Brad sat playing with his eggs and staring into the air. Sips of his black coffee were all that he could handle. His mind tried to dance around what had to be done today. He could feel “it”. The thing that always haunted him before one of his episodes. It was like a caged monster pounding on a wooden door, cracking and shaking with every blow. He also knew that the feeling had to do with what was about to happen today.

He’d deliberately chosen a seat at the end of the diner in his favorite booth. A seat that provided him with a view of the entrance. One that would have to make his target walk across the room with all his bluster, huffy and puffy from years of liquor and caloric intake abuse. The booth would be a tight fit for a man of his girth. That was exactly how 1stGrade Detective, Brad Kosinski wanted this man, uncomfortable.

Since having the dream about the butterfly, Brad had been sick with disgust. His gift kept him up at night and no amount of medication could even approach silencing it. That butterfly had been an anchor and now he had to use it, the gift that was more like a curse.

About five minutes later he walked in. Red faced and sweaty. Carrying the girth of three men and the patience of none. Captain James Waters made his way across the diner toward Brad’s booth. His face was a mask of impatience and rage.

“I hope you didn’t drag me down here for bullshit, Kosinski! I got a lot to do and zero fucking time to do it, so talk!”, That was his opening salvo with the usual manners of a raging bull.

“Did you see my car outside, Captain?”, Brad said with manufactured patience.

“As a matter of fact, I did. I heard banging and saw the car moving. An official vehicle with drops of blood on the hood. So, before I slap the cuffs on yet another stupid cop who thought he was above the law, I’m gonna give you an additional 30 seconds to explain yourself.”, He said as he struggled with his belly wedged between his seat and the table in what he regarded as a booth made for midgets or vegetarians.

Brad ignored the threats and began. “The guy in my trunk is Anderson Malkovich, a Russian from little Odessa. I broke into his house, shot his dog, violated his civil rights, and then proceeded to beat him till he thoroughly shit himself. Care for some coffee, Captain?”, Brad answered as calmly as a Sunday Preacher greeting a congregation.

Taking in Brad’s increasingly disturbing words and placid demeanor, Captain Waters did not stir. He was no fool. A thirty-year veteran of Internal Affairs, he’d locked up all manner of crooked boys in blue. Everything from guys using their badge to peddle drugs, killer-cops on mob payrolls, female cops engaged in internet porn-shows, and so on. But he also knew that although a kook, Brad Kosinski was the department’s star homicide-solver and this was obviously more than it appeared. He played along. “Speak.”, he said.

“You know my record and the things I do on the job, what they say.”, Brad offered.

“Yeah, your some kind’a genie, a Gypsy or something. Just luck and regular street cop shit, I think, why am I here?”

“The guy in my trunk, the one I beat till he defecated himself, is your brother’s killer.”, Brad released. Captain Waters looked at him with skepticism, knowing full well that he had no siblings. Brad went on. “I know you grew up as an only child, so I took the liberty of digging some stuff up. He then pulled a small folder and plopped it onto the table. Waters picked it up, studied it and then tossed it back.

“Furgazi, fake.”, He answered.

“No, Captain. That is your real birth certificate. The one that cites you were born a twin, the one your parents never told you about.”, Brad said. He then placed a small finger bone on the table. This is your brother’s; it’s one of the things I ‘dug up’. Feel free to run it for DNA.”, Brad shared.

A mild feeling of nausea, quickly becoming horror, began settling over Captain Waters. He couldn’t speak for once and instead just sat there watching this man sip his coffee.

After a particularly deep gulp, Brad began again. “The guy in my trunk is the man who killed your twin. He has a tattoo of a butterfly on his left forearm, one which I know you remember. Needless to say, he’s not a very nice guy. In fact, Anderson Malkovich has killed thirty-three children in all, and I wanted to give you the curtesy of meeting him, before.”

“Before what?”, Waters demanded, dread in his throat over what Kosinski would divulge next.

“Before I throw his bloated body in the river with a bullet through each eye, of course.”

Waters mouth was stuck in the open position, unsure how to respond. “What the fuck do you want, Kosinski?”, He finally forced out.

“I need some files you have in your office to ‘magically’ disappear, Captain. They pertain to cops who work for me. So now, since we both know the law and the constitution are absolute bullshit, you have to pick between arresting me or letting me do things my way. I do believe in the reincarnation of justice.”

Waters took a second long look at the birth certificate, the child-sized finger bone, and the utter maniac before him. A feeling of panic turned his intestines against themselves, followed finally by resolve. His eyes combed the diner for potential witnesses.

“Deal.”, He said, waving the waitress over for a menu.