A Game Of Cat and Mouse

(Revamped and edited on 18/05/13)

Chapter One: Assassin

A tall and thin man stood in front of an open window. He stared out at the lights of the new york city skyline as his body against the moonlight caused a shadow to be cast on the floor of his hotel room, a cookie cutter shape of a man in the small rectangle of light in the other wise dark room.

A crescent moon shone in the sky and the sounds of the infamous New York traffic drifted up to where he sat.

If one were to look in through that window it would immediately become apparent that the man who stayed there was one of money. The king size bed and luxurious en-suite bathroom enough of an indicator of the wealth the man had.

The bed was made, its sheets made of silk. There was a night stand situated on either side, both on.. The lights created a bubble of dim light, reaching just enough of the room to make out the bed, coffee table and the other pieces of furniture the hotel room was made up of. Anything not within the reach of the light reduced to clumsy attempts of objects in the gloom.

A child would look out into the shows and be able to imagine monsters and ghouls out of the darkness, teeth and claws fierce and sharp, all with blood red eyes.

The man however had long out grown this and had seen an ugly side of life. He now knew the truth of monsters.

Not tangible creatures, instead in life monsters were the ghosts that followed you throughout your entire life, shadowing your every move as they remind you of the infinite amount of skeletons in your closet.

And Antony Motta had more than his fair share of those.

The father of the infamous party girl Sugar Motta. A rich man in his own right. It wasn't well known exactly what he did but whatever he was, it was important enough for someone to want him killed.

The assassin had been casing the hotel for a week, tracking the target, scoping the surrounding buildings and getting familiar with the layout of the building.

At that moment the assassin was in a room facing that of the targets.

He could see into the targets room through the very window that Mr Motta had decided to stare out of that night and brood.

The assassin prepared himself, getting out his weapon of choice; an average sniper gun with average bullets – this ensured no one could trace the hit back to him. He was very good at his job. Good enough not to get caught.

He walked out to the roof of the building opposite that of his targets – he'd chosen this building for the single reason that it faced the targets room.

Propping up his gun on the railing he fixed his eye to the scope.

The light in the targets room illuminated the target enough that his form could be made out well enough that the assassin could aim between his eyes sufficiently enough to get the job done cleanly and elegantly.

A loving caress of the trigger and a whisper of a smile crossed the assassins face.

A sharp movement with his finger and the bullet flew. It revolved through the air, silent as it sliced through the sky like a knife, the bullet sang as the air parted for it and it cut through the night like a knife through butter.

The bullet found the target and embedded itself in his brain neatly.

The assassin smiled once more, his job done, and calmly walked back to his gear. He packed away his weapon and left, making his way down and out of the building unhurriedly. Walking outside and a few blocks over, he went down into the subway and was gone without being noticed.

It was five hours later that Antony Motta was discovered dead.

New York City Times

Antony Motta. Sugar Daddy. Business Man, Dead?

Antony Motta was discovered early this morning, murdered, in his hotel room.

In New York City on a business trip Mr Motta had only been there for three days before his murder.

His wife has said she won't talk to our reporters, wanting to grieve in private, however his seventeen year old daughter, Sugar Motta, has been aiding the police on this matter and deigned to spare us a few words on her reaction to the sudden news of her fathers death.

"I am so sad!" Miss Motta hadn't hesitated in informing us. "He was like, the best and he was such a cool dad! He always bought me what I wanted and always said that nothing was too much. He called me his little princess."

Here Miss Motta had to stop briefly to compose herself but she did go on to say a few more words.

"Daddy was always so happy and I know not many people liked him but that was just 'cause they were jealous!"

Miss Motta did go on to talk for twenty minutes or so after this, seemingly more capable of talking about her recently departed father but her mother, who was there at the time, requested the content not be printed.

We have consulted with the Police Department at the press conference following the discovery of Mr Motta's body and talked to the lead detective on the case.

We've been informed that Detective Blaine Anderson does not normally work homicides or assassinations. He's been known for working in the white collar crime unit or investigating heists.

"I haven't worked on cases like this before," the well spoken detective admitted at the press conference

. "However we have reason to believe that this crime was committed by the well known criminal Porcelain. Although he now tends to commit white collar crime and orchestrate heists he is known to have experience in assassination. As I am the department's expert on Porcelain I have been called in for this investigation." Detective Anderson then seemed to direct his next statement directly to the Motta family.

"Be assured that we will do everything we can to solve this case and give Mr Motta's loved ones closure."

