Chapter 4(?)

Paul Barret paced around the body, his footsteps loud and echoing in the cold, sterile room. Never before had he seen such an anomaly. No gunshot wounds, no lacerations, no signs of a struggle, not even a drop of blood on his suit. The autopsy had revealed no further clues to the man's death, no internal bleeding, no poison, nothing.

And yet, when they had found him, it was clear the man was in as much pain as the human body could process when he had died. Paul couldn't help but to shudder, the contorted body, covered in sweat and tears, the man had bitten his own tongue off before dieing, it was all still fresh in his mind.

The chief would be down soon, looking for answers, looking for evidence, looking for any sort of clue to give them direction. But he had nothing but what they already knew. And what they knew, in a way, made them know even less. As Andres had realized at the crime scene, the body belonged to El Alacrán, the biggest crime lord in South America. This was further proven when Paul had matched the dead man's DNA to that in their database. But El Alacrán had been unseen for years, and then to suddenly show up, dead, in some insignificant warehouse?

The other men left even fewer clues. They too lacked any wounds or inflictions. It seemed eight men had simply dropped dead for no reason at all. Their DNA had to be run through the entire database in search of a match, it would take days for any result.

Paul checked his watch, seconds to midday. The Chief had said he'd be down at noon, and ever punctual, Paul heard the tapping of his footsteps approaching down the hall.

Moments later the door burst open, "You'd better have something"

Paul sighed, "Well... it is El Alacrán"

"Well that answers a helluva lot!" the Chief said sarcastically, "Cause of death? Evidence of the killer?"

Paul slowly shook his head.

"Great. So all we got is eight dead dudes in a warehouse. With absolutely no sign of a killer"

"Have you spoken to forensics?" Hopefully they might have something to lighten the Chiefs mood, Paul thought hopefully.

"They haven't been through much analysis yet, but they're predicting all the fired shells are from the body guards pistols."

"I'm sure we'll find something... it's only been two nights."

"But still, in two nights you expect to find more than nothing!" while the Chief was a brilliant detective, his temper often got a hold of him.

"Chief, Carlos, I'm sure we'll find something..."

The two fell into silence, looking down at El Alacrán's body in thought.

Their thoughts were interrupted by a 'tap tap' of heels on tiles, quickly approaching. Three suited men entered the Autopsy room, their immaculate black suits, dark sunglasses and Secret Service-like ear pieces breathed trouble.

"Um... can I help you? This is a restricted area..." Paul said nervously.

"We are with the Agency. We'll be in charge of the of this investigation now."

Chapter 3

The microwave hummed away as the apple pie went round and round.
Within one second of the beep, Tim had swiftly got the pie out and onto a place.
Once Tim was sitting down, the phone rang. It rang a few times and the answering machine picked up.
"Tim, are you there? ... It's all over the news... the El Alacrán, found in an empty warehouse, no bullet wounds or anything, where were you last night?"
Tim sighed, and picked up the phone. "Look, man, my pie's going cold, what do you want?" Tim said, with a voice of steel.
"I'm watching the news. Where were you last night?" the guy repeated, his voice low and concerned, "They'll know it was you. It's always you."
"I'm fine, okay? They can think what they want. They wouldn't know their arse from their armpit," Tim replied, crudely and hung up.
Bitterly, Tim warmed up the pie again. He liked it hot.

Chapter 2

The crack of gunshots fractured the still quiet of the night. Cat drew her coat more tightly around her body and quickened her step, this wasn’t a bad neighbourhood, but things were a bit crazy these days. She cursed her boss for sending her on this stupid errand when she should have been home an hour ago.

“Stupid old hag,” Cat muttered to herself as she turned down the street. “Why does she need those papers picked up at this hour, anyway?”

She soon reached destination, an old building that used to house the company Cat worked at until they moved several months ago. The building was rarely used these days. Occasionally someone would come by to collect documents or something in the storage out back, but otherwise it was unused. Despite this, the security system was kept strong, to keep out the gangs, they said.

Cat pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. She walked in and quickly deactivated the alarms when they started beeping at her.

“Right, third floor, room 22,” she said, as she set off. The place was starting to make her a little nervous. She’d been here plenty of times during the day, but at night, with nobody around, it was a different story. The stairs seemed to echo much more than usual, and the door to the office seemed to make an awfully loud noise as it slammed shut behind her. Cat turned on the light and surveyed the room. It was a typical office, largely empty bar some filing cabinets sitting forlorn in the corner, next to a window overlooking the warehouse floor, where the company had stored its merchandise before the move.

She walked over to the filing cabinet, pulling out the required documents. At least these were easy to find, she thought. The move had resulted in many lost documents. As she turned to go, something on the warehouse floor caught her eye, illuminated be the pool of light from the office window. She turned for a better look. And screamed.

“I don’t know what to make of it, chief. Eight men all armed with pistols, none with any bullet wounds.” The detective’s voice was tinged with confusion.

“Do we have a cause of death?” replied the chief.

“Not yet. Forensics wants to go over them before we send them to the coroner.”

“Of course. Keep me posted.” The chief look over the scene, thinking. He had seen many crime scenes before, but this one ranked near the top for perplexity. Seven men in uniform, each were carrying empty or partly empty silenced pistols, but none with any bullet wounds. And then there was the eighth man. He was lying apart from the others, and was dressed in a suit rather than a uniform. Bodyguards, then?

He walked up to a man crouched over the body. “What have you got, Andres? Do we know who he is?”

“I think I do. It’s him, Carlos. It’s El Alacrán.”

Chapter 1

Tim’s blood dripped into two drops on the grey cement. He smiled and licked the cut across his hand, relishing the salty taste that lingered on his tongue. He was standing in the centre of a warehouse that was virtually empty besides him and the seven bodies that littered the floor. A single man stood opposite him.
The man ejected the empty clip from his pistol and reloaded the chamber. He raised the gun, taking aim at Tim for the second time, but Tim spoke before the man could shoot.
“I know what you must be thinking.” Tim’s voice was monotone, a cold emptiness. “You’re wondering how it is I bleed?” he again ran his tongue along the cut on his hand. “To bleed means I must have a pulse. To have a pulse means I must have a heart. How can a monster have a heart, you ask? How can a monster bleed? I’ve wondered the same thing.”
Cold sweat dripped from the man’s wrinkled brow. “There is nothing to wonder.” he tried to snarl but his timidness outdid his ferocity. “You are a monster.”
Tim smiled again, cold and calculated. When he spoke again it was still in that empty monotone voice. “Of course I am a monster. But if I do not lack a heart then what is it that makes me one?”

“You kill in cold blood!” The man shouted without thinking, his gun lowering a fraction.
“Killing in cold blood makes you a monster?” Tim chuckled. “Then let me tell you a story about a little boy who grew up to be the largest crime lord in Columbia.”
“What?” The man stumbled back a few steps and his gun dropped to his side.
Tim continued as if the man had not spoken. “He was twelve years old when he first joined a gang. Fifteen when he first killed. He had pressed a gun to the temple of a miserable man unable to afford his sinful lifestyle. Killing, dealing in drugs and weapons, he rose through the ranks of the gang, eventually taking over the leadership. He installed his brother as mayor and became virtually untouchable. Rivals and threats were tortured and murdered; even his own son…” Tim let his voice trail off.
The man’s eyes were wide and terrified. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I don’t know.” Tim stepped forward leisurely. “What do you think is a suitable punishment for a monster?”