Assassin by night
By littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Three detectives chase a female serial killer

The girl walked back to her car in the dark parking lot.  She was sixteen
years old and quite beautiful, with long dark brown hair, brown eyes, and
a deep tan.  Although at 5'5" and 120 pounds she was fairly petite, her
slender body was very well-toned and muscular.  On this particular night,
she was also somewhat drunk, having had three or perhaps four beers.
In addition, she was just a little bit high from the marijuana cigarette she
had shared with a friend.  She looked at her watch.  Still plenty of time to
get home before curfew.  Her dim-witted parents would never know she
had gone to some older guy's party.  Oh, no.  They thought she was
studying at a friend's house like a good little girl.

The young thug hiding in the shadows grinned to himself as he caught 
sight of the girl, alone, vulnerable.  Lucky night, he thought to himself.  He
would have some good fun tonight.  He would need it, because tomorrow
he had to report to his parole officer.

The girl was almost at her car now.  Her tight black pants showed off her
hard ass.  The sleeves of her white blouse were rolled back just enough 
to show a hint of her muscular forearms.  Damn, she was sexy.  No one
else was around.  No one would be close enough to hear her scream.  
The thug stepped out from the shadows and confronted the girl.

She turned, stared at him.  She didn't scream.  The words that came out
of her mouth were spoken in a low voice. "Get the fuck away from me,
you creep," she said.

The thug laughed. "I won't get the fuck away until I'm done with you, and
believe me, that won't be for a while," he smirked evilly.  He reached out
to grab her.

The girl drove her knee into his groin.  As he howled in pain and doubled
over, she smashed her fist into his jaw.  The thug screamed in pain again
and shook his head dizzily.  Damn, she could punch hard.  He tried to
swing a punch of his own at her, but she sidestepped it easily, then kicked
him in the face.  He fell to the ground.

The thug climbed slowly to his feet.  He looked around, expecting to see
the girl running away.  Instead, she was just standing there, staring at him
coldly.  He hesitated, trying to build up his confidence. "She just got 
lucky," he thought.  At nearly six feet, he was several inches taller than
her, and he must have outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. "It was just
luck," he repeated to himself.

"You messed with the wrong girl, asshole," she hissed suddenly.  With 
that, she charged him and hit his face with a lightning-fast combination of
punches.  She was just too fast for him to defend himself.  Before he 
could recover from her attack, the girl launched herself into a back
handspring, brutally kicking her would-be assailant as she went through
her flip.  The force of the impact knocked the thug down again.  The girl
completed her handspring and landed perfectly on her feet.  She then
jumped on him and wrapped her powerful thighs around his neck.  He
thrashed and struggled in pain as he felt her thighs choking him.

"Pretty strong, huh?" she smirked as she continued to choke her helpless
opponent. "Lots of gymnastics and soccer," she continued.

The thug began to beg and plead as best he could, his voice muffled by 
the girl's legs.  She laughed at him. "Little late for that now," she sneered.
"If our positions were reversed and I was the one begging you, would 
you listen?"

The look of shame on his face left no doubt as to what the truth was.  She
looked at him with contempt, then decided to try something she had seen
in a movie.  Announcing, "Say good night, asshole," she twisted her hips 
as she spoke.  There was a loud "crack" as she snapped his neck.

As the girl looked at the corpse of the man she had just killed, she felt a
tingle rush through her feminine regions.  She felt so powerful, so sexy.  
She needed to get off.  She waited only long enough to get to her car and
drive a safe distance away from the corpse before pulling over to the side
of the road and pleasuring herself.  It was only a short while before she
came, hard.  Once, twice, three times.  She had masturbated before, but
her orgasms had never been anywhere near this good.  The excitment, the
feeling of absolute power.  She would never forget this night.

Three years passed.  The girl was now a sophomore in college.  Tonight
was a typical Friday night.  The young woman was sitting in her dorm 
room, having just returned from a party.  Her roommate was still out, so
for now it was quiet and peaceful.  She had time to think.

She had had sex that night, with a promising young man.  He was quite
good in bed, and he had brought her to orgasm, but her climax had felt so
...mediocre, somehow.  She just didn't feel completely fulfilled.  She never
had.  Except once.  That night, three years ago...It was the only time she
felt like she had reached her maximum sexual potential.  There was nothing
she wanted more than to feel like that again.

But how could she do that? The night it had happened, it had been a 
chance incident that had led to her bliss.  How long would it be before she
got that "lucky" again? Unless...

The young woman made up her mind.  She knew what she had to do.  
She selected a sexy outfit - tight white shorts and a black tank top.  After
she changed, she slipped quietly out of the room.  Getting into her car, she
drove to an area of town that had a certain...reputation.  As she parked 
on the side of the road, she hesitated for the briefest of moments.  Did she
really want to go through with this? She decided she did.

She stepped out of the car, making sure her gun in her purse was loaded
and ready.  The gun, for her, was strictly an emergency tool.  She thought
that killing with just her body would bring much greater satisfaction.  As
she walked along the street, she thought about all the things that her
complacent, ignorant parents didn't know about her, and how horrified 
they would be if they did know.  They had no idea that she smoked
marijuana.  They had no idea that she drank underage.  They had no idea
that she had casual sex.  They had no idea that she knew how to shoot
and carried a gun with her (the father of a friend owned a shooting range
and had taught her all about guns). And they had not the slightest inkling
about her unusual sexual desires.  For a brief moment, a guilty-sounding
voice in her head said that she should respect her parents, but it was soon
replaced by a much more cynical voice that said only intelligent parents
deserved respect.

