Free Dark Moonlighting by Scott Haworth

honest. You have to understand that
for a long part of my life I did not have any contact with people
of African descent. I was almost two hundred years old before I met
my first black person. The accent and slang I used always changed
to fit the location in which I settled. The old ways of thinking
were much harder to update.
    “You know, the sexual harassment policy is
clearly posted throughout the station,” I scolded her.
    “They aren’t going to fire me,” Jasmine
responded in her real voice. “I’m the only minority hire on the
force.”
    Her stereotypical act had elicited the
desired response from the rookie. Crockett had worn a mixed look of
puzzlement and fear. Now that Jasmine had returned to normal,
Crockett had begun to understand the joke and calm down.
    “What do you think about all these murders,
Officer Johnson?” Crockett cautiously inquired.
    “You can call me J.J, rook. I was just having
fun with you. The Urinator’s murders don’t bother me much,” Jasmine
responded.
    “They don’t?” Crockett asked in disbelief.
“But all of the recent murders have occurred within Illinois or
just outside the border. All the victims were found within a 300
mile radius of Starside. I’d bet good money that The Urinator lives
in our city.”
    “The Urinator is a problem for the detectives
and the feds,” Jasmine countered dismissively. “You should concern
yourself with drug dealers and wife beaters. Besides, if you ask me
The Urinator isn’t all that bad as far as serial killers go. He, or
she, is targeting the scum of the state anyway. The Urinator is
more of a vigilante than a serial killer.”
    The debate between my partner and the rookie
went on for a few minutes as more officers flooded into the
briefing room. I remained conspicuously silent on the topic. I had
tried to spread my victims throughout the state of Illinois, but
even the rookie cop had figured out that pattern. I was confident
that those in charge of investigating the serial killings had
already guessed that The Urinator lived in Starside or a nearby
town. This was not an immediate threat to my anonymity, but it was
certainly not a good idea to let the authorities narrow down where
they were searching.
    One of the reasons I first became interested
in law enforcement was the desire to spy on those who were out to
capture me. There was the obvious benefit of learning more about
how modern authorities operated. This allowed me to carry out my
hunting more carefully in the age of DNA and forensic science. In
addition to this though, I was also able to gather information on
my specific case. I heard the rumors around the water cooler and
listened to the lead detectives as they talked about The Urinator.
If they ever got close to discovering me, I would have an early
warning.
    The debate came to an abrupt conclusion once
The Chief entered the room. He was a fat, old, gray-haired Irishman
with a penchant for yelling. His outbursts often seemed
disproportionate to the situations that caused them. He was well
liked by no one, and had managed to boot a significant number of
officers from the force despite the almost Godlike power of the
police union.
    “Good evening, men… and Officer Johnson,” The
Chief began after taking his place behind the podium in the front
of the room.
    “Good evening, Chief,” all the officers in
the room besides one answered with various degrees of
enthusiasm.
    “Evening, douchebag,” Jasmine muttered under
her breath.
    “Very mature,” I whispered to my partner.
    “I try,” she responded.
    “There’s not much new tonight so I’ll keep
this short and sweet,” The Chief began.
    I had researched The Chief’s genealogy on a
whim shortly after joining the force. I had not gone back too far
through his family tree, but I was confident he was at least
second-generation American. Despite this, his accent was thick
enough to make a leprechaun roll his eyes. I found this to be
particularly amusing given that I