daniel was thrown violently across the room. And then, nothing.


Inspector LeGrasse had never seen anything like it. At roughly 8: 35 the previous night, a large bomb had ripped through the restaurant, killing eleven people and injuring a half dozen more, with three people still unaccounted for. More than a dozen groups had claimed responsibility for the attack, and so determining the true identity of the bomber would not be a task he was looking forwards too. This kind of indiscriminate killing left him somewhat disturbed. He turned to a uniformed police officer standing behind him.
“Probably some kind of fertilizer bomb. There’s heavy damage to the building, but it’s still standing along with most of the supports. Did anybody get a good look at the bomber?
“Most of the survivors from this building are being treated for their injuries at the moment, and the witnesses we have from across the street weren’t paying any attention ‘till the explosion,” the man replied.
“Any kind of surveillance footage available?”
“Yeah, the tapes are down at the station, but we haven’t had time to take much of a look as of yet.”
“Doesn’t it sort of strike you as odd,” LeGrasse pondered aloud.
“What’s that?”
“Well, why did the bomb go off here, and not in the main dining area? It’s a pretty secluded corner, can’t have been more than twenty people seated around here.
“Nineteen, if I recall correctly. The man won’t be remembered as one of this generations great thinkers, I guess. Probably didn’t think it through thoroughly.
“I guess we’ll ask him when we get him. Do you have a list of survivors on you?”


Daniel shot upright. Or at least, he tried to. His back would not do what he was telling it to do, and he was immediately overcome with pain. Then his eyes focused, and he realised that he was in a hospital. He groaned audibly and a nurse that he had not noticed previously pressed a button on some kind of control. A wave of lethargy swept over him. Morphine.

Hours later, the door to his room opened, revealing a short, stocky man with black hair that was showing just a hint of grey. The man approached his bed and stood quietly for a moment, before finally speaking.
“Daniel Woodward?” he asked.
“That’s right,” he wearily replied.
“How are you feeling?”
“A hundred and ten percent.”
“What do you recall about last night, before the explosion?” Daniel thought about it for a moment, a task made difficult by the opiate induced fog he was experiencing.
“Well?” LeGrasse inquired.
“I was meeting with some colleagues for dinner. We ordered our meals, I went to take a leak… turned around to leave the bathroom and got knocked off my feet.”
“Did you notice anybody acting suspiciously, while you were inside the restaurant?”
“Not off the top of my head, no,” he replied. Then something clicked inside his mind. “Where’s Tessa, is she okay?!”
“What’s her last name?”
“Woodward, what do you fucking think?”
“Please calm down sir.” He glances at a chart in his hands for a moment before speaking again. “She has third degree burns to twelve percent of her body. She’ll be here for a while yet, but she should make a full recovery, a few scars aside.” Daniel let out a very audible sigh of relief.
“Look, I have a lot of people to see, so I’d best be going.”


LeGrasse was seated in a dark room with the same uniformed police officer, going through the security tapes from the restaurant.
“How much more of this is there?” LeGrasse asked.
“We started at 9am, and we’re up to 4 PM. When did the bomb go off?”, the officer, Frank, replied.
“8: 35. God.”
“Wouldn’t it have just been easier to start at the explosion and work our way back?”
“If I ever need to do this again, I’ll be sure to do just that.” On the screen, a tall, dark haired Caucasian man walked into the restaurant holding a briefcase, looked over his shoulder and then walks out of the camera’s line of sight.
“Hello,” said Frank.
He walked back around the corner, minus the briefcase, and then walked out of the Restaurant.
“I think we have our man,” said LeGrasse, before pausing the tape.
“Do we have any suspects?”
“None matching that profile,” Frank replied, before his pocket started vibrating. He reached in and pulled out an old, brick like phone.
“Hello? No, just tired. No, I’ll be done soon. Five – tenths of bugger all to be honest. Yeah, love you too.”
“The Mrs?”
“Yeah. What are we going to do about this?
“I guess I’ll do another round of witness interviews. Not that anybody saw much of anything.
“Did you get anything from the guy they found unconscious in the toilets? Daniel I think.”
“Nothin’.”
“Run the suspect’s profile past him, see if he knows anything. It’s a long shot, but we don’t really have much of a choice right now,” stated Frank.
“I’ll save that for the morning. Right now, I need a drink. Care to join me?”
“I have to head on home.”
“Ah right. The other half calls.”
“Something like that.”


Daniel shot upright. Again. And just as the last time, he slumped straight back down onto his bed. The same short, stocky man was present.
“Mr. Woodward?” he asked, already knowing the answer, but asking none the less.
“What do you want? I already told you I didn’t see anything.”
LeGrasse reached into his pocket, and drew out a photograph of a tall, dark haired man.
“Do you recognise the man in this photograph?” he replied. Daniel stared at the photograph for a moment.
“Even if I knew the guy I doubt I’d recognise him in that photo. That looks like it was taken a fair distance away.”
“Yeah, restaurant security camera.”
“The restaurant has a security camera? Look, I’d be happy to assist you in your investigation, but right now, my ears are still ringing. I’d appreciate it if you left me alone,” he snapped.
“Sure, no problem. Thanks for your time.”


LeGrasse walked out of the room. Another wasted afternoon. He casually strolled out into the waiting room. He had nowhere to be. As he turned to leave, something caught his eye, a tall, dark haired man. There are probably a thousand people in this city fitting that description. But curiosity got the better of him regardless, and he tried to make out what he was saying.
“…Looking for a friend of mine, Daniel Woodward. He was in the restaurant, and I need to know if he’s ok,” he asked the receptionist.
“I’ll check for you.” A minute passed. “Look’s like he’s ok. Room 309, if you’d like to pop by during visiting hours.”
“Thanks a lot for your help.”
“My pleasure.”
The dark haired man made a beeline for the hallway. Looks like he’s in a hurry.


The door swung open. I thought I told you to…Garry?
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’ve waited a long time for this day.”
He drew a handgun from inside his jacket. Colt 1911A1. Fuck.


LeGrasse pressed his head up against the doorway. He could hear muffled sounds coming from inside the room. He then heard the slide on a firearm being dawn back. He drew his service pistol. In his twenty-five years on the police force, he had never needed to discharge his weapon, and he didn’t intend to start now.

The door burst open. LeGrasse took aim at Gary.
“Drop the weapon! Now!” LeGrasse commanded.
It was now or never. He’d played the scene over a thousand times in his head. Now or never. He gently applied pressure to the trigger. The gun fired. He felt two stabbing pains in the back. And then, nothing.