She walked along the dark streets and alleys for two hours.  Although she
passed many creepy-looking people, none of them made a move to attack
her.  None of them took the bait. "Damn tough-on-crime mayor," she
muttered.  Finally, she decided it was time to call it a night.

At least once a month, the young woman repeated her dangerous routine.
It took three more tries before a would-be assailant finally took the bait.

Her outfit on that particular night was a tight white top, a black miniskirt,
and black knee-high boots.  She was walking on one of her favorite 
streets when she noticed the man following her.  He was a short, rather
heavy-set fellow, about her height.  His clothes were shabby and his face
was ugly and scarred.  She smiled to herself, a wicked and dangerous 
smile.  She then deliberately entered a dark, smelly alley.  Just as she 
hoped, the man followed her into the alley, completely unaware that he
was going to meet his maker very soon.

She turned around and pretended to notice him for the first time.  She
pretended to look scared.  The man grinned and began to unzip his pants.
It was the last grin of his life.

With a shrill warrior cry, the young woman launched herself at her 
opponent with a flying kick.  The impact sent the man crashing against the
alley wall.  As he grabbed his aching head dizzily, she performed a perfect
cartwheel, her legs viciously kicking him one after the other as she rotated
through her cartwheel.  She landed quickly back on her feet, while he 
landed on the ground with his face in the dirty gravel.  Before he could
recover, she began kicking him in the head repeatedly with her heavy 
boots.  As she launched one powerful kick after another, the feeling of
sexual excitement in her tight pussy grew.

She finally stopped after about twenty kicks.  The man was now clearly
dead.  The young woman slid a hand underneath her miniskirt and panties.
She slipped one, then two fingers into her wet slit and went to work.  It 
was not long before she climaxed.

Finally satisfied, she cleaned herself up a little and looked around.  No 
one else was there.  She reminded herself that next time, she should wait
until she was in a safer area before pleasuring herself.  Leaving the ugly 
man lying in the alley in a pool of his own blood, she headed back to her
car.

Lieutenant Charles Peters hurried through the corridors of police
headquarters and out to his car.  The veteran detective had just been
assigned a new case.  A man had discovered a very bloody corpse lying in an
alley in the bad part of town.  Lieutenant Peters quickened his pace, glad
to be able to get out from behind his desk and get into the field.  Murders
were relatively rare in this town, even in the bad neighborhoods.  As he
reached the car, he saw the two assistant investigators for the case,
Detectives Sara Ramos and John Benson, already waiting inside the vehicle.
With a quick greeting to his companions, Peters got behind the wheel and
started the car towards the crime scene.

"So what are the juicy details, Charlie?" asked Sara, chewing a stick of 
gum loudly. "The chief didn't tell us very much." Peters scowled.  Gum-
chewing annoyed him.  His gruff, direct personality was in sharp contrast 
to both Sara's outgoing, lighthearted attitude and John's quiet, shy one.

"He didn't tell me all that much either," replied Peters. "About six this
morning, a sanitation worker found some poor slob lying dead in an alley.
There was blood all around him.  There didn't seem to be anything else
unusual around the area.  No one seems to have seen anything.  A unit's
sealed off the scene, and they're waiting for us right now."

About ten minutes later, the detectives reached the alley. "The guy who
found the body is over there with those officers," said Peters. "John, you
go talk to him.  Sara, you and I will look over the scene.  You start at
that end and I'll start over here."

The scene was quite straightforward.  The corpse was lying near one end of
the alley.  The man's skull had been smashed, and there was blood and brain
matter all over the ground.  A meticulous search revealed no helpful
evidence.  The hard gravel preserved no footprints, and there were no
fingerprints on the corpse.  The victim carried no I.D.

"Got anything, Sara?" asked Peters. "Because I sure don't."

"Nothing," she answered. "Nothing at all."

John walked up to them. "The sanitation guy wasn't much help," he said. "He
just found the body, ran out, and called the police.  He didn't see anything
or anyone else that was suspicious.  I talked to the coroner too.  He says
that the victim's been dead for several hours.  He also says that judging
from the wounds on the skull, it looks like the victim was kicked to death."

"So basically, we got nothing," grumbled Peters.  He sighed and lit a 
cigarette.  Sara scowled.  Smoking annoyed her. "Well, let's get the prints
on this guy," Peters continued. "Maybe we'll get some answers after we I.D.
him.  If we can."

It was not long before the three detectives were back at headquarters.  
Peters and John were examining pictures of the corpse.  Sara was entering the
deceased's fingerprints into the database. "Hey, guys, look at this," she
called out.  The other two looked up.

"The dead guy's name is Freddie Marks," she continued. "He has two arrests, 
one for indecent exposure four years ago, and one for possession of marijuana
two years ago.  Not much of a criminal."

"Could have been a drug deal gone bad," said John.

"Or maybe he was just walking along when a bigger and badder thug jumped 
him," suggested Sara.

"But wouldn't he have taken his money then?" asked Peters. "The guy still had
cash in his pocket."

"Maybe someone came along and scared the perp off before he could pilfer the
corpse," answered Sara. "Or maybe he just wanted to make an example and show
people who's boss in that neighborhood."

"We've got an alert out looking for anyone who might have seen anything
suspicious," said Peters. "I don't think it'll be much help, though.  Looks
like this'll be just another ordinary thug-on-thug murder."

