A Bump in the Road. Chapter One.
A Bump in the Road Chapter One By Roofles
Behind an old, run down, abadoned gas station several cars of white and blue were parked. Their sirens were off but the lights on top kept flashing in the morning light; mist still hung just above the ground. The sun wouldn't rise for a couple more hours I'd imagine. Most of the area had been taped off and police officers were still surveying the scene looking for anything that might've been missed. They worked fast I had to admit.
"Charlie." I waved towards one of the officers. The younger man looked up showing me those bright red dimpled cheeks, freckled face and tangle mess of red hair that stuck out even under his cap.
"Isaac." He called back and even in the morning light I could see just how pale his face was. Each freckle was clearly splotched on that pale sheet white face. "Isaac." He repeated himself as I got closer, locking my car behind me with the buzzer. "It's a mess, man." He shook his head, that tangled mess shaking side to side as he did so. "I've never seen anything like it."
Great. The first thing that came to mind was another junky that had snapped stabbing someone to death with a rusty saudering iron, and not with the pointed end either.
As I ducked underneath the yellow tape he lifted up for me, my black woolen overcoat dragging on the ground a bit as I did so, I noticed that several of the other officers had the same look as my old contact did. Pale in the face with wide eyes as if they had all seen a ghost. It was a bit unnerving I had to admit and already I wasn't looking forward to this. Let alone for being back with my old squad.
Around the corner of the gas station was the main mass of people gathered round and talking. The police chief had actually crawled out of the downtown building to make a public apperance. I could only guess the fat German bastard was waiting for the press to arrive. Thick in the face with more chins than China town, his beard was thick and full and every strand of it curled giving him the apperance of an old black and white tv villian. He had always loved to be on TV. Even woddling all the way down here to get a chance for it.
As usual he was barking orders to people that were already doing their job, walking around huffing and panting as thick beads of sweat rolled down his face as he paced the area back and forth.
Taking a greasy folded handkerchef from his pocket, Sergeant McNall wiped his forhead before those small sunken eyes turned towards my direction and locked in. I could actually see the screws in his head turning, his mind working at my name as well as something to say. It took him a second before I winced at that voice.
"Street!" He shouted woddling over towards me, the bottom of his pot belly sticky out from his already stetched uniform. "Where the hell have you been!"
"Traffic." I lied not wanting to admit I had to drop someone off before coming. "Morning traffic 's a bitch." I said with a shrug, going on with the lie. Although even if it was the cold dead truth it wouldn't have matter as he barked at me again.
Spittle landed on my cheek, much to my disgust. Wiping it away I glared down at the short round, pudgey face in front of me. I couldn't tell where his chin stopped and his neck began. I didn't even think a chin could have rolls.
"I wanted you here before anyone else got word of this!" He shouted practically spitting as he did so. He turned and paced back and forth. "What do we pay you for if not to do your job!" It was almost a question. "On time!" He added as if to counter my voiceless reply. "We want you here on time." To be fair, as a private contractor, my time was my own as long as I got the job done. I just so happened quit the force the very day this fat oaf got hired. I guess he took it as a personal insult or something. It was just a coincidence, I didn't even know he was hired until a week afterwards.
"I'll get started right away." I left out the sir, if only to see that face of his turn that extra special kind of pink. Veins throbbing in his forhead as I turned to head inside already dismissing him.
This was however the Third incident within the month within the city. And from the corner of my eye I could see inside the back garage, it's old doors rusted to never close again. The room itself was dark and my eyes could only really make out shapes in the shadows. The ground had a dark hew to it as if someone had spilled water. It was thicker though almost like oil. And even before I headed inside I knew what it was.
Just like all the other cases this and last month. They had even begun pulling some of the reserve forces in to handle this one. I paced around the liquid lake looking around at the mess of dyed ink. It was only in the lack of light however and with it I could at least tolerate the sight. The smell on the other hand was intense, not only acrid but sweet. That metallic smell of blood and the putrid stench of innards ripped open. It was almost like finding road kill on the side of the street. Fresh however, only a couple of hours ago. A dead skunk would've had a more pleasent odor.