Mr Motta was an incredibly well known business man in New York, although what his job entails we do not know for sure, and his contribute to the city will be missed.

We at the New York City Times offer our condolences to the Motta family.

Quinn Fabray, Preggers? Read the full story on page 3.

Rachel Berry folded the newspaper in half and put it aside. She reached for her glass of orange juice and took a gulp, in shock at what she had just read.

(Rachel Berry was a well known Broadway star and had gone to school at NAYDA).

Rachel went to finish up her breakfast, glancing at the newspaper occasionally in worry.

She had a horrid feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew who had murdered Antony Motta.

Rachel shared an apartment with her best friend, Kurt Hummel and they both lived in New York. With the money Rachel earned working in the theater and Kurt's... unorthodox methods of making money, they were pretty well off.

She looked up as she heard keys jingle at the front door and took a deep breath as she readied herself for the confrontation that was to come.

"Hey Rachel," Kurt called from the hallway and Rachel heard him putting away his shoes and his designer coat and scarf.

She took a bite of toast and replied through a suddenly dry throat. "Hi Kurt," she replied, slightly offbeat as she thought on how best to approach the situation.

She took another sip of her juice to wet her throat and cleared it. "Hey, Kurt?" She called, her eyes still on the newspaper.

Kurt came into the kitchen, going straight for the coffee machine.

"Kurt." she repeated, starting to get slightly irritated at his ignorance of her.

"Huh?" He asked, stretching up on tip toes slightly to retrieve a mug for his coffee. "Sorry, Rachel," he said, glancing at her as he moved over to the coffee machine again and began fiddling with its buttons once more.

"What did you want, hun?" Kurt asked, as he seemed to remember that Rachel had needed him.

Rachel took a deep breath and bravely soldiered on. "Did you hear about Antony Motta?" she asked in once breath, glancing at him.

"No," he said, still not sounding like he was really paying attention as he took his coffee from the machine, blowing on it to cool it down enough that it would be safe to drink. "What happened to him?"

Rachel's mild annoyance turned into full blown irritation at Kurt's lack of attention and his nonchalance.

"He was killed, Kurt." She snapped, deadpan. Kurt's head snapped around in shock.

"What?" he said. "Like, accident killed or... murder killed?"

"Assassination killed, Kurt," Rachel answered, voice still tight.

"Assassination killed?" Kurt echoed in disbelief. Rachel now had his full attention. "Was it anyone we know?"

"I don't know," she answered, "the police have no idea." she took a deep breath, bracing herself. "Kurt, they think it's you," Kurt answered his mouth to reply and hastily she added. "I think they're pretty serious Kurt, they've brought Detective Anderson on the case and everything." Kurt's mouth snapped shut as he tried to process this.

"... Give me the newspaper," he requested, holding out a hand and Rachel tossed it to him lightly.

He read the article quickly and snorted, tossing it back to her.

"They've got absolutely no proof," he disregarded. "They have no idea who it is and they've only jumped the gun in assuming its me because they need something to tell Antony Motta's family."

"Do you know who it is?" She asked, rising an eyebrow and Kurt snorted, conceding to her point. If he didn't know he couldn't make fun of the NYPD not knowing.

"I don't know." he said, taking a sip of his coffee as he finally started to relax, sinking back into their kitchen counter slightly. "Maybe it's Adam,"

Rachel stole herself once again. "It wasn't you was it?" she asked quickly, in one breath.

Kurt looked at her like she was crazy and she could have sworn that he was also a little insulted.

"Why would I want to kill Sugar's dad? He was really nice at the Charity ball!"

"He was," she mused, distracted. "Although he did get a little drunk after we left. I remember Sugar telling me about it. She said it was really embarrassing and he almost started a fight when he fell head first into some woman's chest." Rachel seemed to shake herself and she went to bring the conversation back on track.

"Kurt." She dead-panned.

"Rachel." He replied in the same tone, seemingly quite amused know that he had the full 411 on the situation.

They both ignored the F.R.I.E.N.D.S rerun playing on the T.V and Kurt put some bread in the toaster. He returned to his spot against the counter as he continued sipping his coffee. He eyed Rachel in curiosity.

"Did you kill Sugar's dad?" She repeated abruptly.

"What?!" He exclaimed, shocked and choking on his coffee "Why on earth do you still think that?! I told you already, I didn't!"

Rachel scoffed, in her stride now. "Don't try and lie to me Hummel. You weren't home last night and I know you used to do that kind of thing-"

"Rachel I haven't done assassinations for years!" Kurt insisted, coffee forgotten for the moment. "You know I'm more into White Collar Crime nowadays!"