"I'm not so sure about that," said John. "I've got a strange feeling that 
this won't be an ordinary case at all."

It was a few weeks later.  The young woman was sitting in her dorm room, 
thinking.  Her roommate was out partying again.

She thought about the incredible feeling of power she got when she killed. 
It felt so good.  And there was nothing morally wrong with it in her mind.
After all, the men she had killed were both evil sexual predators who preyed
on innocent women.  If she could do society a favor by getting rid of those
scum while getting off at the same time, well, that was win-win.

Of course, there were some things she had to worry about.  She wasn't worried
about being overpowered by a perp, of course.  With her athleticism, her
martial arts knowledge, and her firearms training, she was sure she could
handle any attacker.  What she was worried about was being caught in the act
by a passer-by, or being caught by the police.  But, she decided, the reward
was more than worth the risk.

There were other obligations that the young woman had.  She had her 
schoolwork, her friends, and other things.  But she had promised herself that
she would never go too long without making that fateful trip to the seedy
part of town to turn a potential predator into prey.

For her next kill, she only had to try twice before she scored a hit.  This
time, she was wearing low-cut jeans and a red tank top that showed off her
ultra-hard abs.  She was also wearing black leather gloves, since she planned
on using her hands this time.

She was walking by the back door of a large warehouse when the man saw her 
and started walking towards her.  He was tall and thin, with a bald head. 
"Hey, baby," he said. "I'm gonna have a good time with you."

"Correction.  I'm gonna have a good time," she answered. "But you won't." 
With that, she kicked him in the head, knocking him to the ground.  He 
growled and climbed back to his feet. "What the fuck is this?" he snarled.

"It's a woman defending herself from a pervert like you.  Duh," she snapped.
The man growled again and charged her, thinking he could get her on the 
ground and wrestle her into submission.  Unfortunately for him, the young
woman had other plans.  She kicked out as he charged, hitting him in the 
chest and knocking him backwards.  Before he could try a new move, she
performed a front handspring towards him, then kneed him in the stomach and
punched him in the nose.  She followed that up with a powerful spin kick,
which knocked her opponent to the ground again.  Giving him no time to 
recover, she leapt on top of him and began punching him in the face.  As her
fists did their work and blood flew from the helpless man's face, the young
woman's pussy responded in the way she knew it would.

After about a couple dozen punches, she paused to admire her handiwork.  The
man's face was unrecognizable, and he was barely alive. "Time to finish 
this," she thought.  She leaned over and whispered, "I hope it was as good 
for you as it was for me." With that, she snapped his neck with her leather-
clad hands.  When she went into her car to masturbate, she came four times -
a new record for her.

Sara moved her bishop across the chess board, capturing John's rook. "Check,"
she said with a grin.

John grinned back and from out of nowhere moved one of his pieces to capture
the bishop that had just taken his rook. "Checkmate," he said.

Sara stared at the board in shock. "Damn, how did you do that?" she said. 
"I'm never going to beat you at chess."

"Well, I guess you can take some consolation in the fact that you always kick
my butt at shooting," said John with a smile, causing Sara to smile back.

The door opened and Lieutenant Peters strode in. "Let's get going," he said.
"Someone just found a corpse behind an old warehouse.  It looks like the same
M.O. as our last one." The three detectives quickly gathered their things and
hurried out to the crime scene.  The corpse was lying on the back steps of 
the warehouse.  His face was beaten and bloody, and his neck was broken.

"Maintenance worker came to open up this morning and found the body," said
Peters. "Coroner says the victim was probably killed sometime late last 
night, so he was dead several hours before he was found just like the last 
guy."

An officer handed Peters a wallet. "Well, at least he's got an I.D. on him 
this time," he said.  He fished through the twenty-dollar bills in the wallet.
"Doesn't look like it was robbery, either." He took out the victim's driver's
license and handed it to John. "Call headquarters and run it through the
database," said Peters. "Sara, check the body for prints.  I doubt we'll find
any but you never know.  I'll start looking for evidence by the door."

Peters sighed as he examined the ground.  Once again, there was nothing.  
This killer was smart.  Just then, John came running up. "Our victim has a 
record," he said. "Two convictions for sexual assault, one for attempted 
rape, and two for burglary."

Peters scratched his head, thinking. "Didn't the first victim have an 
indecent exposure on his record? Maybe this is some vigilante campaign 
against sexual offenders."

"Maybe," said John. "But it doesn't seem all that likely to me.  I think a
vigilante would go after higher-profile targets, not some guy who exposed
himself four years ago." A thought suddenly struck him. "Maybe these are 
cases of women defending themselves against sexual predators," he said.

Peters contemplated the thought, then shook his head. "I don't think so," he
said. "First off, it's highly unlikely that two separate women would defend
themselves in such similar ways, and it's even more unlikely that the same
woman would be attacked twice.  And if these were legitimate cases of self-
defense, wouldn't the women have called the police?"

"What if it's a different kind of vigilante?" asked John. "A woman who 
deliberately goads men into attacking her so she can kill them."

"That's a pretty wild idea," said Peters. "It is theoretically possible, yes.
But look at the way these men were killed.  They were beaten and kicked, and
they would have fought back.  I don't think a woman would be strong enough to
beat those guys."

"Oh, quit being such a sexist," said Sara, who had come up behind them and
overheard. "Women can be perfectly capable of kicking some major butt.
Remember last New Year's Eve, at that bar where I beat up those two guys who
groped me?" Her eyes were sparkling now.