"Who called it in?" I asked as Charlie came up with a light. I winced looking away as the flashlight shone over the scene. The crimson liquid was congealed as if someone had tipped a paint bucket over the shredded remains of the poor bastard who had been caught here last night.
"One of the neighbors." Millisa Rine said, a female officer soon joined us. The Three musketeer back together again, heh. She was always cold in manner and tone, the only officer here who didn't seem to be as pale as a ghost. With thin lips, high cheek bones and that dark motif she reminded me of a congress woman rather than a police officer. Or an African Goddess that liked her men roasted alive and sacroficed to her.
Brushing a strand of that long dark hair out of her face, those auburn eyes looked down at the folder she was holding. "Last night at 0327 an elderly woman called in that she was hearing animal sounds out in the alleyway. At 0410 another gentleman called in saying someone was being raped by a grizzley bear. Officer Burbs was called out to investigate and when she arrived at," she looked the notes over before looking up once more. "You get the picture." She said flatly finishing. We both knew I had recieved the information through fax.
"Right." Always a pleasure talking with her. I thought she was still doing paperwork, filing reports after the time she had callousedly told the parents of the first deceased what had happened to their young girl. In graphic detail no less. She had a bad habit of not sugar coating things, ever. The department must be stretched for man power on this case. The mayor is probably drilling them hard to figure this out. "Anything new?" I asked with little hope.
Moving around I pulled out my note book and took a few notes. It was the same as the others. Torn to shreds, blood everywhere and not a soul witness to be found. Noises had been heard but by the time anyone had come to investigate there wasn't even a hair left behind. A ghost would've left more evidence.
One problem about the big city. In the middle of the night you hear a noise? You ignore it. Just assume it was the wind. And not someone being butchered underneath your window. Look out for number One after all...
"If you find anything, tell us." Charlie said trying to play it off as a joke but the desperation in his eyes was evident. He had a terrible poker face. Most the others had the same look though; his eyes had large bags under them. Little to no sleep as they worked triple time trying to figure this out. Looking over anything to grasp some kind of inclination of what happened. The thing about that, working them to the bone? It makes the job become...sloppy.
"Sure thing." I just replied not looking directly at the mangled remains rotting in the middle of the garage. There already flies over the body but no maggets thank God for the litte things, huh?
The other two nodded and headed out. I just took a moment to collect my thoughts before looking around with the flashlight. They, the murderer that was, came in through the open back door and snuck up on our John Doe and did...well this. That's what the report said anyways. Be it one or two or a whole gang of people we couldn't be sure. I could only guess it was one to two, the less people meant the easier it would be to hide ones tracks.
The annoying thing was, as disgusting as it was, the teeth were missing. The body mutilated as it was? It'd be impossible to get an accurate ID on the poor bastard. Just another unnamed vicitm tossed onto the ever growing pile. That in itself was suspicious.
It was on my second go around that I noticed it. A mark on the main door that headed into the old office. It was a red splotched that gleened in the flash light. Pointing directly at it I could make out the same color as the floor. Blood. I moved closer to inspect it, pushing the door open a bit. It creaked in protest as I got a better look. It was almost a hand print but was longer as if stretched out, hidden within the very crook of the doorway. Once the door was shut it was almost invisible to be seen. Just a faint hairs breath was visible. It was a lucky spot, even I couldn't deny that.
There was two thing about this print that alarmed me. One was the fact that each finger had large paw prints giving it the impression that an animal had made it. The second was the fact was that I had seen it before. At one of the previous scenes. I had originally written it off to a stray dog, even mentioned it to the chief. After getting my ass chewed, and not in the good way, I decided to leave it be. To see this mark again was a slap in the face. Something you couldn't exactly ignore.
