Samuel West's life has never been terribly pleasant since shortly after reaching his twenties. Trouble of a certain kind seems drawn to his orbit. Decades of work in the military and law enforcement could, to a certain eye, look like an attempt to take advantage of this peculiar luck. Still, one can only be the sole survivor so many times before comrades and colleagues develop an acute awareness of his havoc radius.

This was a firmly mandated vacation after things had went to hell a week ago. He's out of traction but regulations are regulations and bureaucrats can be terribly obstinate.

So he finds himself in Las Vegas, crime ridden but of a more organized and less overtly violent sort than his work usually involves. He barely leaves the airport before seeing a local magician (sleight of hand, not the increasingly common real deal) died during an act. A bullet catching trick, flashy as hell but functionally safer than crossing most streets these days.

Which makes the fact that Samuel knows the man was murdered rather than just lax on the safety procedures when he glances at the screen problematic.

Sam shouldered his old army duffel and moved towards the waiting cab.  His only other bag was his hard case, still wrapped in the sealing tape from the airlines and the federal approved lock to protect the pistols inside from unauthorized hands.  He was always allowed to travel with his tools even though he really did not need them anymore.

He gazed out at the southern part of the Strip.  Mandalay Bay was visible and the black pyramid of the Luxor just to the north.  And north of that was the MGM where the Magician was murdered.  Although the newscast called it a tragic accident.  He had to hope the local police were better than the reporters.

Same allowed the cabbie to load the duffel but gave him a hard look when he reached for the hard case.  The cabbie backed away quickly and got in the car.

The Flamingo.

The driver nodded and they drove.  The man seemed to have recovered and began gabbing about the Bugsy Siegel and how the Flamingo was the original luxury hotel built here after the war.  Sam was only half listening when the Driver told him to go to the anatomical exhibit at Ballys.   Sam shook his head. That would be an experience for him that he did not need.

As they stopped at a light, he felt drawn to look down the street to a large theater nearby.  He did not need to be told that this is were the murder occurred.  It all but glowed to him.

The pull was constant as they pulled up to the Flamingo.  He felt another pull now that he knew would be the body, waiting to tell it's secrets.  He got out and paid the cabbie and turned one more time to the direction of the theater and sighed.

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Ignoring the porters for now, he entered the hotel and began to think of how this would not be the vacation his superiors had envisioned.

Reaching the hotel is easy, but the show was hosted in its own theater. Doubtless contracts had come up for renewal and accountants on both sides had harsh words for each other. There's a startling amount of footage available of the actual event, some people with very expensive phones caught it all on camera from at least twenty different perspectives.

A cab ride, or ride share, or even a bus, can get him where he needs to be easily. There is a question of the order of things of course. Body or scene first, and local law enforcement will see him as an interloper even if they get a look at his CV.

Sam goes through his small pile of credentials and pulls out one for the FBI.  This can generally get him in the door.  A quick search shows that Desert Springs was the most likely place for the body to be.  He always got more information from the body.  Murder victims were generally restless.  He considers taking a pistol but decides not to.

Hospitals tended to accept an FBI agent showing up.  Especially on a case that the police are trying to close so quickly.   A quick ride share to Desert Springs.  Flash the badge and ask for the morgue then see if he was correct on the location of the body.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:08, Thu 16 Sept 2021.

Chasing the body turns into an hour eating chore. They took the performer to the hospital but he was solidly dead beyond revival. Official time of death recorded and off to the medical examiner for an autopsy. Getting into the warehouse like morgue hidden in a business park goes smoothly enough. The guards are mostly looking for journalists, the mentally disturbed, and idiots.

First break of the night, there is a backlog of cadavers. Las Vegas had a small spree of construction accidents today, so the late Rufus is waiting in storage rather than an autopsy room.

Tall, on the far side of middle aged, shaved head, almost skeletally thin in death. Stretched out on a cooler drawer with the neat hole through his right chest, blood staining the white dress shirt he had been wearing.

Sam opted to walk the 3 or 4 blocks to the theater.  He had to change his thinking on this one.  Not as straight forward as all the others before.  Find murderer.  Kill murderer.  Now he needed to hope Murdock would back him up when he talked to the police.  I am sure he would keep up with his tired quote he kept as a sign above his desk and that he was using to sign emails to Sam.  "Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent."   That would work if your guiding hand were the kind God and not the eye for an eye God.  Someone had to do the dirty work and that seemed to be him.

He flashed his ID to the officer keeping people out of the theater and asked if he could come in and have a look.  He had a cock-and-bull story about the decease's family or friends having some connections and strings being pull so he had to chase the goose ready to go.

Samuel found the theatre empty. Locked of course and even from the exterior windows he could see the distinct yellow of police tape peeking out from a few spots. Still, aside from some signs that the cleaning staff had been given the night off like still full trash bins and some detritus that most places would have removed the only sign of strangeness from outside was a Vegas Venue closed before midnight.

That might have been normal if, say, this was a community theatre in a town of a few thousand where local law enforcement had a dozen or so officers. Las Vegas? This place should still look like a kicked over ant hill.

Sam was not going to break in.  He would have to come back in the morning.  He will head back to the Flamingo and get some rest.

Late night Vegas has the same predators as most major urban areas, if more adapted to the tourist rich environment. They stay entirely clear of Samuel. He spots a few official vehicles about, law enforcement and emergency medical services mostly. There is an animal control van stopping just short of running with urgent lights that snags his attention for a moment.

If it is not far off of his path to the Flamingo, he will follow the van just to see what is happening.  He is on foot so will not put much effort in if it outdistances him.

Well that's interesting, they stop at an industrial park and hustle out. He's more used to the law enforcement equipment but they're wearing something that has to be the equivalent of riot gear.

Sam will keep his distance to watch but he is intrigued by what animal could call for such gear.

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