Peters sighed. "Yes, I remember," he said. "I also remember we had to pay for
all the tables and glasses you broke."

Sara shrugged. "Hey, they instigated it," she said.

"Look," said Peters. "I'm not saying it's impossible for a woman to have done
this, I'm just saying it's unlikely.  By the way, did you find any prints on
the body?"

"Nope," she answered. "The killer must have used gloves."

"Well, there's nothing more for us here," said Peters. "Let's get back to
headquarters."

The young woman's "work" continued.  College student by day, deadly assassin
by night.  Because of her busy schedule, she didn't get to go out hunting 
very often.  Also, she didn't find prey on every hunt - in fact, on most of
them, she didn't find prey.  But when she did, the thrill of the kill was
always exhilarating.  By the time she had graduated and gotten a job, she had
killed seven men, including the one from when she was sixteen.

Meanwhile, the three detectives who had been assigned to the case continued 
to work on it, without success.  They meticulously investigated each crime
scene that followed the same M.O.  Each time, the victim had been brutally
beaten and killed with bare hands or feet.  Unfortunately, they never found
any helpful evidence.  They did find that out of the six victims they had
investigated so far, five had criminal records and four had been convicted of
at least one sex offense.  Also, no money or valuables were ever taken from
any of the victims.  This strengthened John's belief that the killer was a
female vigilante who was deliberately goading men into attacking her.  Sara
agreed with him, and even Peters had to admit that this was now the most
likely scenario.  The detectives also looked at records for other cities to
see if there had been any similar pattern of killings.  They found no 
pattern, although there were many individual killings in different cities
that could have been committed by the person they were looking for.  They 
knew that most, if not all, of those cases would be unrelated, and the 
official reports were usually brief and offered nothing helpful.

The young woman was now twenty-three.  She had a good job that interested 
her and paid reasonably well, and she had her own apartment.  Because of her
sexiness, she was hit on quite often.  She had plenty of sex, but regular
sex was just a half-measure for her.  Her true sexual happiness came from 
her killings.  Her job kept her busy, so she didn't have too many 
opportunities for her favorite "activity."

It was a warm Friday night.  Time for the young woman to go hunting.  It had
been a month since her last hunt and three months since her last successful
hunt.  It was high time for another victory.  She put on skintight black 
pants and a tight little white T-shirt.  Her outfit showed off both her 
strong arms and her amazing abs.  She got into her car and selected a
neighborhood.

This time, she only had to wait about half an hour before someone took the 
bait.  He was a big, rough-looking, middle-aged man wearing a black leather
jacket.  He would be victim number ten.  He followed her for a while.  She 
led him on.  She turned around and pretended to see him for the first time.
Putting a scared look on her face, she began to run.  The man ran after her.
She ran through a dark, empty parking lot and pretended to trip and fall.  As
she got up, the man caught up to her.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," he chuckled evilly. "A scared
little girl out all by herself in the middle of the night.  Don't you know 
how unsafe that is? Looks like you need a big daddy like me to protect you 
and give you a hard fucking."

"Try fucking with this," she said, punching him in the eye.  He yelled in 
pain and anger.  She swung another punch at him, but to her shocked surprise,
this time he blocked her attack.  He then swung a punch of his own at her,
which she barely dodged. "Uh-oh," she thought.

The big man reached his arms out to try and choke her.  She grabbed his right
arm and began twisting it, eliciting a yell of pain from her opponent.  He 
was a well-trained fighter, however, unlike most thugs on the street.  He 
kicked her in the stomach, causing her to release his arm.  She turned and
went for her purse, which had been knocked loose and was lying on the ground
a few feet away.  The man grabbed her from behind.

"Shit," thought the young woman.  She stomped hard on his foot.  There was a
yell of pain, and his grip loosened.  She broke free and drove her elbow into
his face, then performed a spin kick that hit him in the head.  He fell to 
the ground.

She moved towards him.  She was almost on him when he suddenly kicked her in
the chest, sending her backwards.  He used the opportunity to get back to his
feet.  Advancing on her, he began swinging punches.  She worked hard blocking
and dodging them, and even managed to land a few counter-punches.  However, 
he had a significant size and strength advantage over her.  Eventually, one 
of his punches landed on her jaw, knocking her to the ground.  The man 
reached into his jacket.

Seeing this from her position on the ground, the young woman knew she had to
act fast.  Ignoring the pain she was in, she kicked him hard in the groin.  
He yelled and doubled over in pain.  She rolled over to her purse, grabbed 
it.  Fumbled with the zipper.  There, it was open.  Out of the corner of her
eye, she saw the man reaching into his jacket again.  She took out the gun,
put the safety off.  She aimed it at his head and pulled the trigger.  BANG!
The man fell to the ground, a bullet in his brain.  She saw that he was
clutching a pistol that he had just pulled from under his coat.  Sighing in
relief at her close call, she scooped up the spent cartridge from her gun, 
then took off as fast as she could.

She did not masturbate when she got to her car.  Instead, she waited until 
she was back at her apartment.  She reached only a mediocre orgasm, and she
only came once.

"All right, guys, let's get going," said Lieutenant Peters. "We got another
one.  A man was found shot to death in a supermarket parking lot."

"Shot?" asked Sara. "That doesn't fit the usual M.O."

"I know," replied Peters. "But it was in the same area of town as all the 
other killings.  The man was beaten before he was shot.  He has a history of
sex offenses.  And nothing was taken from the corpse.  It looks like this was
done by the same guy." Sara stared at him. "Or girl," he added.

