Under the early morning dawn, McKenzey pulled into the Roosevelt Inn parking lot, and found the boys-in-blue, milling about investigating a crime scene. He parked his car and jumped out. He flashed his badge to a young corporal, that guarded the crime scene before being waved in.
“So, besides my name being smeared in blood on the mirror, what do we have?” McKenzey asked the scene lieutenant.
Lieutenant Wong was a 13-year veteran, with his hair parted down the middle and he weighed in at 120-pounds. He would have made a lovely jockey.
“We have your star witness in a very compromising situation,” Lt. Wong said, as they walked toward the room. “Brent Gower has been the canvas of an artistic buffoon. The techs are looking for prints and hair fibers. Video feed from the front desk was taken by the killers. The maid found him and is in the office hysterical. Second body she’s found this morning. She went to the dumpster to hurl and found a woman inside dead with a single gun shot to the head.”
“What was done to him?” McKenzey asked, eagerly walking to the room. He wanted the luxury of laughing inside at what was done to the simpleton. He wished that he had done BG in himself. He’d have too take his frustrations out on the Bezel brothers.
“It’s a glimpse of a twisted predator that the guys in Quantico would adore to interview for behavioral science text books. This crime is like a grain of sand on the beach, very original, and just out right obnoxious.”
“That damn smell is horrific.”
“That’s your guy’s new body fragrance,” Lt. Wong said, as they entered the room. He showed McKenzey the body and said, “The razor-like cuts on his arms appear to be done with a whiz-wheel that was purposefully left behind, I’m sure. It’s bagged and tagged.”
“You mean the high-speed cutter used to cut through car metal. You got to be fucking kidding me?”
“That’s nothing. Check this out,” Lt. Wong said and pointed to one of the cuts. “This one was re-closed with a propane torch. Also B&T. The pliers found to crush his testicles, too. And I assume the whiz-wheel removed his penis before it was implanted into his eye socket. That’s just conjecture, don’t quote me on that.”
“This shit is sick. Don’t believe it.”
“How will this affect your case?” Wong asked icily. “He was your star witness against the Bezel’s right? I heard that from a reporter over there.”
McKenzey walked up to the camera man and snatched the recorder from the photographer and slammed it on the asphalt. “I’m sorry, but this story cannot be put on the air waves.”
The aquiline, jovial reported lost it. “Why the hell not? This has aired live already. It’s news and I deal in the business of airing news, Agent McKenzey.”
“You just ruined my two-year investigation of a notorious crime family,” McKenzey said, ignoring the fact, the reporter knew his name.
“D-E-A Agent Lu-cas Mc-Kenzey, what a character you are. I know all about your investigation, and I hardly call the Bezels notorious. I do know that for the sake of taking down two boys, neither of them 25-years-old, you’ve had a lengthy number of murders happen under your watch, including this one here. All to build a racketeering case and possibly get a Colombian, which you don’t have one solid piece of evidence on, and you had the poor Brent Gower prepped to lie in order to get a conviction. This criminal system is so twisted. It allows all of these murders and kids to be abandoned to drug addicted mothers, while you wait to get the bigger fish, instead of getting dealers off the street ASAP.”
“Enough of this,” McKenzey said, and replayed all of the dead bodies in his mind. They started with Snobli, the Councilman, and now Brent “BG” Gower. He stormed from the scene and hopped in his car, as his cell phone rang. He pressed the TALK button and said, “Turner did you get them.”
“Naw, we got Turner mutha fucka! You’re next,” the caller said, and hung up.