The problem with summons, is that time was of the essence, you could not be a minute late for you would end up offending your summoner, meaning that you would fall off favour with the person, thus you had to program your day around it. Mortis had done such, that is why a night he expected to sleep until late turned into four hours after finishing his self imposed homework, now he had to be early on his feet to research this new issue threatening Nashville, the city he had claimed as his territory.
Cicero yawned as he trotted behind his master, loyal and tired, shooting accusatory gazes at his master, which the master ignored.
Currently his early shift was primarily because Mortis was in need of the services of a particular man, an old garbage collector, an affable man of age with a physiology younger men would envy, and a personality that was not mellow by origin, as testified by the many scars covering the man's battle tested face and hands, but born from a spiritual awakening, an honest desire to be a better person. This old man was once a soldier, once a homeless man, now he who knew every nook and cranny of the back alleys of the city, a man that dedicated his time to hang around his old pals, some times early, some times spending the night. People called him Captain or Cap, as his rank pulled at the Gulf War, and the name stuck. No one knew where Cap lived, or if he had a residence at all, but everyone that was down on his luck had seen the man, many times with a warm meal, a patient ear, and sound advice. This morning Mortis was in need of Captain's services to go to places he would not usually be welcomed in by the local homeless, and find things that the homeless would see, and the police would not pay mind to.
The Detective paid for many a coffee and doughnuts to find his man, a meagre price for information, and it made the homeless like him. The sight of Mortis was a friendly sight, and made Captain all the happier to help him.
"Just a little bit further Detective, I think. Is so easy to get lost in this alleyway" Cap spoke with a raspy voice that healthy vocal chords would never produce voluntarily. Rumour had it that h Cap had his throat damaged during the war and this was his voice for the last thirty years. "The place has not been the same ever since the murder, no one wants to set foot over there, too afraid, and the police left a big mess."
"Better for me then, less people to deal with. You sure the place has been left empty?" asked Mortis.
"Positively! This area is in the hand of local homeless and they have kept out of the area out of fear and respect. Outsiders should not know about this place, and local mobsters give them their space" explained Cap.
It took two twists and a turn around to finally nail the place, hidden alleyway between major buildings left untouched by property owners and business services, a relic of an older city that the homeless had turned into their safest refuge, up until a week or so ago. The yellow tape and chalk outlines remained as a reminder of the tragedy that had occur.
Mortis stared down the alleyway, he could feel the fear still lingering there, his eyes hard but not cold, emotion subdued, not missing.
"Usually most elderly homeless people come here during cold season, but since it has yet to get really cold people were slow to gather, that's why victims where so few" explained Cap as he removed a newsboy cap he wore, revealing a scarred dome underneath, scars of mixing sizes and shapes that implied the history of a man that saw and suffered far more than he could tell in a lifetime.
Mortis took a look around, the sight was, gruesome, the whole place had been trashed, improvised tents and sleeping corners smashed, nothing left standing. A preliminary examination yielded interesting results.
"Three victims?" inquired Mortis.
"Yes, Roberta, Vic, and Marlo. Some senior guys; Vic just couldn't keep his mind straight, Roberta had gone down after the death of her son, and Marlo was just an old and harmless drunk. Poor people that deserved better. I tell ya, it makes my blood boil" Cap's words were coated with old rage, a primal anger now in service to his master.
"The Police outlines suggest two victims were taken in the middle, but no outline for the other one. Killed in their tents maybe?"
"Some police guy said they found Marlo in the middle. They think Vic tried to run for it. Roberta's body was found in her tent holding a knife. I knew she kept it to feel safe, it appears she tried to defend herself but it did not work out for her. Poor thing" lamented the retired soldier.
Using a pair of gloves Mortis examined the evidence still left on the scene, the broken encampment still could tell a story to those with a sharp mind, and more to those who knew what they where looking for. Mortis inspected the cuts and stomps and noticed something.
"He destroyed the encampment on porpoise."
"Say what?"
"Look at this" Mortis pointed Cap to a messy area of the camp. "Here, there is localized destruction, probably where he struggled with someone".
"The Police told me Roberta may have tried to fight against the killer, she could have had hurt him" pointed Cap.
"Blood is hard to remove form clothes, there may be a clue after all. I need to ask John for that" reasoned Mortis.
"Then why do you think the rest of the camp was destroyed on porpoise?"
Mortis lifted some of the debris as he examined it. "Based on the attack, the pattern, I assume he was looking for any other person, anyone hiding in tents or among piles of rags" Mortis squinted, there appeared to be various lacerations among rags, cardboard, and wood, the size of a nail all the way to the size of a needle. "Weird."
