Chapter 1.
The sirens roar about my head as I look at the three bodies. Floaters, meaning they were killed (probably at the same time), put into bags in this instance, thrown into the sea, and then floated up. Simple.
"Dex!" I turn around and see my sister, Deb, striding through the dusty air. I grin.
"Hey sister! What's up?" I know she's on the case. I'm no idiot. But we can always play ball.
"I'm on your case, numb-nuts. Whatta we got?"
"Floaters in bags. Fun times."
"I don't doubt it."
"Well there's not much blood, so I guess I can get outta here." I'm supposed to have a date with Rita tonight. She's interested in sex again for some reason.
"Are you sure you don't want any samples? Just even for ID purposes?" Deb wants me to stay. I wish I understood her urgency.
"What is it sis? Do you need a hug?"
"Fuck off. It's just stuff bro."
"Then why do I have to stay?"
"He did another one of my girls. She was called Carmen." Deb swallows and looks truly upset. I need to learn to plumb that depth of feeling for someone. Nonetheless, my palms grow sweaty as I imagine the ice truck killer striking again. Neatly sliced into parts. Maybe some flaying of skin and flesh. But most importantly? No blood.
"Morgan! Why so glum?" That's LaGuerta. It's not me she's after today, thank God. She seems to have some sort of thing about me. Deb thinks I'm boning her. I'm not.
"Um no reason Lieutenant. I just heard that the ice truck killer struck again, that's all." Her voice is choked with emotion, and she swallows hard again.
"You need to detach yourself from those hookers, Morgan. You'll get everyone thinking you are one if you're not careful." And with that she walks away. I don't like LaGuerta much.
"Motherfucking bitch." Deb is quiet, so that no one overhears, but we all know how she's treated in Homicide. Poor thing.
"Look, I've gotta go. You gonna be okay?" I rub her arm, trying to look upset for her. She nods, so I turn to go. I need to puzzle out our frosty friend's latest trick.
I walk away from the docks backwards, keeping an eye on Deb to make sure she's okay. Then, I walk into someone.
"Dude, what the fuck is your problem?" A woman's voice behind me makes me turn. I look at her. She's beautiful. A head of thick curly hair tied back in bunches at the sides of her head, large and wide green eyes, high and refined cheekbones. The kind of cheekbones I hate to slice near, because they're so aristocratic. Her mouth twitches slightly, unimpressed as she is with me. Her collarbone would be so easy to break in two, her neck so easy to twist and snap. Her long fingers press a cigarette to her lips and she exhales a lungful of blue smoke. It looks almost healthy coming from her. She has well sized breasts, although I'm not a breast man. She has a skinny little waist, slender hips and long tanned legs. In fact, she's perfect.
"I said what the fuck's your problem?"
"Oh sorry, I was just checking on my sister. She's in Homicide." I nod cheerfully to her gloomy looking companions and start to make my way off.
"You should be sorry! You made me drop my mooring line, punk!" Her voice drifts after me as I fantasise about all the different ways that perfect body could be broken and destroyed. By the time I'm in the car she's died about ten different ways. But I'll follow the code of Harry and make sure I don't kill her. As I look back at the dock I realise she's still staring at me. I wonder what that means.