Rachel sceptically seemed to be accepting what she was hearing. "Wait, so you're saying you didn't kill Sugar's dad?"

"No! I didn't! God Rachel!" Rachel had the decency to look abashed.

"Detective Anderson seems to think that-"

Kurt rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Detective Anderson again. I thought we'd already agreed that he's only on the case due to the NYPD not having a fucking clue as to who did do it!"

"Kurt!" Rachel reproached, taken aback at his cursing.

"Sorry Rachel," Kurt said, sounding anything but as he angrily glowered in her direction. "But I'm getting seriously annoyed at this entire thing." After a slight pause in their conversation Kurt exploded again.

"I can't believe you thought I did it!"

Rachel was the one to look annoyed now, her usual look of self righteousness morphing into a bitch face beyond the first degree.

"Well, sorry Kurt!" She exclaimed, "But you can't blame for being mistrusting considering Detective Anderson believes you may have something to do with it-" Rachel spoke louder as Kurt interrupted with a "We're back to Detective bloody Anderson now-?" "-and he's the lead detective on your cases for a reason Kurt!"

Kurt settled back against the counter, seething.

It was true, he couldn't argue about that.

As the lead detective on the Porcelain cases there was normally a two week period of Detective Anderson chasing after 'Porcelain' while Kurt lead him on a merry chase, simultaneously making forgeries and pawning the stolen paintings he acquired at the same time.

Admittedly, it was a game he liked to indulge in, where he fooled Detective Anderson into thinking he was about to catch him and then he got away in the nick of time after a witty conversation between the two of them.

However Detective Anderson was a sore subject in their apartment at the moment which Rachel well knew.

In their last altercation it hadn't been Kurt making Anderson look like the fool like usual, instead it was the other way round and Kurt admittedly got away just in the nick of time.

His pride was still a bit stung since that last encounter, though it would probably be fixed by the next time he and Detective Anderson met again, but it was still annoying in the meantime.

"Seriously Kurt," Rachel insisted. "They think it's you and whilst I'm not saying it is what if you get into real trouble? Someone may be framing you and we know how well that turned out last time."

Kurt's scowl deepened, the last time he'd been framed was the instance where Detective Anderson had made a fool out of him. But Kurt had to admit, Rachel did have a point but he doubted it would be that much of a problem.

So he waved away her concerns with a breezy, "Don't be silly Rachel. It's just a copy cat." she still looked concerned so he added, "Like I said, it's probably Adam. You know what he's like."

Rachel nodded. She did know.

Adam and Kurt had had a thing a while back, which they ended mutually, but every now and then Adam and Kurt had a brief period of time where they tried to one up each other as a competition of sorts and the two of them neither hesitated at a chance to screw each other over.

But Rachel wasn't too sure...

"You can't be positive though Kurt." she insisted. "Please be careful! You may have to lie low for a bit-"

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," Kurt said teasingly, shaking his head as if in pity, while his eyes were shiny like stars in anticipation and general fondness at her naivety. "You know me. I never lie low."

Two months, a pair of stolen Da Vinci's, seven long cons and a heist including a cocker spaniel and a jade statue of a tiger later and Kurt was sitting in an orange jumpsuit behind an interview desk.

Being in prison wasn't all that bad, in Kurt's opinion. You'd think it would be but he'd already met several nice people.

One of which was an Irish boy called Rory who wouldn't tell him what he was in for (although Kurt was pretty sure it had something to do with a leprechaun and a pot of gold, not that he was falling back on a stereotype of the Irish or anything).

A week after Kurt's conversation with Rachel and Porcelain's name was cleared. Detective Anderson declared the assassination was carried out by a copycat.

Kurt had asked Adam and he denied it many times but by no means did Kurt believe him or trust him on this.

When Kurt found out Detective Anderson had been called off the investigation due to it not being a Porcelain case, Kurt decided to celebrate the heat being taken off of him with a long con.

An extremely long con that lasted all the way up until Kurt was arrested.

The funny thing was Kurt hadn't been arrested for anything remotely to do with him being Porcelain or the work that that entails.

In fact, the police had no idea about that.

He'd been arrested because of a moment of public indecency. He didn't like getting in to it, it was far too embarrassing.

However it was what happened next which was the most interesting thing.

He was sitting in an interrogation room in prison, in an orange jumpsuit no less and sitting opposite him was Detective Blaine Anderson, who had no idea who he was.