The Whorehunter (Prologue short story for RIDE novels)

Chapter 1: Cats and Labrats

"What the bloody hell you think you're doing?" homicide detective Jason Alesso Deguara shouted as he pushed away one of the investigators from his place at the crime scene. "You're ruining all the evidence!"

"Erm, excuse me, sir, but..." the investigator stammered without knowing that he made a fatal mistake. The detective grabbed him, lifted him up and pulled him close to his face.

"Have you seen any medals of honor on me? Am I wearing any fucking kind of armor? No, so don't call me a Sir."

"Then Mr Deg..."

"Only when I'll be ninety-nine years old, wrinkly, with my hands shaking – only then you can call me that."

"Detective, let me explain..."

Deguara dropped the man to the ground, released a sigh and clapped his hands as loud as the silicone gloves let him.

"Alright, everybody, listen to me, because I'm going to tell it only ONCE. As my tutor Major Reach said, the investigation crew on a crime scene has to run like clockwork. Like a crew of cooks in a fine dining restaurant in full-time, where the chef is like a god. He's right in everything and everyone does what he says. But I can tell this even more simply so you can pick it up with your rusty brains. We are in a lab and I'm the scientist's cat. And you are the lab rats. The cat usually doesn't hunt rats but if a rat is trying to escape or isn't doing what it has to, it can be easily eaten up. More simply, I say that you will be eaten up. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the crowd said.

"And one more thing," Deguara whispered as sharply as a scythe. "Never ever call me sir again. I expect you to call me Chef, Crime Chief, Boss or Master. Now back to work, assholes."

"Yes Chef," everybody grunted. Jason returned to the investigator on the floor.

"So my dear colleague," he said with irony in his voice, "What did you say?"

"I just said that what I've done is the official method of collecting evidences, Chief..."

Deguara looked at the investigator through his glasses.

"So you think evidence is only what you see with your little eyes so you can sit or walk anywhere you want on a bloody crime scene?"

"No, Chief, but..."

Deguara shouted to the head of the investigation crew.

"Incorvaja!"

A girl with long brown curly hair walked to him.

"Give me a goddamn Luminol."

The girl gave a small torch-like device to the detective.

"Move your butt away," he grunted to the complaining investigator. Deguara pointed with the device to the place where his colleague previously stood. He turned the Luminol on with a silent click. The area on the floor he pointed at turned to a bitter purple mixed with white lines, points, and all shaped dirt dust and semen. "Well," he said, "What do you see?"

"A fingerprint," the man said.

"And what kind of fingerprint?"

"A partial fingerprint."

"And why is it only partial? Because you ruined it, you fatass pig!" He grabbed the analyst, lifted him up, brought him to the window and hanged him out. "I HATE," he yelled, "I hate people who distract me from my work! GET OUT OF MY SCENE!" He released the man who fell to the ground. The air was filled with his scream. Deguara looked around. "This is an example to everyone. Now go and clean him up, I don't want him to die under my command.  In the meantime, I'll collect the evidence you destroyed. Go and let me do my job. Bullybuster Baley won't arrest himself."