Day 1

There are very few things in the world that must make me actively sick. A gruesome murder, I am told, should figure somewhere around No. 1.

Or maybe it's number 3.

But my blood refuses to curl up, it seems rather adamant on following its God-given route.
But my brain, fortunately, is a bit more conflicted. It can't decide whether to treat it as another occurance, or to seem appropriately disgusted and horrified, and only then change the channel.

I hate it when my mind is indecisive.

But there it was, a huge gory image of a man brutally murdered. Without any motive it appeared. And all in High Definition across a multitude of channels. You can't escape it.

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Work must be done though, even on such a horrible day. I hate it when it rains. Small mercy though, there is some good music on the car radio. Though work isn't much of a drive from home, I don't enjoy the drive. It doesn't run through the most scenic part of town exactly.

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Just as I walk in, my boss informs me that I must immediately put my current project on hold. My boss is one of those people who look like they can only be 'book smart'. But unfortunately turn out to be clever and cunning pricks as well. Makes it very difficult to win an argument. Even if the project he is putting on hold took 3 weeks of painstaking research and many coffee cups.

As luck would have it, it's about the dead bloke. Apparently it is of more importance than the sad state of public education. Well, more sensational at least. I put up a bit of resistance but ol' Hannibal will have none of it. Back I march back to my desk like a defeated Roman.

My cameraman is ready to go though. He is a small chap, likes to keep a handlebar mustache. Says it makes him look macho. He is single. And has been so for a long time.Skinny, white and with a penchant for over-sized floral shirts and beige jeans. Lovingly known to us as Big Mac.

He also takes a disturbingly high interest in his work. Especially the gruesome and morbid ones. If I didn't know better, I wouldn't have been his friend.

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We reach the scene of the crime just as the sun comes shinning out of the clouds. The other bees are there too, trying to get the best angle of the bloody face. Kept at bay only by the Cops hurling abuses at them. Gits. The entire lot of them. Fortunately, I have a man on the inside. My cousin. Lets me in on the finer nuances.

"It was a gun shot, straight to the head. No mistake here. We just don't know who or why."

"Ah, splendid job", i said.

"Don't get wise assdouche."

"Good one." He could come up with a few good insults some times. "So where is it from?"

"0.44 caliber, that's all we know"

Armed with this information, I start the telecast ensuring Mac didn't resort to the nasty cliches of television news cinematography. If there is one thing i like about Hannibal, he hates cliches more than he hates me.

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