This Is No Suicide

It was a crisp, sunny morning in South L.A., a landlord went to check on a tenant because he was a week late on his rent. When he knocked on the door of John Russell, nobody opened. He knocked again, not even a sound. He used his keys and opened the door only to find Mr. Russell dead on the floor. The landlord scrambled to find the phone. While doing so, he knocked something across the floor and under the couch, but he paid no attention to it as he called the police.

Within a few minutes the entire L.A.P.D. was at the apartment. The detective on the case concluded that he had overdosed on prescription pills. The police ruled it a suicide only because he had a bottle of pills clutched in his hand. Once the detectives ruled it a suicide, nobody would even remember this case; except for one man, Jermaine Kearse, a private investigator.

Kearse was a big, hulking man. He played college football as a free safety so he could run and hit. He was also a JSOC Navy Seal. He was in the “ghost” unit. This meant that he was undetectable. Kearse specialized in black ops, search and destroy, and anything high priority/classified. He knew how to track and keep out of sight. Once Kearse retired from JSOC he became a private investigator.

Kearse couldn’t figure out why a handsome, young, successful man would commit suicide. Russel had a girlfriend, many friends, and was a champion bowler. He also was the vice president of an Insurance Agency. Kearse knew this wasn’t suicide; it was murder!

Kearse went to the medical examiner at the morgue and asked him to look over Russell very closely. Later that day he got a text that said he was right, it was murder. Those pills were forced down Russell’s throat. That night Kearse snuck into his office and lo...

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...e Kearse spin out. Before he could start the car again, the truck sped towards him. Kearse had no choice but abandon his car. He jumped out and ran while the truck ran over his car. Because of the glass shards in him, Kearse couldn’t go far. He fell to his knees in pain. The truck pulled up to him and the man got out and pointed a pistol at his head. There was nothing Kearse could do. He waited for what was to come. He then heard the gun shot and looked up. The man was dead beside him. Micheala Mathers had luckily been at the right place at the right time. Kearse unmasked him. It was the bartender. He looked closer. The bartender was wearing the same bracelet as the Agency president. Kearse rushed back to the bank and arrested him. The president admitted that they were making fake death certificates and selling them. Russell had found out and they killed him for it.