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.”