Baghetti Jones: Juarez Jones

Reconnaissance

As Jones had his morning coffee at the diner, he began to formulate his new plan of attack for the case. Jones figured that he should start the case out like he would his other cases; he would contact his buddies on the police force to see if they have any leads or intel. Camila said she didn't have much luck with the police, but Jones and the police had cooperated for a good while, so maybe he would have more luck. Jones sipped up the rest of his coffee, and left his usual $1.50 plus a $5 tip on the table. He smiled at the waitress and headed out the door. 

Jones arrived at the police station and headed inside. The receptionist smiled warmly at Jones.

"Good morning, dear. Is Officer Johnson in?" Jones smiled slightly. He and the receptionist had a long history together.

"Corporal Johnson is, yes."

"Promoted! Haha, good for him." Jones chuckled heartily.

"Right through there." She said, smiling. Jones tipped his had ever so slightly at her, as he walked past her, into the sea of desks and computers. He loved the buzz this place had. Some desks had police officers interviewing people. Some in cuffs, some on their own accord. 

"Jones! What can I do for you, you ol' bastard?" A gruff, but friendly voice approached him.

"Kurt! When were you gonna tell me you were corporal?" Jones said, firmly shaking Corporal Johnson's hand.

"Hm? Oh, these little thing?" Johnson said, smiling and jokingly facing his chevrons towards Jones.

The two had been friends for a while. It started as simple obligations as justice bringers, but the two quickly found that they work superbly together. Johnson had tried everything he could to get Jones working for them, but he knew that Jones loved to play by his own rules. 

"C'mon! Let's get you situated." Johnson said, firmly patting Jones' back. The two men walked over to an office, and Jones shut the door. 

"I thought you were going to retire? When's that gonna happen?" Johnson asked.

"Yesterday. But I was brought a case I couldn't refuse. That's why I'm here."

"Ah, I see. Naturally. What can I do for you?"

"Does the name Juarez ring a bell?"

Johnson's smile quickly faded, and he looked over Jones' shoulder for a second.

"I can't help you, Jones."

Jones' heart rate started to go up. So it was true. The police may be of no help.

"So you do know something."

"I wish I didn't. These are dangerous people, pal."

"Sometimes I prefer them dangerous."

"Not like this, man. My hands are tied on this one. You won't have much luck from anyone else either."

"So you know absolutely nothing about the Juarez case?"

"Look, all I can say... Drop the case. Don't dig any further. If you value your life, Jones, and I know you do, you'll stop looking around."

"Thank you for your time, Corporal." Jones nodded, in a bit of a defeated manner.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help..." Johnson didn't make eye contact with Jones.

The two shook hands, and Jones headed out of his office. On his way out, Jones noticed something odd about the metal trashcan by the door. He saw tiny flecks, that seemed almost like tiny ashes. There were slight scorch marks near the bottom of it. It had been emptied out recently, and perhaps something was burned in it. They have a shredder, though. Why burn something? You only burn something you want off the record; when you don't want a trace of something existing. Interesting.

Not having any leads or information from the police, Jones decided to continue with the case despite the warnings from both the police and Camila's family's captors. Jones figured he would wait until nightfall to begin collecting some of his own clues. 

When the police won't help with a case, you have to take matters into your own hands.

It was about 10 o' clock at night when Jones decided to head out. He packed his essential reconnaissance gear in the car, and of course, he kept his revolver on him; fully loaded. As Jones drove over, there were less and less lights from the city. Houses began showing up far and few between one another. This was on the edge of the city, this hideout seems to have been in the middle of nowhere. Jones flipped off his headlights, and began following the map that Camila had drawn for him. He drove slowly as to not make too much noise. Eventually he was on a dirt road. There was nothing but desert foliage around. Joshua trees, aloe plants, and plenty of dead grass. He parked a bit behind a hill, where he saw a decent sized shack or shed in the distance. There was a light on in it. He took out his binoculars and began making observations.

It had been a couple hours. Jones remained diligent and focused despite the slight lack of activity. People had began entering the shack, an oddly large amount of people for the size of the shack. Jones was sure that Camila's family hadn't entered. Maybe they were already inside?

Suddenly people started piling out of the shack. They were all... naked. And they appeared to be wearing white paint, with various markings on their faces. The strange people threw together a bonfire, and some of them began letting out bloodcurdling screams. Jones thought the volume and sound of it was almost inhuman... He scanned the small crowd again, searching for anyone who resembled the two missing people. No luck. They began circling around the fire. Jones wouldn't call it dancing, but their bodies moved in rigid ways; ways that seemed unnatural and distorted.

One more member exited the shack. He carried a large dog out in front of the fire. He slit it's throat, letting it's blood spill out. The members began smearing it's blood on their bodies.

Jones was repulsed, he almost felt like throwing up.

What the hell is going on??

The chanting and screaming got louder and louder, it sounded almost like they were right next to him.

How have these freaks not been arrested yet?!

Jones took out his high-powered camera, and began snapping photos for evidence. The photos were strange indeed. Just looking at them made him shiver. Fearing for his own safety, Jones got back in his car, and hurried off back into the night.