"Many of the homeless are furious. You think you could find the bastard who did this?" inquired the retired soldier.
"In time I will. I do not like things like this loose in my streets" said Mortis as he incorporated and went for the main attraction, a large cut on the back wall, deep and straight, a cut attempt that missed, most probably because the victim slipped under the rubble, it fascinated and worried Mortis.
"This is a powerful cut, the blade is not that sharp, but still, whoever did this must have been strong" Mortis inspected the gash, clean almost, as the detective caressed his fingers through the deep cut he sensed something, a metal shiv he nearly impaled his finger on if he had not been careful. With precision Mortis pulled out the small metal splinter, less than a small needle, quite rusted.
"What is it?" asked Captain.
"With any luck a piece of our murder weapon" said Mortis as he admired the piece of metal, it was old and rusted, and yet in the small piece he could feel something, am energy faint and old, like an old groove left behind long ago, feeling of darkness, of malice. With a swift whistle he called Cicero, the dog walked to his master, and without words he understood what to do when the open palm containing the metal piece was offered.
"You think the dog will be able to track the killer after so long?" asked Captain.
"He will know the scent, if he picks the scent somewhere else he will know" pointed Mortis.
"Some homeless folk have told me they want to pay you for getting the guy, been looking to collect a lot of money for you" stated Cap.
Mortis was going to wave the offer away when he felt the people coming in. You did not need to be a trained combatant or a mystical being to get that someone with not very savoury intentions had arrived to the small alleyway, they walked with the swagger of people wanting to be trouble, and came out as corny and predictable as an outdated PSA.
"Hey mans, what chu doing here" the words came as a travesty of the English language.
Mortis and Captain took a good look at the men at the end of the alleyway, a trio of stereotypes so stereotypical it made for a hate crime just by them standing there and acting the way they acted. Three guys of Mexican or Central American descent dressed in jeans and shirts, one guy with a knife and a look of someone about to go unhinged if you dared make him feel wrong, the other one a newbie in his late teens, maybe early twenties, with a baby moustache and a cliché attempt to look bad, and a leader barely above drinking age with a cigarette in one hand and the other close to the part of his waist where he was, not so subtly, concealing a gun.
"What appears to be the problem gentlemen?" asked Mortis ready to take action against the trio of losers.
"Chu are in our alley man, that's the problem!" said the more unhinged of the three, playing with the knife as if it made him look dangerous.
"This is a homeless encampment" pointed Mortis.
"Yeah, is us now!" shouted the youngest of the three, his voice squeaked in a high pitch, causing the young man to blush in shame.
The leader stepped forward, and after a long puff he took the cigarette of and said "Our people are taking over this place, so gives your stuff and leave before this gets ugly" the last word a code for the other two to get ready to pounce on prey that was far too dangerous for them.
Mortis asked Captain "What is this about?"
Captain scratched his bald head as he recalled fresh memories: "I have heard from some of the homeless that are being shaken by young gangs from people from across the border".
Mortis turned to the leader of this excuse of a gang and asked "Which gang are you working for?"
"We are the Cinco Zetas gringo!" said the unhinged guy frowning in anger.
"Yeah! And we run this cayes!" added the younger guy with a squeaky voice, trying hard to sound Latino.
Mortis turned to Cap again, with really annoyed the wannabe gang. "Ever heard of those losers?"
"Nope" replied Captain, not a bit afraid.
"Then they must be a small gang, probably idiots trying to carve a territory before they get killed by bigger fish. The Mafia is not going to like it" said Mortis as he put the small piece of evidence on a clear plastic bag and pocketed it.
The word Mafia had an effect on the younger of the three gang members.
"Careful Paco, they are with the Mafia, italianos" said the younger gang member with knowledge most probably taken from Movies and TV.
"I don't care Tito! You and Loco go get them!" ordered the leader of the trio.
"Dibs on the pretty boy!" shouted Loco as he advanced towards Mortis trying to look and act an bizarre as possible without being truly crazy, classic intimidation tactic Mortis would never fall for. Tito went for Cap with a switch-blade, which he used to attempt to threaten the former soldier.
"Give me your wallet" ordered Tito with the ferocity of chihuahua. Captain adjusted his cap back on his dome and rolled up his sleeves.
"You sure you want to do this boy?" said the old soldier as his gaze grew cold and dangerous, Tito hesitated as the eyes of the veteran spoke with a stillness no words could match.
