The corpse in front of me was not a man.  It was not a woman or a child, or even a human being.  To me, it was merely a problem.  The multiple lacerations and puncture wounds were the only thing unusual to me.  Most of the men around me were expelling their dinners onto the carpeted floor and contaminating my scene.

“Locals, out!” I snapped, and the three local officers left the room, leaving just me and Isaac left in the room.

“What’s the situation here, Ken?” Isaac asked me as he fiddled with his coat sleeves.  He always did that when he couldn’t have a smoke.

“Probably those TC bastards again,” I said, examining the body.  I knelt down beside the seated man and picked up the pistol that was on the floor with my elastic gloved hand. “Looks like the guy thought having a gun was worth breaking federal law.”

“Probably felt threatened.  Can’t blame him,”

“Who was he?”

“Damn, Ken, didn’t you listen to the briefing?”

“I never listen to Will,” I replied simply.  Will was our boss, as far as Will was concerned.  I hated the pompous bastard.

“Well this poor sod was a senator.” Isaac said, flipping back in the notepad he carried.  He always wrote everything down, and I mean everything.  I’m still not sure if he does it to catalogue the scene or if he wants to write a book.  “Name was McGill,”

“Well,” I said, sliding the clip open on the pistol, “Good old McGill here snapped off three shots before he went down,” I snapped the clip back into place a replaced the weapon where it originally had been on the floor.  

“My guess is either two or three assailants or one who really had it in for this guy.” Isaac commented, observing the bloody body.  I was feeling the opposite wall, looking for bullet holes.  I spent several minutes listening to Isaac talk while I felt the wall for impact craters.  I didn’t care that Isaac talked; that was how he gathered his thoughts.

“So I got a theory,” Isaac explains to me, “This guy or guys break in the window in the study with either a ladder or rappelling from the roof.  Depends on how ‘action hero’ they felt at the time.  They get in here, where McGill is enjoying his delicious pot pie,” he said, motioning to the rotten smelling fly magnet that was the man’s dinner, “and charge at him with a knife.  Our man snaps three shots, but can’t hit a damn thing.  Maybe the assailant was quick and knocked the senator’s hand aside.  Either way, we know how it all ends: just like Julius Caesar.”

“You’re a poet.” I said sarcastically, “Only one problem, I can’t find any bullet holes in the walls.”

“What?  Well, where did the bullets go?”

“I guess they had to have hit something else.”

“Nothing broken around the place.”

“Maybe it was our guy had military armor,”

“You’re saying the TC sent a damn commando in here?” Isaac half gasped in disbelief, “Why would they send an assassin after a senator?”  I opened my mouth to explain, but then one of the locals burst in.  His EOD suit made me know something was wrong.

“We need the building cleared!  There is a cache of explosives in the basement that will blow in less then two minutes!”

I didn’t need anything else to know to get the hell out.  I bolted out the door and ran down the stairs, skipping every other step.  Isaac was behind me at first, but quickly passed me.  The man was in phenomenal shape despite his addictions and quirks.  We burst out the double doors and ran through the garden.  I wish I could have said how long had passed.  The line of police cars outside in a semi circle was welcoming, and I felt my legs strain with the effort.  Funny how we all run so much faster when there’s a bomb at your back, and yet it seems so much slower.

Without realizing we had made it, we reached the line of cars and hid next to the locals.  The guy next to me was young, shivering slightly.  Most wouldn’t notice his shakes, but I was good at noticing things.  So I noticed, along with the rest of the police there, that the bomb hadn’t gone off.

“Wait an extra minute, just to be sure,” I heard someone nearby say.  Sounded like sound advice to me.  We waited two long minutes more, and finally one of the EOD team came out of the building.

“We got it,” he said, taking off his helmet and walking towards the line of cars.  Sweat was pouring down his forehead from the concentration it took to defuse a bomb.  I stood up, pulling my coat around me as I did.  Damn, Colorado was cold.

“Lovely,” I said to Isaac, “Let’s get back to the scene, shall we?”

“Guess so,” he said, taking a long draw form his cigarette.  I hadn’t even noticed he lit it.  

“You’re killing yourself with that crap,”

“Yeah?  That’s what I hear.  Hasn’t worked yet,”

“That right?” I said as we were about halfway to the door, “Well, you’ll die from lung cancer someday, and I’ll be there saying ‘told you so!’”

“Aw, give it a rest, you son of a-“ and then the estate exploded.  Fire expanded the windows and shutters and the doors that we were dangerously close to.  The roof came flying off in large groups of shingling.  Shingles were deadly when they were flying through the air like that.  Isaac and I were lifted up and thrown back by the force of the explosion.  I felt myself flying, the stepping stones in the nice garden whizzing by.  Then I felt a terrible blow strike my entire back, making me keel in pain, attempting to get myself in the fetal position.  Flying shingles from the room and massive splinters of wood tumbled around me, and I was in a bad spot.

I did what I could, and crossed my arms over my face, praying to the Virgin Mother I didn’t get hit by the shrapnel.  Looks like the prayer was answered and I feebly crossed myself as the local paramedics surrounded me.  My ears were ringing, but other than my back I was fine.  I wiped my forehead and saw blood on my fingers.

