This case he was handed earlier today, though, was going to be a living bitch. It was a genuine mystery. It didn’t fit any of the comfortable stereotypes that had made his job easier, though never boring. Also, his duties rarely required him to travel more than a few blocks from his office at downtown police headquarters. But on this sunny afternoon in early April he found himself driving out to an upscale suburb in Maryland. It was a heavy treed neighborhood in bloom, with very few cars on the street, and wide lawns separating well-kept houses that Flynn was willing to bet were overpriced even in a lousy economy. He glanced at his notepad and saw the name and address he had scribbled down. Mark Vincent, 39 Cherry Blossom Drive. The detective pulled into the long circular driveway and walked to the front door.

            From inside the house a large dog started barking, and the sound grew louder as the big animal ran to the door. When the door opened, a dark-haired middle-aged man wearing some sort of running suit and a Washington Nationals cap greeted him. He was restraining a still barking Chocolate Lab by its collar. “That’s enough, Brutus,” he said. The dog, much to Flynn’s surprise, actually became quiet and sat down next to its master. The man gave Flynn a long stare and then said, “I was going to kick you out and tell you I’m not buying whatever you’re selling. But you’re not a salesman, are you? You’re a police officer.”

            “Fraid so, and you’re Mr. Vincent, I assume,” the detective said, flipping his wallet open and flashing his badge. “I’m Detective Flynn. Homicide Division. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

            “Actually, I was getting ready to run a few errands, but I got a few minutes to spare.”

With a shrug, the homeowner confirmed that he was in fact Mark Vincent and invited the detective inside.  All three stepped into a well-appointed study that was off to the side of an elaborate spiral staircase. Brutus sat dutifully by his owner’s side, content as the man absently petted him.

            “Just out of curiosity, Mr. Vincent, how did you make me as a cop?”

            Vincent established and maintained eye contact with the detective. “I’ve worked with lots of law enforcement people over the years,” he said. “And, let’s just say you fit the profile of a detective.”

             Flynn looked unimpressed. He reached into the pocket of his inexpensive polyester suit jacket and took out his notebook. “’Oh really,” he said as he thumbed through a few pages. Down on the gleaming hardwood floor, Brutus looked up at him, alert for any food possibilities. Deciding the notebook probably wasn’t edible he rested his head back down on his paws, sadly.

                                       ( : SKIPPING AROUND TO KEEP YOU INTERESTED : )
(f4scene 02)  The writer looked at the detective as though he were ignorant. “You probably don’t understand the complexities of this type of project,” he said.

Showing no interest, Flynn said, “Try me.”

watch this "Animation"




Another Scene, but not in Order

    In America, we have a long history of rugged individualism. It’s how the West was won, or so the legend says. Brave mountain men and other adventurers left the comforts of the big cities back East and set off for the wild frontier. The image of a brave frontiersman or the cowboy-loner is powerful even today. 
    It’s part of being an independent people. We don’t like being told what to do. We’re not easily manipulated into just accepting what it is that our leaders, in either religion or government, tell us. We want to make up our own minds about things. Yes, we’re free thinkers.

So when somebody like PPM comes along, what do we make of him? Do we believe in him? Do we want to follow him? OR are we skeptical, wanting to write him off as some sort of fanatic before we even find out who he truly is? The answers to all of these questions will be answered – though not always in the ways that you might expect – within the pages of this book.

At first, most people considered him a lunatic. would dress up in such an outlandish costume? But the more they listened to him, a small but growing group of followers began to coalesce around him. Arriving on the scene cloaked in an unexpected garb did not discredit PPM at all. To the contrary, it made perfect sense to those who believed in him. He was the one that most would overlook, he was the one they would persecute, destroy even, if they could. But now he had arrived right in their very midst, and to these people he was the long awaited for answer to their fervent prayers.

With modern day technology, especially television and the Internet, PPM and his message would be able to spread like wildfire across the entire globe. No nation would be exempt from his presence. He could appeal to all of the people of planet Earth all at once if he chose to do so, and at a time and place of his own choosing. Those living in exile would be comforted wherever they might be, knowing that PPM came seeking them out. Yes, the world certainly may have forsaken them, but this new and yet ancient hero never would. They could rest assured that he would gather them together in victory, overcome every obstacle, and free them from ever again having to live in fear.

Not surprisingly, as soon as the PPM began to gather a following and make friends, he also made enemies. Lots of them, almost overnight. These people were afraid that he had come to change their way of life, their beliefs, indeed, everything about them. They perceived him to be a threat, and rumors sprang up all over the Web of various conspiracy theories. None of it was backed by evidence, as it was all just endless conjecture. Some outright claimed that he was an agent of the Evil One. Others speculated that maybe he was just a slick marketing ploy being used by some clever corporation planning to make money off of him. While still others were certain that he was an alien being who had come here to lay the groundwork for a future interstellar invasion.

Fade to (Police Station) 

            Curious, Flynn came over to her desk and peered over her shoulder at the computer monitor. “Watcha got?” he asked.

            “There’s a whole bunch of hits for the name ‘Purple Piano Man’, when you type in PPM,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. She scrolled down the page as website after website came up on the screen. Robin visited one, and they both read the content. Eyes wide, Flynn pulled up a chair next to her and watched as the psychologist found numerous other sites related to the Purple Piano Man.

“I have no clue,” an equally intrigued Robin Campbell said. “But I get the feeling that Mr. Mark Vincent knows a heck of a lot more than he was letting on.

Bad at the Lab: 
Someone in Toxicology 
“They found traces of Salvia divinorum, also known as Diviner’s Sage, or simply by the genus name Salvia. It’s a psychoactive herb which can induce strong dissociative effects. It is a member of the sage genus and the Lamiaceae, or mint family. The Latin name Salvia divinorum literally translates to ‘sage of the seers’. Which anyone can easily find on the Internet.”

            “And the other drug?” Flynn asks

            “Burundanga or scopolamine is a kind of voodoo powder obtained from a Colombian local plant of the nightshade family, a shrub called barrachera, or ‘drunken binge’. Used for hundreds of years by Native Americans in religious ceremonies, the powder when ingested causes victims to lose their will and memory, sometimes for days.”

            “That’s the one,” Flynn said, snapping his fingers. “When we get back I’ll ask narcotics for any known dealers. Either that or we just round up all of the local witch doctors.”

            Robin just shook her head without offering comment

A script from a video found on Youtube.... when you search for
                                               ( : Purple Piano Man : )
PPM talking 
    “Another reason for the mask. With my privacy protected, I can blend in with society. I want to be liked. I’m here to help the world. We discussed my plan to collect two dollars from every person on this planet. That will be part of my legacy, because the gift that I give to the world will come from everybody, for everybody. Not just the rich or the powerful, but especially the poor and the humble. Patience is necessary right now, but, ultimately, nobody will be disappointed. As I said, at the right time all will be revealed.

SCENE CHANGE AGAIN:::

“The video ended abruptly, the final frame freezing on the man in the purple mask holding up a copy of the “Washington Post.” The date was clearly visible above the newspaper’s front-page headline. It was today’s date.

Detective Flynn removed his glasses and absent-mindedly chewed on one of the arms. “Did a word of that make any sense to you?”

Robin shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “But I get the feeling this isn’t the sort of thing we can just watch once. The fact that he sent this to us means he’s trying to send us a message.”

Putting his glasses back on, Flynn leaned against Robin’s desk and let out a long sigh. “It means more than that,” he said. “It means our boy is alive and kicking.