The print was mostly wiped away except for the part hidden with in the very groove of the door. There was something off though about it as I opened the door and stepped inside the office. I wrote a few random thoughts down before pocking the small spiral notebook I had bought at the dollar store, strapped for cash was always a bitch.
The office was like the rest of the building. Old, run down and covered in a thick layer of paleish orange dust in the light of the police vehicles outside. The dust had been disturbed recently. Moved with the open door and then allowed to settle once more. The desk, computer and shelves were covered in that thick dust that made it hard to breath. The small walk way around the spiral chair however looked as if it had been crudely swept, a sign of use. No foot prints oddly enough.
The windows were boarded up and the lack of air flow was almost stifling. The main door was disturbed where it had opened and closed, even if as I opened the door the picture over the window fell to the floor. A cheap trick really. The string could easily be hung on the loose nail to give the illusion the door hadn't been opened before and if it did the picture wouldn't be there. I read about it once in a Sherlock Holmes book.
"By God Watson!" I muttered aloud looking over the desk and stacked boxes filled with paperwork, a nice coating of dust on the top of each. "Could they be any more original." I continued turning just enough to face the closet door. It had a similar look to it as the main door and opening it up I got the same response. This time with a tiny nail on top of the door that fell to the ground. A trick used to see if someone had come while you were away. Simple but effective. I personally used a thin piece of led like you'd use in a mechanical pencil. It'd break even if you tried to put it back.
The air wasn't as stifling inside the closet. Boxes and crates had been moved and pushed against the wall allowing a ladder to fit inside. Looking up I could make out a window pane in the ceiling. Moving the ladder over a bit I used it to scale up towards it. Even before I reached the top I could feel the soft breath of air exhaling inside.
There was a mark on the inner seal of the window and climbing up the ladder I had unfortunetly put my hand directly onto another that had been left behind, one on the ladder itself. Grumbling I wiped it off on my handkerchef and pushed the window open. It creaked and protested, taking a bit of force to get it to pop open.
There was a clatter of things from above that made me freeze, listening. It sounded like various silverware that had spilled onto the floor. Poking my head up I looked around, resting my hand on old faithful. I undid the leather snap on the gun's holster before moving up onto the roof.
A box had been placed over the window pane that I had knocked over when I had forced it open. It was just a bunch of scrap metal mostly from what I could tell. The roof itself was warped and water worn. The old ventalation fan blade were broken and the vent was missing. Several marks were faintly visible. A single paw step from the roof pane and the next was that of a man's.
Crawling form the window was the easiest thing to do as it didn't open all the way, like climbing a ladder one tends to use both hands and feet to do so even if one is covered in blood. The animal print didn't make sense. Maybe he was wearing a glove or something. The size of it though would be roughly that of a bear. Something like that couldn't fit through the small window pane. There was even frantic scratch marks, claw marks as if it had tried to force it's way out. Even the side of the window pane was stretched, pushed outwards and breaking at the edges. It still didn't make sense. But at least that was how it went down.
Maybe dragging something heavy behind him? Like a bag? I just shook my head as I looked around for anything else. At least I found out how he left even if there was no other visible way up from the ground and it wasn't like you could jump the fifteen feet plus distance to the adjacent apartment complex. Unless the man could jump from the ground to the roof that was out of the question as well. Just a bunch of dead ends like before.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket pulling me away from my thoughts.
"What?" I answered. I know it was rude but I already knew who it was. "You what!" Was my next response, nearly shouting into the phone. "Damnit Marco," I cursed openly not giving a shit as I moved back towards the ladder. "Yes. I'll pick you up here in a bit. Just... Damnit Marco!" I hung up and that was that.
Things unfolded quickly after that. Waving at the cops below, telling them about the ladder and blood marks which nearly caused everyone to scramble inside to investigate. From there it was easy enough to slip away after bidding farewell to Charlie, the only cop that seemed to not hate my guts though he had a very worried look on his face as I left. Couldn't blame 'em, the cops that was. When your called in on the side, behind their backs, it feels like your just insulting their hard work. Even if I did use to work on the unit. They do a good job, most the time. And by god was this a closed room murder. Well same diffuclty anyways. Just a bunch of dead ends.
