In The Bag

“Hey, Doc,” Sanchez called as he entered my office.

“How's tricks?” I asked as I pulled up the case file.

“Same old, same old,” Sanchez sighed as lowered himself into a chair. “Your desk isn't pile as high as last time.”

“Well, maybe either I'm getting organized or you're not bringing me as much to do,” I smirked.

“Wouldn't that be great?” he sighed. “I got your call.”

I turned my computer screen so he could see the image. “It's a match to the bullets we pulled from your victim,” I said. “Those shell casings you found at the scene were gravy on this.”

“So we have another shooting with the same gun,” Sanchez shook his head. “Just when I thought I had that first one in the bag.”

I was about to reply when Sanchez's phone went off. He answered while turning away from me – a habit most cops develop to make them think they have some privacy. Sanchez ended the call with a barked order.

“Where's your better half?” I asked as Sanchez pocketed his phone.

“Working a stabbing,” he said.

“And he didn't call me to the scene?” I asked. “How rude of the boy!”

“That may still happen,” Sanchez stood up and stretched. “The vic is still breathing, but not by much. It's pretty tied up. His mother's a seamstress, and her scissors were still in the vic's chest.”

“That aside, ready to be impressed?” I said as I pulled up a new image.

“What's that?” Sanchez squinted at the screen.

“That, my dear friend,” I teased, “is what is going to close this serial shooter case for you.”

Sanchez widened his eyes. “Doc, you just earned yourself dinner on me.”

Word Count: 298