They soon arrived at the crime scene.  The dead man was lying in an 
undignified position on the ground, a pistol in his hand and a large hole in
his forehead.  The detectives spoke with the coroner. "The victim was killed
by a single shot from a .40 caliber pistol," he said. "There's no sign of the
spent cartridge.  The killer must have taken it.  Looks like the guy tried to
go for his own gun, but wasn't fast enough."

The detectives searached the scene carefully, but found no additional clues.
"We'll take the dead guy's gun into evidence," said Peters. "We'll dig that
bullet out too, and see if it matches anything in the database.  I doubt it
will, though.  Our killer is very smart."

"Here's the file on the dead guy," said John. "His name is Stanley Davis.  
He's got a long rap sheet.  He's been convicted of rape, armed robbery, 
assault with a deadly weapon, and possession of cocaine with intent to sell,
among other things.  He was a really dangerous guy - when he was in prison,
he attacked two guards and sent them both to the hospital."

"Looks like the woman attacked him the same way she did with all the others,
judging from the bruises on his face," said Sara. "But this guy was a lot 
more dangerous than your average thug.  He was going for his gun, so she had
to use hers."

"She kicked ass," said John. "This woman rocks." Peters and Sara stared at 
him. "She's bumping off all these evil criminals," he continued. "She's 
making the streets safer.  She's a hero."

Peters scowled. "She isn't a hero," he said. "She, if it is a she, is an
arrogant vigilante who should leave the policing to professionals like us.  
Besides, out of the nine men we think she's killed, two had no criminal 
record and one had nothing but a conviction for shoplifting.  Those were
hardly evil criminals.  I'm not sorry that Davis here is dead, but we can't
have everyone going around taking the law into their own hands."

"She only kills people who attack her," said John. "The guys with no criminal
records could be sexual predators who didn't get caught.  And so what if she 
sets men up to get them to attack her? Doesn't the FBI do the same thing when
they have agents pretend to be underage girls in chat rooms?"

"I've always thought that was a waste of time," said Peters. "They're not
solving any crimes, they're just creating new ones.  But that's not the 
point.  Come on, let's get back to headquarters.  I want to see if that 
bullet can help us any." He started back towards the car.

John and Sara remained standing at the crime scene for a few more moments. 
"You know, Charlie's right, even if he does have that nasty smoking habit,"
said Sara. "If we had a bunch of vigilantes running around all doing their
thing, we'd have anarchy.  I don't have much sympathy for these dead
criminals, but I can't work up much sympathy for the killer, either.  I
think she's doing it more for her own selfish reasons than to help society."

John thought for a few moments. "I don't know exactly why I sympathize with
her," he said. "Maybe there's something about her strength and independence
that I admire.  Part of me is rooting for her, but part of me is also wanting
to find her, if only to find out who she is."

The young woman sat in her apartment, thinking.  She was disappointed with
herself.  She was disappointed that she had had such a tough time dealing 
with the criminal.  And she was disappointed that her orgasm had been so
mediocre, and had not been joined by any others.

After a while, she decided that it was no use moping.  She had outfought him
in the end, even though from his skill he must have been a professional at
what he did.  She had successfully killed him and gotten away.  Of course,
she had had to resort to using her gun.  But that shouldn't get her down.  
She would go out again, lure a pervert into her trap, kill him with her body,
and reward herself with many orgasms.

Three weeks later, she did just that when she disposed of victim number 
eleven.  The man who tried to attack her ended up being strangled to death
by her gymnast's thighs.  After the attack, she came four times.

The detectives did not come any closer to solving the case when they found 
the body and investigated the scene.  In addition, neither the criminal's gun
nor the killer's bullet from the previous scene had provided any clues when
run through the database.

Nor did they find any solutions when victim number twelve was found a couple
of months after that, his body beaten and kicked and his neck broken.  The
detectives had not made public their theory of the killer being a vigilante
girl, for fear of tipping the killer off.  However, the brutal killings were
high-profile events that drew a lot of attention in the relatively low-crime
town.  The police were increasingly being viewed as a bunch of chumps as the
body count grew and they were unable to solve the case.  The police chief
was being put under a lot of pressure, and he in turn was taking it out on
Lieutenant Peters and his team.

So far, the young woman had been on a long winning streak, while the sex
criminals (and the police) were on a long losing streak.  However, no streak
lasts forever...

It was a beautiful Saturday night.  Another hunting night for the young 
woman.  She was dressed in short black shorts and a white blouse.  Arriving
at her destination, she parked her car and set off down the street.

A little over an hour later, a man took the bait.  He was an unattractive,
unshaven man of average height.  Seeing him following her, she ran past a 
row of abandoned houses and into an alley.  He ran after her and confronted
her in the alley. "Time for some fun!" he announced. "I'm gonna..."

An extremely loud shout interrupted him. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" a
man yelled.  The young woman and her would-be assailant turned and saw four
men, who just happened to be passing by and saw what was happening, 
approaching them rapidly. Another one of the men shouted, "Leave her alone!"

"Shit!" she thought.  She high-kicked her would-be assailant in the jaw,
knocking him to the ground.  She then took off running in the opposite
direction.  Before the thug could get up, he was grabbed by two of the four
approaching men.  The third man took out a cell phone and called the police,
while the fourth man ran after her. "Hey, come back!" he shouted. "We got the
bad guy! We want to help you!" He continued running, but the young woman was
very fast and had a considerable head start.  It was not long before he lost
her and went back to his companions.

