Another Long Night

March 7, 2011

It was lunch time. Or what passed for lunch time when you worked nights. Tonight? Lunch was going to have to wait. Detective Larson sighed. It was nights like this that he wondered why he bothered bringing along lunch.
Detective Larson ran a hand through his sandy blond hair and stepped out of his car. The fog was tinted yellow again with pollution and the street lights only added to the effect. Inside the warehouse a pair of uniforms were waiting for him, staying near the door.

“So how bad is it this time, boys?” Larson asked. He had been specially called in. Which most likely meant that further inside would be a a particularly torn up set of remains, laid out like some sort of art installation.

“Could be worse. Hard to say when it starts out this nasty,” one of the men offered.

Larson nodded and braced himself before taking those last few steps in. Pieces of the victim were arranged with small electric lamps set to light up each section of the ‘gallery.’ He took a slow tour of the scene, letting it soak into his brain and join with the other nightmares he was starting to collect.

“Another mysterious tip on this one?” asked Larson.

“Same as before. We bagged the note in advance this time, not that it seems to help,” said the officer.

Larson offered a non-committal grunt in response. Somebody was letting them know where the bodies were. Four this month. The I.D. would come back as some homeless person who had been in and out of mental institutions. It was a pretty firm link, but his boss would still sit on it. He didn’t want another media blitz. He just wanted it to go away.

Larson crouched near one of the arms, shining a flashlight over the sever mark. Pulled apart. He frowned and pushed himself up, careful not to disturb anything.

“Make sure the photos are on my desk before the shift is over,” said Larson as he turned and headed for the door.

“That’s it?” said one of the uniforms.

“No. That’s just as much as I need from here. I’ve been through three of these scenes,” said Larson without slowing down.

He climbed back into his car and closed his eyes, rubbing them lightly. He was getting nowhere with the standard by the books route. This was not surprising to him. Cases like this tended to… drift his direction. Why? Because he new how to make unusual problems go away. People ripped apart by what seemed to be human hands and then left on display? That qualified as the type of problem his superiors just wanted to go away. He was going to have to tap some sources and figure out what precisely was making a mess in his city this time.

Larson opened his eyes and started the car. It was time to visit the Vitriol. A bar for the less then human. He really hated the place.


One comment

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