It was simple. I was meant to kill a young man with a loose mouth. There had been a few remarks made that Griff didnít take so kindly to, and he wanted the guy muffled. Somehow or another (I can never quite figure out how he knows these things), Griff figured that our soon-to-be-dead acquaintance was a regular at the local nerd haven. I was all set to head in, do the job (discreetly, of course), and get out. Itís a big city, and as long as I covered my tracks, Griff said, Iíd be fine. ĎCourse, it was the threat that I wouldnít be fine if I didnít do the job that got me goiní.
The choice for the murder was easy. A gun would be too obvious and easy to track. A knife would be much more covert, but that wasnít quite my style. Iím a thinker. Always have been, always will be. And, though some of those fuckers would laugh afterwards, my blade was an icicle salvaged from the junk kept in the upper room. A bit of tinkering with a fridge, a cooler, and a quick entry was all I needed to have the job done. The icicle would melt soon enough when left in the guyís neck, and the police certainly wouldnít give a small cold-basket too much thought.
And so, I made my way to the arcade, and I immediately found my suspect dancing to one of those foreign music things. A shame, I had thought, that he would make himself so obvious.
I was surprised. Out of nowhere, came the blood. With the blood, came panic. With the panic, came confusion. But amidst it, I saw what had happened.
Someone else had beaten me to it. Whoever had done the deed left their weapon lodged in the victimís neck. On a closer glance (which I made trying to keep as ordinary and casual as possible), I froze at the sight. An icicle, melting beside the young manís windpipe. I glanced down at my cooler, just to make sure all of my devices were in their proper place. They were. Again I looked up, but there was no chance of finding the attacker amidst the flurry. The killing had taken place, but I had not moved.
The proof was undeniable. Someone else had killed this young man, with the exact same plan as my own. Someone had practically mirrored my plans. And, in a lapse of stupidity, I simply sat there, dumbfounded.
Thatís how the police found me. The contents of my cooler were questioned. Thankfully, the icicle I had planned to use had melted by that time, but they considered the ice-box evidence enough, and kept me detained. So, here I wait, left with nothing but a few sheets of paper and a pen I stole from the desk on the way here. Itís times like this that one questions oneís loyalties.
Until, of course, that same person realizes that their loyalty is kept under death. Griff always was a hasty fellow. Theyíll probably lock me up, putting a decisive end to the greatest irony Iíve ever been confronted with. But I wonít talk. Damn them, they canít make me talk.