Detective John Benson was lying in bed, reading.  He glanced over at the 
clock.  It was a little past one in the morning.  Suddenly, the phone rang.
It was Lieutenant Peters.

"We got a big break," said Peters. "Four guys saw a thug about to attack a
woman and intervened.  They captured the thug and held him for the police, 
but the woman ran away.  Seems like she didn't like the idea of any contact
with the cops.  I think this is our girl, and we've got five witnesses.  Get
out to the corner of Seventh and Vine as fast as you can.  Sara's already on
her way.  I'll meet you both there."

Less than ten minutes later, all three detectives were at the crime scene.
Peters briefed his companions. "Those four guys were too far away to get 
anything more than a vague description of the woman.  The thug must have 
gotten a better view.  Background check on him shows convictions for armed
robbery and attempted rape.  We'll talk to him."

"Wait a minute," said John. "Are you sure this is our woman? Lots of women
might be scared of the police for one reason or another."

"I'm pretty sure this was her," replied Peters. "Right time of night, right
part of town, and those guys saw her high-kick the perp like she was a pro.
It's got to be her."

The detectives went over to question the suspect, who was handcuffed and
sitting dejectedly on the steps of one of the abandoned houses.  Two police
officers were guarding him.

"All right, here's the deal," Peters told the thug. "You've got two felony
strikes already.  You could go down for life if you get a third.  It'll go a
lot better for you if you talk."

The suspect hesitated.  Sara leaned in close to him. "Punks like you who
attack women are very unpopular in prison," she said. "Not as unpopular as
those who attack children, granted, but still very unpopular.  I bet you had
a pretty rough time when you were in for attempted rape, and that was only
for a few years.  You want to have a whole lifetime of that?"

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "What's the deal?"

"You tell us everything we want to know," said Peters. "We'll put in a word
with the D.A.  You'll probably get something like five years."

"Five years?!" said the thug. "But I didn't even do anything!"

"Whole lot better than life," said Sara with a shrug. "What's it going to 
be?"

"Okay, okay, I'll talk," he grumbled.

An hour later, the three detectives were back at headquarters, going over 
all the information they had gotten. "Here's what we've got," said Peters.
"The suspect said it was too dark for him to get a good look at the woman's
face.  What he did see was this: She's in her early or mid-twenties.  She's
between 5'4" and 5'6".  She's around 120, 125 pounds.  And she has long dark
brown hair."

"That isn't really all that helpful," said Sara. "There could be hundreds,
even thousands of women in this city who fit that description."

"Yes, but it greatly narrows down the possibilities," said Peters. "If you
add up all the factors, probably less than 1% of the women in this city fit
all the qualifications."

"I just got an idea," spoke up John. "The killer's probably something like
22 or 23, right? And the killings started about four years ago.  That would
make her about 18 or 19 when she first started doing them.  Now, the biggest
institution in the city is the state university.  What if the killer is, or
was, a college girl who came here from another city?"

Peters and Sara contemplated the thought. "Maybe," said Sara. "But do you 
think a bright college student would do something like this?"

"Sometimes people who have a lot of book smarts are also real kooks," said
Peters. "I'm not sure about this, but we don't have much else to go on.  We
don't have the resources to start questioning every woman in the city who
fits the description.  Let's try John's idea."

They put together everything they knew.  They wanted a woman, who was a 
freshman or sophomore at the time the killings started, who fit all the 
physical descriptions, and who had come to the university from out of town.
After they had gone through all the records, they looked at the results.

"One hundred and twelve," said Peters. "Still too many."

"Wait a minute," said Sara. "Remember when we looked at other cities for 
similar killings? There were too many and most or all of them would be
unrelated.  But what if we just looked at the cities that sent at least one
of those students here?"

There were several dozen cities to look at.  Most of them were small and had
little crime.  A few of them had killings that could have fit the M.O., but
they were all at the wrong time.  Except for...

"Bingo!" said Peters. "Seven years ago, in the town of Carter Falls, a 
corpse was found with a broken neck and signs of a beating," he continued.
"The case was never solved.  The dead guy had a history of sexual violence
and was actually on parole when he was killed.  There were no other similar
killings in the town.  It looks like our woman started her career as a 
killer in her home town and just continued it here."

"How many on our list were from Carter Falls?" asked John.

Sara looked it up. "Only five," she said with a smile.

"That's what I like to hear," said Peters. "Let's get to work."

A while later, they discovered that one of the women had moved away while 
the killings were still being committed, reducing their list to four.  
"What about alibis?" asked John. "We don't know exactly when most of the
killings were done, but we know exactly about the last one.  We could see
which ones have alibis for that."

Peters thought for a moment. "We have to remember," he said, "that this
killer is too smart to leave any evidence around, so the only way we'll get
a conviction is if we catch her in the act.  If we go around asking 
questions, we'll scare her off."

Sara was looking over the files. "Look at this," she said. "One of the women
is a nurse who's on night duty at the hospital right now.  She was supposed 
to be on duty at the time of the incident, too.  It'll be easy enough to 
check if she was there without tipping her off."

Peters nodded.  Sara called the hospital. "Yep, she was there," she reported.
"We're down to three."

"Wait," said John. "Our woman was almost caught tonight.  Don't you think 
she'll lie low for a while?"