The mayor called me, and a half other dozen private detectives, to come in and do what we do. Piss the cops off. The mayor was already gripping their balls tightly on this case, his re-election was riding on it. Thank God above I didn't have to deal directly with that sex crazed, coke sniffing bastard. Dude had more scandals under his belt than fuckin' President Clinton, heh. I mean if he hadn't been caught giving it to one of the housekeepers on the night of the murder I'd swear he was doing these just to side track the press and media away from his own affairs. And let me tell you...there was a lot. Books could be written on it.
Thankfully if anything else turned up Charlie would let me know as I drove off. We usually grabbed coffee and donuts before and after work some nights. I loved that stereotypical bastard. Always in his uniform, always formal as if he were trying to convince himself that he was a cop. Strict childhood will do that to a guy though I guess.
Pulling up next to the sidewalk across the way from Pizza Poppi's Pizzarita, I looked across the lot at the man I was here to pick up. Tall, broad with heavy arms, thick torso, nice tan and strong jaw line. Even though he had shaved in the morning he was already sporting a 5 o'clock shadow. It wasn't even Noon yet... His dark brown hair was a tangled mess as if he had just gotten out of the shower. The pants I had bought him not even a week ago was begining to rip. At least he was wearing the nice black shirt I had gotten him, I didn't even want to know what happened to the other "accessories" I tried to get him to wear so he didn't look like a fuckin' biker. Then again at least a biker had some class.
The door slammed shut as a rather disgruntled looking brother of mine sat down. Step brother I might add. "Well?" He said after the moment of silence that followed nearly spitting the word waiting for the inevitable to fall.
"Fired?" I said softly at first, gripping the steering wheel. "Fired....?" I hissed the word like a snake about to strike. "Again." I started feeling that boiling anger inside me rise up. "I mean from a fucking..." I lowered my voice trying to keep even. "From a pizzarita you got fired. How?" I asked unable but to glare over at him. If this was the first time I might let it slide, hell if it was the fifth time I might be able to shrug it off. But it wasn't. I was running out of favors to call in.
"I had a...disagreement with my boss." Marco said scratching at one of his side burns. He had already pulled out a cigar from only god knows where and was beginning to light it.
"About?" I asked trying to be reasonable. One thing about an Alpha male like Marco, they don't follow orders well. Specially from people they see as inferior, Marco's words not mine. Pride was such a silly, retarded fucked up thing.
"How to clean the bathroom." He mumbled a bit. "I was doing my damn job!" Marco growled, that animistic sound I was all too familiar with by now. "I was doing a damn good job cleaning up after people shit no fucking less." His hands clenched tightly. "A degrading job...and I did it. But that wasn't good enough." He tried to explain but once more it just looked like he was fishing for an excuse.
"Marco." He looked up at me maybe it was the soft tone I had used or the fact I had said his name and like a good boy he responded. "That's bullshit." I stated flatly making him wince and I swore if he could his ears would fold back at that time. "And you know it!" I said punching the steering wheel before calming down again. "Jobs are fucking retarded. You have to deal with shit from people who ARE shit. That is why its called work and not happy go fun time."
"Right." He just said looking away with that scrunched up look of constipation. But he relaxed and unclenched his fist. "Sorry." He muttered before falling silent.
I wanted to punch him in his face but at the same time I knew he meant it. My mum, her grandparents, my friends and even the guy I share my job with all said I'd regret it. That it was a stupid dumb ass decision to make and that if I had half a brain I'd kick Marco out on his good for nothing rear. Don't look back and just let him go die in the gutter like the mangy dog he was.
Hot headed, pig headed, fat headed... And yes. He was a dick. We fought constantly. But he was still, in the end of things, my brother. Step or not. And just have to deal with it come hell or high water.
"Want to grab a bite?" I sighed giving up on the argument. Was too damn early in the morning and I had missed breakfast.