At Dexter's house, Larry had a surprisingly pleasant chat with his friend's girlfriend, Rita, who was so charming that it made him feel fondness toward her.
Who would have thought she'd fallen in love with a serial killer?
Larry was dying to lay all the secrets on the table and decide what to do with his friend. Everything depended, of course, on Dexter's attitude, his choices… and his expression.
For days now, Larry had been inside Dexter's head, analyzing him in every way possible and identifying the vulnerabilities that defined him.
He knew everything about him, so it wasn't hard to tell when he was lying, scared, or angry. Larry could even tell when Dexter was happy—something not even Dexter himself could recognize.
But Larry could. He'd studied him so much that it was no longer a challenge.
"Is the food good?" Dexter asked with a slight smile.
"It's delicious. I honestly didn't expect you to cook this well," Larry replied mockingly, setting his spoon down and adding, "I'm starting to think you could kill with your recipes."
Dexter smiled. That comment, for some reason he didn't fully understand, made him happy. "I'm glad you liked my signature dish. I always thought Rita was lying when she said it was one of her favorites."
"You thought that?" Rita asked, surprised.
"I guess so…" Dexter mumbled, looking away as if he didn't want to admit it.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Before Dexter could get up, Rita did, smiling. "Don't worry, I'll get it. You two can keep talking."
Larry stared at Dexter and asked, "Is it your sister?"
"Probably. Although I thought she wouldn't come after our last call…" Dexter replied, uneasy.
He didn't like the idea of Debra and Larry in the same room. The tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Ever since Debra disrupted one of Larry's investigations, he had completely distanced himself from her for being selfish.
And while Dexter agreed with Larry's views, Debra was his sister. And no matter how many mistakes she made, he had to stand by her. That's what brothers are supposed to do… right?
With a calm gaze, Larry watched Debra walk into the house, followed by a man. A man he hadn't expected to see.
"Brian…" Larry immediately thought, subtly placing his hand on the gun hidden under his jacket. However, his cold reasoning kept the impulse in check.
"Brother!" Debra said with a smile, pointing to her companion. "Ruby wanted to stop by and say hi. The last dinner didn't go too well."
Seeing Larry sitting at the table wiped the smile off her face.
"What are you doing here?"
"Having dinner with your brother," Larry replied, without glancing subtly at Brian, and asked, "Or do you think we're talking about work?"
His ironic tone cut through the air. He looked back at his plate, as if the presence of the Ice Truck Killer didn't matter to him. But inside… inside he wanted to kill him right then and there.
He wanted it with an almost uncontrollable urge. But not out of duty. Not for justice. But for the pleasure of watching him beg. Of seeing the man suffer who had mocked the death of his family.
And to enjoy it… he had to wait.
"If you say so…" Debra muttered, crossing her arms.
A few minutes passed. The atmosphere became more relaxed—or at least they pretended it was. Larry chatted with "Ruby," measuring every word, every expression, every blink. Until finally, he began asking questions.
"So, Ruby… Tell me, what's your opinion on symbolic crimes?" Larry asked, holding a glass of wine.
"Symbolic?" Brian repeated, raising an eyebrow with amusement and asking, "You mean when killers leave clues like misunderstood artists?"
"Exactly," Larry answered, then added, "I've seen some who cut up bodies like sculptures. What do you think of that?"
Brian smiled sarcastically. "I think if you're going to do something, it might as well have style."
Rita frowned, confused.
"Don't you find that… sick?"
"Depends…" Brian said, shrugging. "Isn't it sick to spend hours watching movies where people are killed and then go to bed like nothing happened?"
Debra let out a dry laugh. "And what would you know about that?"
"A little."
The tension began to rise again. Dexter shifted in his seat, alert.
"I'm going to grab some beers," Debra said suddenly, getting up. "I need something cold to handle this conversation."
"There aren't any," Dexter responded quickly.
"Then I'll head to the corner store. Coming, Rita?"
"Sure," Rita said, standing up too.
Both women left. Larry waited a few seconds, got up, and went to the kitchen. He pulled out a bottle of wine he had brought and calmly opened it. He poured three glasses. He handed one to each man.
"This wine is special," he said, raising his glass. "I've been saving it for a night like this."
"Are we celebrating something?" Brian asked, taking his.
"We're celebrating the truth," Larry said with an enigmatic smile.
A brief silence followed. Dexter drank without saying a word. Brian too. Larry sat down and stared at them.
"Do you know why I became a criminal profiler?" Larry asked suddenly.
Both looked at him, puzzled.
"When I was a kid, a killer murdered my whole family. He said he did it for God. I wasn't there. But years later, I saw everything. And since then… I've wanted to understand why someone kills with such pleasure."
Brian looked at him. His smile began to fade. A cold sweat ran down his neck.
"And did you understand it?" he asked, his voice strained.
Larry looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I'm just about to, Brian Moser."
Brian tried to move, but something was wrong. His body… wasn't responding.
"What… what did you do?" Brian stammered, barely staying upright in his chair.
Dexter looked at his glass, then at Larry. "What did you give him?"
"Just enough to keep him from running. I'm not going to kill him… yet."
Brian collapsed to his knees, gasping.
"You… you know who I am?"
Larry slowly approached and whispered, "I don't just know who you are. I know what you did. You should never have used my family's case in your 'art,' you sick bastard."
Brian stared at him wide-eyed, unable to move anymore. Larry knelt beside him and, in a calm voice, said, "We're going to talk. Long and deep. Until you tell me everything…"
At that moment, a confused Dexter stood up. But before he could say anything, Larry was pointing his gun at him and asked:
"Are you going to help me kill the Ice Truck Killer, or should I do it alone?"