Loco smirked as he taunted his fellow gang member: "He is just posing man, chu thing this Grin…"
The strike was silent, swift, and so powerful it cracked the brick wall. Before Loco could finish his sentence Mortis had unleashed a devastating roundhouse kick that connected with the face of Loco and smashed the man's visage against the wall with astonishing strength. When the sound of a head connecting with bricks subsided it was followed by a trickle of teeth and a man out of commission hitting a broken tent. Tito did not fare much better, as the scene of Loco's defeat made him look away long enough for Captain to grab the hand that held the knife, after that the retired soldier unleashed five punches towards the young man's face, they all found their target, and when Cap let the hand go Tito collapsed with his face puffed like a man with a peanut allergy and teeth spewing from the small gap left for the mouth. Predictably Paco panicked and went for his gun, Mortis whistled an instruction and like a trained killing machine Cicero went for the hand with the gun and bit it with the strength and tenacity of a ferocious crocodile. Paco screamed and begged as the dog's jaw cracked his wrist bones and pulled the man away from his gun as if Paco was a rag-doll. Paco's desperate screams only ended when Mortis swiftly kicked the man in the temple, knocking him out for good.
"That was annoying" commented Mortis as he adjusted his trench-coat.
"They must be trying to claim this corner for hiding their stash or something like that. Things have been getting dicey lately" stated Cap.
Mortis checked his watch, 9 am it was still relatively early, he may have time to deal with this fools properly before handing them to the authorities for protection.
"I may need to ask this guys some questions, would you mind keeping an eye out? I'll compensate you properly" promised Mortis.
"Sure, but make it quick, we should not stay here too long" warned Cap.
Mortis nodded "Cicero, fetch the gun" ordered the Detective as he prepared to bring one of his assailants to the realm of the conscious. Cicero obeyed the order, and as the dog reached for the gun something distracted him, a scent familiar yet not coming from the alleyway but away from it, faint.
"Woof! Woof!" The loud and heavy bark caught the attention of Captain and Cicero.
"What is it boy?"
With his master's attention seized Cicero began a furiously sniffing, he trailed the faint scent as Mortis and Cap followed, making sure that all weapons from their assailants were accounted for first. Cicero darted around the corner to a trash container, large and isolated from main routes. There the dog found the end of the trail and barked loudly.
"Woof! Woof!"
"Dog found something?" asked Cap.
"Hope so" said Mortis as he opened the container to find a lone corpse being the banquet of roaches.
"My God!" exclaimed Captain.
"Fascinating" stated Mortis.
Mortis jumped into the container with an agility way above your trained athlete, and went to examine the corpse. As Mortis first suspected it was a homeless man, and elder homeless man, above retirement age, with a trimmed beard and an expression of pain in his face as he contorted over a point on his flank, following the tale of twisting Mortis found a single stab wound on the flank of the victim, predictably absent of all blood. The body showed clear signs of putrefaction, it had began to rot away, nibbled by roaches and mice, but delayed by the drain of blood from his system and the dry days the city had experienced this season.
Captain look from the side of the dumpster, and recognized the man instantly.
"Dear Lord, that is Simon!"
"A local homeless I assume."
"No one had seen him in a week. People thought he had died somewhere near the park he uses to camp regularly. I had checked the morgues for him, but since there was no match I though he had wandered away from town" explained Cap.
"He was a local wino?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
Mortis picked a small empty bottle near the victim, it was open, and partially spilled.
"Was he one of the guys coming to sleep at the hidden alley?" asked Mortis.
"Yeah, he had been a regular for a couple of years, really quiet guy, drinks, begs, sleeps, not much above that. Once he worked a descent job, but got hooked to alcohol and it was all down from there. Poor Soul, may he find in death the peace he could not achieve in life" prayed Captain with a sign of the cross.
"Now, the question is, why did the killer drop this guy into the dump?" asked Mortis as he stood up.
"Maybe trying to dispose of the body?" guessed the veteran soldier.
Mortis shock his head. "Does not fit the MO so far, and is clear it is this new menace, not a drop of blood. Then again, how could the victim have the whiskey bottle on his person when he was being stabbed?" pondered the Detective, then he noticed something, a cut on the homeless hand, cutting the glove on the hand, and even the hand hand a cut. "Interesting…" through his concentration something pierced his though process, in this case a drop of light coming onto the shade of the, a drop that appeared and disappeared. Following the blinking Mortis found his answer, a small hole on the side of the dumpster, a hole in a diamond-like shape that let in light when not being obstructed by The Captain's body.
"Check this out" announced Mortis. Captain joined the Detective in his endeavour not sure what he was looking at.
"A hole?"
Mortis moved the victim's body, sat it down, the hole aligned with the wound itself.
"A perfect match" noticed Mortis.
"Meaning?" asked Captain, seeking meaning to the strange scene.
"Meaning that the weapon and the way to drain blood may be one and the very same" stated Mortis