The Shooter February Sucks

This is another take on George Anderson's February Sucks story. His story is brilliant, and I highly recommend it. My favorite is the one told by an uber driver with somewhat of a surprise ending but I lost it.

I am a Captain in the State Police investigating a mass shooting at a local night club. Twelve people had been killed and there were twenty others with various injuries. The shooter was also dead. The killing took place at a night club called Club 81, owned by a former pro football player who had grown up locally. The football player, Mark LaVelle and most of those killed were sitting at the same table. The only survivor was a young woman, dressed like a hooker without any panties on. She was sitting across from me as the EMT's were examining her. She was covered in blood and brain matter but the EMTs concluded that none of it was hers and most of it probably belonged to the football player who had been sitting next to her.

I tried asking her some questions, but she was catatonic staring into space. The only time she reacted was when I asked her about the tattoo in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. She showed me the tattoo, a black spade with a white 81. Then she returned to her blank stare and the EMT's took her to the hospital.

The initial witness statements were all over the place as usual. From the security cameras, my team was able to piece together that the shooter was dressed as a waiter and approached the table carrying a tray and stood to LaVelle's right. He dropped the tray to reveal a pistol in each hand. His first shot was from his left hand, point blank into LaVelle's face explaining the brain matter and blood covering the survivor who had been sitting to LaVelle's left. The woman sitting to LaVelle's right was next, shot from the shooter's right hand, point blank into the side of her head and removing most of her face.

Chaos ensued from that point. Some of the men sitting at the table were armed and began firing back. One lucky shot hit the shooter in the chest, but he must have been wearing a bullet proof vest because he quickly got back up and continued firing, now using LaVelle's body as a shield. The vest must have saved his life, but you only see people get up and keep shooting like that in the movies because it hurts like hell. Twice I was knocked on my ass in similar circumstances.

The shooter systematically worked his way around the table shooting everyone sitting there or people shooting back at him. There were 10 people sitting around the table, and he killed nine of them and some of the people standing nearby.

The survivor could be heard pleading with the shooter, "please kill me, Jim."

The shooter responded, "Oh no my darling wife, I want you to suffer for a long time. Plus, I have only one bullet left, and I need that to destroy the part of my heart you haven't killed, besides this way you'll be able to see my face in my coffin."

The shooter slid his gun under the vest, pulled the trigger and blood exploded from around the vest.

The next morning, I met with my team. The shooter was identified as Jim Silverman and he was married to the survivor, Linda Silverman. Initially, there was no evidence that they were estranged. She was a teacher at an elite private high school. The shooter was a managing partner at one of the big international accounting firms. I wasn't sure what a managing partner did, but I was told he probably was worth more than LaVelle. The two handguns were purchased three weeks ago, both contained 19 round clips. The shooter spent most of his last few weeks at a gun range. What I found most amazing was that the shooter turned the gun on himself using round 38. In all the chaos and multiple minor wounds, he was able to keep track of the number of rounds he fired.

While we were meeting, the Silverman's McMansion exploded, leveling the house and causing significant damage to their neighbor's houses. A gas leak, probably intentional, was the initial conclusion. I was fortunate that none of my team or innocent bystanders were injured since members of my team were enroute to the shooter's home. The neighbors said they hadn't seen the survivor or her children in three weeks and only occasionally saw the husband since then. He was normally very sociable but hadn't spoken to anyone in the last three weeks.

One of my team brought up the couple's face book page. Pictures from their wedding, parties, baby bumps and the two kids growing up who were now probably school age and looked the same age as my children. Finding their children became our number one priority. A visit to the wife's parents found the front door open with no response. My agents entered the house and found both parents dead in their living room with gunshots to their faces.

We were able to access the ring camera. Jim can be seen knocking on the door and forcing his way into the house, there's yelling and screaming from the in-laws.

Jim pulls out his guns and tells them, "Shut the fuck up, since you think it was such a good idea for Linda to live out her fantasy, I'm sure you'll allow me to live out mine."

He then shot both in-laws in the face, first the husband and then the wife.

We found the kids at the shooter's parents' house. Both parents were nearly as catatonic as their daughter-in-law while a nanny was taking care of the kids. The parents understood from the news that their son was responsible for the mass shooting, but they didn't know much more. Their son showed up at their house unannounced three weeks ago with the two children and a bunch of their clothes. He told them that he was separating from his wife and needed his parents to take care of the kids until things settled. He popped in occasionally since then to see how the kids were doing but never talked about what happened or what was going on.

It took a few days to identify the victims at the night club since some had their faces blown off. The female victim who had been sitting to LaVelle's right was identified as Mary Allison, a friend of the survivor. We were able to find an address for Mary and her husband and we interviewed the husband who was barely sober and smelled like shit.

He said he last saw his wife a month ago when she had left for a girls' night out. He did not know where she went. He hadn't realized she had not come home until the next morning. He checked his phone and found a text message from Mary saying, "Sorry, I found someone else and I'm leaving you." There was a picture included with the text that showed his white wife on her knees with a black cock in her mouth and another pair of black hands playing with her naked breasts. He said that was the last time he heard from her, and she never responded to his text messages or phone calls except one other picture taken later that same day. It showed a woman's hand with a tattoo in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger with a black spade and a white 81.

