Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story

assume the bedroom had an Asian motif. Intently aware that more pressing matters were upon him, he glanced down at his watch. The luminescent numbers announced the time: 11:55pm. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the floor plan and hastily stepped inside a coat closet near the front door.
-#-
Cagney felt like he was on top of the world. After months of flirting and inappropriate touching, the beautiful young intern from Florida International University finally returned the sentiment. The cocaine they snorted in the front seat of his Maserati after the evening news had wrapped only helped matters. He told her he could make her a star and, if she were to heed his advice, they’d be delivering the news side by side in no time. He failed, however, to mention that he didn’t have the clout necessary to secure the anchor gig. But he figured what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, with all he put up with each day, and with his status as the leading evening news anchor in South Florida, he deserved a hot, young piece of ass whenever he damn well pleased.
“Bienvenidos mi case, amor,” Cagney said in butchered Spanish as he opened the door to his condo.
“Wow, this place is huge.”
“There’s more where that came from.”
“I bet there is,” she said with a playful giggle. The powder was taking hold. “I’m going to freshen up.”
“Hurry on back, beautiful,” he replied. “I get lonely if I’m out here by myself for too long.”
Cagney looks just as douchey in person as he does on air. Who the hell was the girl, though? He was supposed to be alone. Must be a call girl because there’s no way he could pull that kind of tail legitimately. Money only gets you so far. Micah’s initial plan off the table, he considered alternative ways to approach the situation. In an ideal world, Cagney would have been alone and discovered days later when the stench of his decomposing body seeped through the walls. This was anything but ideal, but it wasn’t impossible. The simple answer was that he had to act quick.
Once the woman left the room, Cagney walked over to a bar to prepare some drinks. Micah slid the closet door open quietly as his target fumbled for the precise accouterments to go with the concoction he planned to put together in the tumblers on the granite in front of him. The silenced pistol in tow, Micah walked over to Cagney and stopped four feet behind him.
“Jimmy sends his best.”
Cagney turned his head at the sound, but his eyes never met Micah’s while a thread of life still existed within them. A single bullet escaped the chamber and struck Cagney in the left temple before exploding out the right side of his head. Blood and brain matter sprayed onto the wall next to where his body once stood. Micah lowered his arm and looked at the corpse with contempt.
Suddenly, a door somewhere down the hall creaked and forced Micah to duck for cover behind a nearby couch. The optimal move would have been to leave before the young woman had discovered his handiwork, but Micah found himself compelled to wait things out. He listened as the woman’s footsteps drew nearer. Hesitant to give away his hiding spot too soon, he peered over the top and saw her walking closer, a body most men dreamed of when left to their own devices, a transparent set of underwear that merely invited impure thoughts was all that covered her.
“Did you fix me that drink yet, sweetie?”
Her eyes met Cagney’s body briefly and her jaw dropped. She let out a scream, but a dull pop from across the room muted the sound. The slug burrowed its way into her brain and her body collapsed to the floor in a sea of crimson. Micah quickly disassembled the silencer and placed it in his pocket. The tube was warm against his thigh. He walked over to the woman and placed the pistol in her hand, forcing her to grip it tightly. He then raised her hand and fired a shot at Cagney, striking him in the gut. An uncomfortable feeling of remorse rushed over him as he placed her firing hand by her side and rushed out the door.
-#-
Once outside, Micah walked over to a nearby phone and dialed emergency. He waited a couple minutes before the line clicked in.
“9-1-1, what is the nature of your call?”
“I, uh, heard some noises. Strange noises.”
“Sir, this is an emergency number,” the dispatcher began.
“Yes, yes, I know. I think this might be an emergency. The noises were coming from inside a condo at 1512 Mangrove Bay.”
“Is that your place of residence, sir?”
“I think someone might be hurt.”
“Sir, are you…?”
He clicked the receiver and left.

Chapter 16
Osteen and Vivian arrived at the scene of the crime, fully aware of the magnitude of the story it held amidst the blood spatter and the unmistakably pungent aroma of death. However, they needed a chance to have some one-on-one time with the victims before anything consequential could be relayed to the press. Osteen found it remarkable that so much of the story was unknown outside of the condo’s walls, considering the penchant for gossip within the community that the heinous act took place.
The bodies had only been devoid of life for a few hours by the time the detectives showed up, but the smell had already permeated throughout the condo. If the front door had been left open, a curious neighbor might have popped their head inside to inspect, and the sight that would have greeted them would have made even the manliest of men more than a tad nauseous.
Unlike some portrayals of death seen in Hollywood, where a shot to the head results in a small circular wound, the reality is considerably more gruesome, like a butcher learning to use a meat grinder for the first time but going a bit overboard with