“I’m fine!” I heard a familiar voice bellow next to me.  I turned my head and saw Isaac shaking some of the paramedics off of him.  He went next to me and extended one of his hands.  I took it, and he helped me to my feet.  My arms were cut up a little, and my whole back ached, but that was not what really pained me.

“There went the case,” I said, disappointed that all the evidence had just been shredded quite effectively.

“Hell, Ken!” Isaac said, “At least you’re alive!”

“Oh, and your question earlier: Why would the TC send a commando after a senator, I don’t have an answer to.  They usually only target the executive and judicial branches, so this is unlike them.”

“They have the nerve to call themselves the ‘True Constitutionalists’ just because they have guns.  They’re nothing but terrorists.”

“Of course,” I said smoothly.  I personally thought that the second amendment shouldn’t have been revoked, but that didn’t matter.  Today was today, and a law from fifty years ago shouldn’t affect a thirty-six year old like me.  Then again, here I was with a government issued pistol in my coat.  It came with the FBI badge, and the pistol I had at home was my own business.  Just like senator McGill’s.  “Did we get any pictures of the scene?”

“Not one,” Isaac said, lighting another cigarette, “What now?”

“We’ve been told to stay here for the next two months.  Might as well take a little vacation here in Colorado Springs,”

“Guess so,” he said, taking a draw from his cigarette, “Hey, the president got elected tonight, didn’t he?”

“He did.  I wonder who won.” I said.

“Hey!” Isaac shouted to the nearby cops, “Any of you know who won the election?”

“Feller did,” one of them called back, and I held my tongue.  Isaac, smiled wide and looked at me.

“You owe me five bucks,”

I grumbled and dug a five dollar bill out of my wallet.  Isaac was an oligarchist and I was a revivalist.  We were always betting over which of the candidates would win.  He snatched the five from my hand and stuffed it in his coat pocket.  

“Don’t understand why someone like you would want to give citizens firearms.  Just seems like a bad idea.”

I didn’t reply.  I could number off as many statistics and facts that I wanted to, Isaac wouldn’t listen.  People never listened when it came to politics.  Ironic that in a career where communication was key so few people listened.  Just the way people are, I guess.

“Well, at any rate, what are we supposed to do now?  We have two months before our next assignment, and it’s in this town too,” I said, rubbing my sore back.

“First off, I want to check into our hotel.  I’m dead tired,”

“Me too.  Let’s get out of here.”  With that, we got into our black Mercedes Benz and Isaac drove us to our hotel.  The government had been so kind as to pay our hotel fee and leave everything else to our own wallets.  The valet took our car and I tipped the boy three dollars as I slung my luggage over my shoulder.  I traveled light.  We checked into the Hilton and the young lady at the desk gave us a warm smile.  A very nice smile, I thanked her for the key and entered the elevator.  A man with a large gut got on with Isaac and me and began to talk.

“How y’all doing tonight?” he asked us as he boarded with a huge fake smile.

“Fine, thanks.” Isaac replied and I said nothing.

“What brings you boys to Colorado?  Visiting relatives or something?”

“Homicide,” I said, and the man struggled to maintain his grin.  I looked at him with a gentle smile on my face but nothing in my eyes.  I always found a smile and a little creativity was always more intimidating then rage.  The man cleared his throat and looked away.  The elevator stopped on the fifth floor and he got off.  We had two more floors to go.

“Do you always have to do that, Ken?” Isaac asked me after the elevator doors closed again.

“He got on my nerves is all,”

“You’re just upset I won the bet.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said dryly as we stepped off the elevator and began to look for room 726, “The fact our case literally blew up in our faces is completely overshadowed by the fact I lost five dollars.”

“Go to hell.” He said back sharply.  I felt bad that he was sore.

“Aw, come on, Isaac.  It’s nothing personal, I’m just in a bad mood.” I explained as I opened the door and tossed my bag on one of the two beds.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down heavily onto the other bed, “I take it back: don’t go to hell,”  He began to take out a cigarette and then saw the smoke alarm above his head.  “I thought we got a smoking room.”

“They don’t have any anymore.  You’ll have to do it on the balcony,”  He walked out to the balcony and I saw him light up as I turned on the TV.  I switched from the Spanish channel to the local news, and the anchor was talking about the election.  A logo that was colored red, white, and blue read “Election: 2088” and the words “FELLER/BROOKS WIN IT!” were written across the bottom of the screen.  They were discussing Feller’s inaugural address.  It was apparently the most brilliant speech in history according to the anchors, and they showed a picture of the previous president, Samuel Wright, shaking hands with Peter Feller and Anthony Brooks.  Next, they had Mooreland making a statement, and he said that he supported the new president, but it was obvious that he thought America was going to hell.

Feller announced that his promises to increase efforts against the terrorist group, the True Constitutionalists, would be a reality.  He proclaimed that new funds would be allocated toward military and civil agencies to help combat the terrorists.  God knows we need it.

“I should probably go to church Sunday,” I called to Isaac, who was leaning against the balcony railing and watching the smoke rise into the night sky.

“I’ll drop you off.  There are some things I want to do while I’m in town,”

“You could come with me.” I offered, but I knew the answer.  Isaac declined and I began undressing.  Stripping down to my undershirt and boxers, I threw the covers aside and crawled into my bed.  It was nice, and I slipped to unconsciousness soon after.