The Poker Murders

The Letter

   "So this woman was at this funfair, Funland." murmured Blake, "And the photo was dated yesterday. The same dress was worn also."

   "The killer could be someone she met there. You know, a madman, a psycho, probably."

   "I don't like the word probably," Blake said, placing the King of the Clubs on the table. "The Jack always left a message behind, isn't it? I didn't even check it up." He turned the card and exclaimed, "Ha-ha, well said." then he read it, "The King is Everything." 

   "That means anything," Mort commented, somnolently.

   "Blake it's almost midnight," Mort said along with a loud lazy yawl. Suddenly, the pendulum clock toll along with the tintinnabulation. "Here it goes," Mort said, drowsily.

Abruptly, the doorbell ding-donged downstairs. A stony silence prevailed in the room. Blake gazed from the window, no one. Posthaste, he left the room and clomped down the stairs immediately. Reaching the door, a letter was perceived lying on the floor. Mort and Mrs Stella joined him. 

   "Who pressed the bloody doorbell in this bloody midnight?" she asked.

   "It's a letter," the slumberous-faced Mort said, his eyes red-rimmed with drowsiness, "Who could be sending a letter on midnights.

   "Tell me Blake did you saw him," Mrs Stella questioned, "This stupid nincompoop broke my sleep."

   "From whom it is?" interrogated Mort.

   "This fool must have been drunk or it's the children of the night making pranks on people." Mrs Stella said.

   "Stop whinging!!!" roared Blake with a frenzy of tantrums, "You're gonna fucking burst my veins out turning it into an outburst. I deem what's happening in your bloody runty brains. Bloody-cruddy, stupid-putrid." 

He paused for a minute or two, taking rapid, deep and heavy breathes then recommenced.  

   "Mort, go upstairs and Mrs Mortadella, go to your fucking bed or I'll suck your blood out of you like a vampire and you'll sleep forever."

The quick-stepped Mrs Stella dug his face in his hands and went into her room, closing her door, embarrassed. 

   "Blake look what did you do to her. You hurt her feelings." Mort said.

Blake didn't reply but took the letter and ruched upstairs and reentered his room along with his roommate.

Mort sat on the armchair and Blake on his wooden desk chair. His lamp flashing on the letter. There was a big bold K letter in blood-red. 

   "From whom is it," asked Mort, "From a friend?"

   "It seems to be from our fiend," said Blake, opening the letter.

Blake was dumbfounded for a minute or two, then, read it aloud:

Hated Mr Blake Edward,

   I hope that you are sick, receiving this letter. Poor Jack defeated by the great grand private investigator Mr Blake Edward. Discovering this, the King became full of rage and decided to take revenge on you. So, here I am; first murder, first start, first game. Ahh, I love games. I am writing to inform you that I am no more informal but formal. 

See you soon in the second murder! You wish to answer back then you can if you could even catch me. 79201

Yours wickedly,

The King

   "Are you going to give this to the police?" Mort asked.

   "No," Blake said straightly.

   "He's threatening you, eh," Mort said, laughingly.

   "Well, threatening me must be his first mistake," Blake said. 

...

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