Discerning Retribution

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A/N: This is quite a long chapter since there's a need to explain the story's setting and background; the others will be shorter. :)

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The Smell of Blood and Coffee

THERE WAS A SPRING IN HER STEP as Reagan Miranda walked the short distance from her car to the entrance of one of the most prestigious clubs in the northern part of the capital. Yellow, crime scene tape secured an area about a meter from the double, swing doors where a man in uniform stood guard.

It was the middle of February, and the air that tousled her long, dark hair into an unmanageable mess was the coldest it had been that year. Temperature had dropped steadily in the past weeks and a light fog still covered the city like a bride's veil that early in the morning; she was glad she'd worn one of her heavier jackets.

Reagan wrapped her arms around her torso as she took the last few steps towards the police officer. She beamed at him when she saw his gaze land on her. The sun reflecting on her slightly protruding eyes gave it a sort of cheerful glint.

"Good morning, officer!" She greeted a little too loud, enthusiasm coating every word.

There wasn't anything in particular to be happy about, especially since the first case she was handed with involved a dead body, but there seemed to be no helping her natural optimism and cheerfulness from showing.

She showed the man her badge, sweeping part of her jacket that obscured it on her hip to the side.

The older man merely grunted, his thumbs tucked in the belt loops of his navy blue slacks. He stood straighter as he stepped aside to grant her access, making his pot belly strain against the material of his buttoned up uniform shirt. Though the man appeared to be lacking clocked hours in the gym, his expression showed dedication to however menial job he was given.

Reagan stepped into the dimly lit entryway of the club, feeling the same tinge of pride she had felt when she got the official documents concerning her promotion as detective in the central homicide department in the heart of the capital. Granted the department was fairly new, she still felt honored to have been chosen as representative of her local station.

To be part of the law enforcement system in itself had been a feat to celebrate. Passing the national police examination had not been as easy as it was before, not since the Office of the President had passed hands.

Everybody knew the police and all the other defense forces had come a long way in the past five years since the current president won the elections in 2016. It had been one hell of a mess when he started chopping heads first year into office - a cutthroat way to eradicate corruption and indolence plaguing the departments - but anyone with a good eye could see his ironclad ways had certainly paid off. The ranks were washed clean of the dirt and grime of the people that had ruled them and the complete joke of a law enforcement system was turned into something the citizens could be proud of.

A younger officer passed Reagan a pair of latex gloves and a face mask when he saw her, and she smiled at him, muttering her gratitude.

The air smelled a mixture of dried vomit, sweat, perfume, liquor, and bit of bonfire, making her crinkle her nose in discomfort. Obviously, the place had not been aired out by the responding team and there was no sound of any working ventilation as far as she could hear.

She turned to the younger officer dressed in the trademark navy blue uniform of the local police as she fitted the gloves over her hands. "Where's the body?" She asked kindly.

"In the ladies, near the back, Detective." He responded. "I'll escort you."

"Thanks." She said with another smile. She hooked the mask on her ears but pulled it to rest under her chin instead of her mouth.