We were able to break into Jim Silverman's cell phone. In the last three weeks he had received dozens of pictures or videos of black cocks in his wife's mouth, pussy or ass, sometimes all at once. Over the three weeks, Linda had received a number of tattoos with a black cock theme. The first was the tattoo in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger with a black spade and a white 81. The last tattoo was a large one across her lower back that said, "Black Cock Slut." The last video showed several black men peeing on a naked Linda with her mouth open, trying to swallow as much of the urine as possible. One of my men heard a rumor that LaVelle had moved from sending the wives home with their holes filled with his come, to whoring them out to his friends or business partners.

In the last three weeks, Jim had texted and called Linda dozens of times and with the exception of the videos and pictures, she never responded.

On the third day after the shooting and very little sleep, a friend of Jim showed up at our office. He said three weeks ago, Jim, Linda and three other couples including him had gone to Club 81 to celebrate a recent promotion for Jim. He wasn't sure who picked Club 81 but for some reason he thought it was Linda. During dinner, Mary came over to their table and spoke to Linda. He recognized Mary from parties at the Silverman's but this time she was dressed like a hooker. Every time she moved her leather skirt would shift revealing her bare pussy. His wife and the two other wives were getting very annoyed at this woman flashing her pussy at their husbands while they tried to eat so Mary and Linda stepped away from the table. He glanced at Jim who looked like he was going to explode.

By that time, everyone had lost interest in their meal and were simply staring at Linda and Mary talking by the bar. They saw LaVelle step up to Mary, give her a passionate kiss and then left with his entourage. Mary and Linda followed them out the door. He sent his wife to go find Linda, she came back and said the valet told her that Linda and Mary left with LaVelle. Everyone at their table was shocked, talking and shouting at each other and no one noticed Jim leaving. That was the last time he saw either of them until he watched last night's evening news.

Since that night he learned that LaVelle had a reputation for leaving Club 81 with other men's wives who were attracted to his reputation of being well endowed and a fantastic lover. Usually, the wives would return to their husbands during the next couple of days. The other wives who were at his table argued that those husbands should forgive the straying wife when she returned and allow her to enjoy a fantasy. He had recently filed for divorce and so had the other husbands at the table. The only one who hadn't filed for divorce was Jim who had obviously found another solution.

Some of my staff and I attended LaVelle's funeral two days later, or a week after the shooting. There was no wake because none of the funeral parlors wanted to deal with the outcry of his reputation or the expected crowds. The casket would be closed because the 9mm hollow point had destroyed most of his face and they couldn't or wouldn't put it back together again.

There was a surprisingly small number of former football players present at the funeral. However, a hundred or more Caucasian women showed up, frequently with young children clearly of African descent or large baby bumps. Some even showed up with their Caucasian husbands so some husbands did forgive their wives for straying and living out a fantasy.

While we observed LaVelle's funeral, Linda Silverman left her hospital room. I'm not saying she escaped because she was not held on any criminal charges. She had not spoken since before the shooting. Somehow Linda was able to leave the hospital and step out in front of a city bus. Her death was instantaneous.

After a week away, I finally came home to my wife. It was late and the kids were already in bed. My wife had been following the news, she took a look at my face and said, "I can tell this was a pretty rough week. Take a seat in the kitchen and I'll heat you up some up some dinner."

I sat down at the table, pulled my service weapon from my shoulder holster, removed the clip and cleared the chamber like I had done a thousand times before. Usually, I did that in our bedroom, but I only had one trip up the stairs in me, so I laid the gun and clip on the kitchen table next to me.

"I saw the news, do you want to talk about it," asked my wife. I rarely wanted to talk about the cases I was assigned, and none since I was assigned to mass shootings, but I wanted to give my wife a message on this one.

"There's this ex-football player named Mark LaVelle. I'm sure you've seen his name in the news. He has a reputation for being well endowed and a fantastic lover. At a celebration party for the shooter's promotion, his wife decided to leave the bar with LaVelle. There's a lot of other interesting tidbits but the most important is that the other wives at the table argued that the shooter should allow his wife to live out this fantasy and not let his male ego get in the way. Of course, the other husbands strongly disagreed with their wives, and they are all on their way to divorce court."

"The wife's parents tried giving the husband the same message. Before he shot up the night club, he visited their house and I quote, 'please allow me to live out my fantasy,' and then he shot them both in their face."

"Let me be clear honey, there will never be a discussion between us about living out fantasies, or male egos getting in the way or especially second chances. One and done. Do I make myself clear."

My wife's face had gone through several shades of gray as she emptied her wine glass. She got up to refill her glass.

With her back to me she said, "Honey, please put your gun away, I'm afraid we need to talk."

When she was facing me again, I reinserted the clip and chambered a round. I watched my wife pee through her pajamas and create a large puddle of urine on the floor. I had my answer. The gun went back in my holster, I picked up my suitcase from the hallway where I dropped it when I came in, and left my house for the last time.