"Hmm," said Peters. "Maybe.  But remember when she ran into that tough guy
and had to shoot him? The next killing after that came pretty soon.  I think
her ego needs to be satisfied with success." He looked at the files for the
three remaining suspects. "Jennifer Thompson, fashion designer.  Alicia
Douglas, newspaper reporter.  And Rebecca Jackson, computer technician. All
right.  Each of us will take one of these women and watch her. The killings
take place at night, so we'll sleep during the day.  I'll make arrangements
with the chief.  I'll take Jennifer.  John, you watch Alicia.  Sara, you've
got Rebecca.  It'll only be a matter of time.  We'll get her."

The detectives got up and filed out of the room.  John stared back at the
pictures of the three suspects, which were still projected on the wall. "They
all look so normal, so pretty," he said wistfully. "It's hard to believe one
of them could be such a violent killer."

The young woman was back in her apartment.  She was very angry, angry with
herself.  At least with the guy she had had to shoot, she had killed him and
no one had seen her. But this time, she had not only failed to kill the perp,
she had also allowed herself to be seen.

Finally, she decided that moping wasn't helping.  She was still a successful
killer, after all.  And she had gotten away.  It had been too dark for anyone
to get a positive I.D. on her.  She would go out again, as soon as her 
schedule permitted it, and make a successful kill.  That would make her feel
better.  Her ego demanded it.

Detective Sara Ramos sat in her car across the street from Rebecca Jackson's
apartment.  The light was still on.  The police chief had agreed to their
surveillance plan.  Although the local judge had refused to allow the
detectives to plant listening devices in the suspects' dwellings or wiretap
their phones, he had allowed them to put homing devices on the suspects' cars
so they could track them without being seen.  Sara had already put one on
Rebecca's car.  There was nothing more to do but wait.

Her radio crackled. "Peters here," came a voice. "Nothing so far.  Jennifer
seems to be asleep.  John checked in, he said Alicia's up but just staying
inside.  Anything on your end?"

"Nope," she answered. "Rebecca's up but just staying in."

"All right," said Peters. "Check in every half hour."

"Will do," said Sara.  She went back to staring at the light in Rebecca's
window, trying not to fall asleep.

Hours passed.  Sara looked at her watch and yawned.  It was past midnight.
Just then, the light went out in the suspect's apartment.  A second later, 
the front door opened and Rebecca Jackson stepped out.  Sara sat up straight
in excitement.  The suspect got into her car and drove off down the street.
The detective spoke into her radio. "Charlie, John.  Rebecca just drove off.
I'm going to give her a little head start and then track her."

"Okay," responded Peters. "John, you and I'll stay put unless we know for 
sure it's her.  It could still be one of the other two.  Sara, be careful."

"I will," she said.  She started her car, following the direction indicated
by the homing device.  Soon, it indicated that the suspect had stopped.  Sara
drove up and saw that Rebecca was just coming out of a convenience store, 
carrying a bottle of soda and a bag of potato chips.  The suspect got into 
her car and drove back in the direction of her apartment.  Sara sighed and
spoke into her radio. "Looks like a false alarm, guys," she said. "She was
just buying some munchies.  I'll track her home to make sure."

John's voice came over the radio. "I got something," he said. "Alicia's just
come out and gotten into her car.  Tracking when safe."

"Don't get too excited," said Sara. "It could be another false alarm."

When Alicia had gotten a decent head start, John followed her with the homing
device.  Soon, it indicated that the suspect was driving into the part of 
town where all the killings had taken place.  The detective had also noticed
that Alicia was wearing short shorts and a tank top - perfect clothing to 
lure an unsuspecting criminal.

After a while, the device indicated that the suspect had stopped.  John drove
up to the spot.  Alicia's car was parked on the side of the road.  The whole
street was mostly abandoned buildings.  There were no businesses open around
here at this time of night.  He saw the suspect walking down the street.  He
was quite certain now.  Alicia Douglas was the killer.  He reached for the
radio, then hesitated.

He felt a powerful sense of admiration for this skilled and deadly young 
woman.  He also felt a strong sexual attraction to her.  He had always liked
warrior women - in fact, he had quite a crush on his coworker, Sara.

John did not like the idea of Alicia being stopped.  He thought she was 
doing society a service.  He also did not like the idea of her going to 
prison.  In fact, she had killed so many people, she might even get the 
death penalty.  And what if she resisted arrest? What if she pulled her gun
and the detectives were forced to shoot her? He did not want to see her die.

John made up his mind.  He spoke into his radio. "Charlie, Sara.  Alicia's
at an all-night grocery store.  Looks like another false alarm," he lied.

"Affirmative," responded Peters. "Keep watching her."

"Will do," said John.  He climbed out of his car and walked in the direction
that Alicia had gone.

Alicia Douglas, reporter by day, assassin by night, walked along the 
darkened street.  Suddenly, she heard footsteps.  Someone was running after
her. "Damn, that was fast," she thought.  She looked at the man who was
chasing her.  He was an ordinary-looking, clean-cut guy.  She began running,
pretending to be scared.

"Alicia, wait!" the man called out.  She stopped running and whirled around.
In a lightning-fast move, she drew her gun from her purse and pointed it at
the man. "How the hell do you know my name?" she asked.

John gulped nervously and held out his hands. "I'm trying to help you," he
said. "I'm a detective.  My colleagues and I tracked you down.  It's a long
story.  We know what you've been doing, and I like it.  I think you're a
hero.  I came here to warn you that you're about to be arrested.  You've got
to get out of town right now, because my colleagues don't share my view of
your heroics."

