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Prologue
Part Two
Paul Bennett. Rita's abusive rapist soon-to-be-ex-husband. Recently released from jail due to overcrowding. He wouldn't leave the kids - or Rita - alone. He kept showing up at the house, at the kids' school, at the playground. He wouldn't listen to Rita's polite requests to leave them alone, or to at least call ahead. He was quickly becoming a pest, one that needed to be squashed.
Rita is my girlfriend of six months, by the way. Deb introduced us. She's perfect – for my cover, and for me. She's a sweet girl, and those kids where great. I always liked kids. It didn't hurt that their mother had absolutely no interest in sex, which suited me just fine. I enjoyed being with her, sans sex, as much as I could enjoy anything I suppose.
But Paul was a complication I didn't need. He was a threat to me and to the small family that I had slowly become a part of, so I had to do something about him.
I walked away from the portable morgue and made my way inside the main precinct, wondering what could be done. Even as fucked up as he was he didn't fit Harry's code, so I couldn't kill him. Which was a bummer because that would be the easiest fix. No one would really miss him except for Astor and Cody, and even they would get over his disappearance at some point. Not even law enforcement would take his disappearance seriously – it would just be assumed that he took off as junkies tended to do.
But he wasn't a killer, just low level pond scum, so Harry wouldn't approve. I had to find another way.
I made my way into my office to finish up some last minute paperwork and then I locked everything up and left, in the clear to go search Paul's rental shack for some sort of clue. The PD was practically deserted as I left, what with everybody surrounding the Butcher case. Even the lot was deserted except for the few cars parked way down at the end where the portable morgue was set up. But for all the emptiness that was the PD lot, the traffic getting to Paul's was a bitch.
And Paul's place really was a shack, I thought, as I finally pulled into the lot twenty minutes later than I should have. I parked the car and snuck around to the back. The sliding back door popped open with ease and I grimaced at the unkempt squalor. It almost wasn't worth it to do this. Gloves on I began to poke around, and it didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. Evidence: a loaded gun and a box of ammo in the dresser. And, by the bed, a bottle of booze. Nothing else, but the loaded gun was a big strike against a parolee.
Bad Paul.
I left the place as I found it and checked my phone. Dinnertime. And there where several missed calls and two voicemails. As I got in the car I dialed my voicemail and was treated to Deb's colorful language. Apparently they pulled up all the bags they could find and there where a whopping 40 of them. Then Masuka was telling me to take the rest of the day off, but to come in early the next morning to help him assemble the parts and collect evidence.
An official invite into the case. Was this a good thing, or a bad thing? Equal parts, I imagine.
Since I had already spent the previous night with Rita and the kids I called her up to check in – did Paul cause any trouble today, dinner tomorrow like usual if I can get away from work? – and then surrounded myself in the silence and peace of my apartment. I didn't have the time to do anything else tonight - about Paul or otherwise - so I used the night to double-check my kill tools.
Meticulously clean, as always. I was even stocked up on duct tape, plastic sheeting, and Hefty bags.
After a peaceful nights sleep I rushed to get to the temporary morgue. I dressed in shitty clothes in case of body fluid spillage, grabbed a bagel and some coffee. No donuts today – sorry Miami Metro – and I think I might have broken my best record getting to work. Masuka still beat me there, though, I could see him standing at the entrance of the port morgue. Waiting for me, apparently. No dirty jokes or silly chuckle, today. He was grim faced.
"So, our first task of the day is to get all these body parts lined up." He was saying as he led me into the cooled unit. We donned rubber aprons, sleeve protectors, gloves, and then I got the first glimpse of my victims since I dumped them over the side of my boat. Many of the bags where still more or less in tact, but some were split open. There where piles of bones from my earlier kills, and some fleshy parts in fairly decent condition from my more recent kills. All where in bins on top of the metal tables
"Okay, so what's the plan?" I asked as we snapped our heavy-duty rubber gloves on over the traditional latex gloves.
"We're going to go table to table. Pull the bins off, remove the parts, take samples and tag them – the samples and the parts - put the parts on the table, move on to the next. When we get the results – LaGuerta has the orders in to rush them – we come back and start putting the body parts together while the DNA runs through the database for IDs." He grabbed a rolling cart stuffed to the brim with markers and tools.
"Like putting together a giant jigsaw puzzle." I commented. Masuka finally giggled that weird chuckle-giggle of his and we moved to the first table. A number "1" was taped to the front leg. He shoved the cart at me.
"I'm going to remove the limbs from the bins and take the samples. You hand me the markers, tools, and store the samples after writing them on the pad." I nodded even as Masuka dragged the first of two bins down from the table. After that, it was silent except for Masuka reading out numbers or giving me directions. Masuka was uncharacteristically serious from there on out and we had the first table finished by lunchtime.
"We're no where near done." I noted as we paused for a breather. Six rows of six, with two bins per table. Thirty-six tables, seventy-two bins in all. Anywhere from two to four bags per bin. I knew there where 46 bodies in total. They didn't. This was going to be a bitch to finish. It could take a week, or maybe more, at the pace we where moving.
So yeah, I was very successful at the killing thing. And no that isn't pride you hear… okay, so maybe it is.
"Lunch break?" Masuka asked. My high metabolism agreed. It was time for lunch, and then just maybe I could convince him to move a little bit faster so we could get out in time for me to join Rita and the kids for dinner.
TBC
Rough Count
Pages: 4
Words: 1,214
Notes:
Sorry it took so long to get out, but I got slammed at work on top of 18 inches of snow/ice, so I was a bit distracted.