In the heart of a city plagued by a relentless and twisted serial killer, Police Officer Maxine McMenamin confronts the reality of a community shattered by fear. With each life lost, the once-vibrant Heights sinks deeper into darkness and despair. A...
"Yo, man. I got you some bad news," said M-C Gangs, Detective Hector Nieves. "This ain't black or brown, yo. It ain't street."
Nieves stood five-foot-six, most likely one hundred and eighty pounds. He was stocky, and his skin was very brown. His calf-length army trench coat covered ripped jeans but exposed enough of his wrists to see they were both full of ink. And his gold badge hung from his neck.
His old pair of worn-out Converse sneakers had duct tape around the left toes.
Obviously, he banged in his pre-cop days, or at least he made it look like he did. The tattoos on his neck and the side of his face were legit or done to look legit. Either way, he fits the role.
"I mean, they'd a just shot her in the face or the back of her head, then stole her wheels and shit, maybe a trophy to show for props in the hood."
My Uncle Mike stood beside him, strawberry blonde curls tousled by the breeze. His eyes darted towards his watch repeatedly, interrupted only by the occasional sniffle.
"We need to get this done quick before dipshit arrives," he said.
He was talking about Bongiovanni, whom he assigned to this case. But that was when it was just a few unrelated bodies. Uncle Mike's eyes twitched, and he kept rubbing his nose. There was something more bothering him.
"Anything else?" he asked Nieves.
"I don't know what you got going on in your sandbox," he said. "I mean, you hear things, you know? But this ain't my people, Captain. Ya'll got you a monster in your backyard."
"Shit." Uncle Mike jammed his fists into his coat pocket and shook his head. There was only one way we could stop the bloodshed on top of a serial killer, and Detective Nieves knew it.
"We gonna need to get out in front of this and control the narrative. I mean, Captain. It's time to admit the truth. Ya'al got you a serial killer running round. And if you don't out him, we gonna be picking up dead bangers for the next six weeks."
"Thanks, Hector," said Uncle Mike. As Nieves walked away, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his buzzing cell phone.
"Bueno," he said. "Yo, yo... They got they hands full, and so do we."
While his conversation faded into silence, my Uncle Mike's intense stare remained fixed on the body, prompting me to step back toward Maxine.
"I have to show you something," he said. His voice filled with a sense of urgency. He motioned for me to follow him, and together, we made our way to his SUV, leaving Max behind as a silent sentinel over the body.
As Detective Nieves revved the engine and drove the path on the shed's left side, the rocks and sand beneath his tires crunched and ground together.
As my uncle opened the rear driver's side door, a gust of wind brushed against his face. He reached for his satchel, his fingers brushing against the remnants of his last 7-11 visits - crumpled deli wrappers and empty iced tea bottles. As he rummaged through the satchel, I stole a quick glance at Maxine, her eyes filled with curiosity.
I hope you're ready for this. It's going to get terrible.
He emerged, gripping his department-issue pixel tablet tightly in his hand. As he powered it on, a bright light emanated from the device as I stepped closer. He left the car running, which was good because the heat was blaring and the temperature was dropping.
"Here we go," he said. Finalizing his bio-data check, he opened a file, and the screen lit up with the tourist map of the Heights with the HPD letterhead logo. Since we didn't have an official street map, we had to rely on this pathetically drawn Welcome to The Heights piece of shit to guide us. We removed as much stupidity as possible, but this was the reference point for all boots. "Let me just update this," he said, fingers flying across the keyboard.
His pointer finger glided across the screen, tapping it five times before sharing it with me again.
"You shouldn't see this, but I don't care. You're smarter and have better street sense than half my detectives."
He handed me the tablet, and my eyes widened in disbelief, seeing what was on the screen.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
3
"Do you think he's organized?" I asked. Of course, my biggest question was the location of the bodies during the kill as opposed to their dump location.
Casey DeLorre was last seen at the Fighting 88 Baseball fields drinking with her friends at night. As I looked at the map, my eyes traced the intricate lines my uncle had drawn leading to the find-locations. I couldn't help but wonder where we would finally discover Jasmine Barrere.
"Uncle Mike, are there any signs of restraint? I mean, does he sneak up on his victims and stab them straight away?"
He compressed his lips and then began sucking on his teeth. After taking the tablet back, he shook his head as if to tell me he didn't know.
Just then, the sound of another unmarked vehicle crushing the ground beneath it drove down the pathway on the left side of the shed. It was Bongiovannis RMP.
"Oh Christ," he said. "You better go back with your boot, so I don't have to hear his crybaby shit about you and Keegan and our coddling of the two of you."
"Uncle Mike," I said. I grabbed his arm and held it for a quick second. "X-4? Is that what we're calling him?"