Meanwhile, Peters and Sara were sitting in their cars, waiting.  Peters 
tapped his foot impatiently and fiddled with the homing device control board.
With it, he could see the locations of all three suspect cars.  He noticed
something odd.  Alicia's car was parked quite far from her home - and in the
bad area of town.  Why would she go so far and to such a bad part of town to
get groceries? Surely there were stores closer to her place.  He spoke into
the radio. "John, come in." There was no answer.  He tried again. "John, are
you there? Come in, John." Still no answer.

A nagging suspicion began to grow in Peters' mind.  He remembered that John
had expressed sympathy for the killer.  What if the impressionable young man
had decided to help her instead of capturing her? Now alarmed, he called Sara
on the radio and explained his suspicions to her.

"Oh God," said Sara, upon hearing what was going on. "That brave, foolish
young man.  What if she tries to kill him? What are the coordinates for 
Alicia's car?"

Seconds later, both Peters and Sara were racing towards the location as fast
as they could, hoping they were not too late.

Alicia stared at John, sizing up what he had just said. "All right, I'm going
to believe you," she said finally. "And thanks for warning me.  But I'm still
going to need you to put your gun on the ground.  No funny stuff." The 
detective nodded.  He slowly took out his gun and put it on the ground.  She
began walking quickly towards her car, still pointing the gun at him.

"There's a tracking device on your car," said John. "I can take it off." 
Alicia nodded. "Walk ahead of me," she instructed.

They reached the car.  John reached under it and began unscrewing the 
tracking device.

Suddenly, a distinctive sound echoed through the night, growing louder and
louder.  It was the sound of a car traveling at top speed.  Alicia and John
both looked up in alarm.  Lieutenant Peters' car came screeching around the
corner.

Alicia knew that even if she jumped in her car immediately and took off, her
chances of evading capture were tiny.  There was only one course of action
left. Although she felt sympathy for the young detective who had warned her,
her desire for freedom and her way of life came before anything else.  She
grabbed John and shoved him in front of her, shielding herself.  She then
pointed her gun at his head.  He stared at her in shock. "But I thought..."
he began.

"It's too late for that," she said. "Hopefully, your detective will be smart
enough to let me go so I can let you live."

Peters jumped out of his car, gun in hand. "Let him go!" he shouted.

"Let me go free, and I'll let him live!" she shouted back. "Now put your gun
on the ground!"

Peters continued to hold his gun. "If you don't drop it, I'll blow your
friend's head off!" shouted Alicia. "Do it now!"

The lieutenant slowly placed his gun on the ground.  Alicia nodded. "Now kick
the gun into that storm drain.  Then get on your knees and put your hands on
your head, and stay that way." Peters did so. The young woman continued, "I'm
going to keep your friend with me for a little while for purposes of insur-"

From out of the shadows, Detective Sara Ramos launched herself through the 
air and landed a flying kick on Alicia's head.  Alicia fell to the ground and
her gun sailed loose.  From her position on the ground, the young killer 
kicked Sara in the stomach, then rolled over to her weapon.  It was too late
for her, however.  By the time she got there, Sara had drawn her own gun and
was pointing it at Alicia with one hand, while holding the other on her 
painful stomach. "It's over.  Give it up," she said.

Alicia thought about what to do.  There was no way she would let herself rot
in a prison cell, with media figures gawking at her like she was some 
carnival sideshow captured and put in a cage.  Having worked as a journalist
herself, she knew how they could be.  No, she wouldn't let them do that to
her.  She would die like a warrior.

With a shrill battle cry, Alicia rolled over and aimed her gun at Sara. Sara
shot her opponent in the head.  Alicia's corpse fell to the ground, quickly,
undignified.  Blood from the hole in her forehead trickled onto the ground.

Peters and John got up. "Good work, Sara," said Peters, patting her on the
shoulder. "Good work." John looked at the female detective with awe, too
shocked to speak right away. "Wow, you kicked ass," he said finally.

Sara smiled. "Thanks, guys," she said modestly.

"Well, let's get this thing cleaned up," said Peters.  John put in a call to
headquarters, then went to retrieve his gun from down the street.  Peters 
glanced remorsefully at the storm drain. "Looks like I'm going to need a new
gun," he said.

It was three days later.  The detectives were at headquarters.  Peters was 
busy fending off some nosy reporters.  Sara and John were sitting in a 
corner, talking.

"I want to apologize for being such an idiot," said John. "I should have 
known that someone who had no respect for the law would have no respect for
me either and would stab me in the back when things went bad."

Sara placed her hand over his. "No, no, no," she said. "You have nothing to
apologize for.  You couldn't have predicted what she would do.  And I had 
some sympathy for her myself, at least until I saw her holding you hostage.
I wanted to shoot her, but I knew you didn't want to see her die."

John sighed. "I've always been attracted to tough, sexy warrior women," he
said. "When these killings took shape, I built up an image of the killer as
my fantasy woman.  Then reality set in."

Sara leaned in close to him. "You can still have a warrior woman," she said
seductively as she began kissing him.

The door opened. "I'm telling you, there isn't anything juicy going on in 
here," Peters was saying to the reporters. "Now if you'll just..." He groaned
when he saw John and Sara kissing, oblivious to the people around them.  The
reporters crowded around, talking eagerly and taking notes.

Peters sighed. "When will there ever be any peace and quiet around here?" he
wondered.