Midnight Somewhere

(This is a detective story and a some what dark one at that. it contains several somewhat vivid descriptions of crimes. If this is not your type of story...well...I gave a warning.)

The soft tap of my cigarette on my lighter is a comfort. A Zen like feeling settles around my as the familiar sound puts me at ease.

Even more so the softer crinkle sound following the click as the paper catches.

The hot burn,the soft breath,the full feeling. All are so long a part of my life they settle my beating heart to a more even pace. Pulling the cigarette away from my mouth I take a deep breath of the cold air and look down at the metal table.

"I really wish you wouldn't smoke in here,"she says.

I lift my hand and I pull a long deep breath in filling myself with the thick taste. I let it sit and focus my thoughts, then only a small wisp of it comes back out.

"I smoke or I throw up. It your choice, but I would go with the smoke," I say.

"You could at least smoke Marlboro of something like that. Those things stink,"she says with a sigh.

I hear a second sigh and then a sound of metal on metal. I look down at the small metal bowl she often puts out for my ashes. I smile a bit as I let the gray powder drop to the floor.

"Stop trying to be an ass, John." All humor is gone from her voice.

Wiping the grin from my face I give her a nod.

My eyes go back to the draped table. It's too small. The bloody object under the cloth.

"It's not a child." I hear her tell me as she moves to the other side.

I let a little sigh out with the smoke.

She pulls back the little covering and I look for only a few seconds at the bloody furry mess. My eyes are cold when I look up.

"I don't like jokes like this, Princess. You know that." I start to turn and walk away.

"I know...that's why this isn't one,"she says.

I stop in half turn.

"It's human?" I ask unable to stomach the thought. I swallow down the bile and take another long drag. I drop the ash into the bowl as I turn back to the table and look down again. "No way. We're not this furry."

I try to not focus as she takes a pair of clamps and peals some of the fur back. The pale greenish skin is decidedly human. Dead human anyway.

"The fur is synthetic. Most likely off an old fur coat."

I swallow down the taste of acid. I know better than to eat breakfast before coming here but now my stomach is letting me know dinner was a bad idea as well.

I look back at what I had at first thought to be maybe a dead dog or large possum. The black fur clinging with it coat of dried brown looks animal.

"Road crew saw this." She turns the...body....a bit and a patch of colors appear.

"A tattoo?"

"To be specific a rose." She hands me a close up photo. The color work is good. The line work very tight. No hack jobs this is high-end shop work.

I feel the rush as my mind pops the clutch and drops into a higher gear. Thoughts like road reflectors start to flash past.

Check shops? NO. It's too close to a flash design. Check ink type, maybe exotic origin? No. Looks too crisp. It's high end.

I look up and see a smile on her face. She has more to tell me but enjoys drawing it out to make me think.

She knows me well. Intimately well.

Same as I know her.

Leia Morgain, medical examiner. Age thirty-five, she claims twenty-seven. Passing resemblance to Carrie Fisher. Between that and the name she hates being called Princess, so I do it often. Probably my only true friend in the world that doesn't want anything in return for that friendship. Lover for more than five years, sex fiend in bed, loves to have her toes...

I give my brain a solid kick to make it stop processing things. I focus on her smiling face.

"Know anything yet?" I ask.

"A bit." She picks up a clipboard and starts to hand it to me then eyes the cigarette. I mash it out after taking the last draw.

The report is filled with little details. The type of glue used to attach the fake fur to the body part. The possible time of death. The sex of the victim. Female. Seminal fluid on the...

"There was semen present on the body?" I ask.

She gives me a slow nod.

"Has SVU been give the case?" I ask hoping I'm wrong.

She nods again.

Fuck.

I don't work well with those pricks. They jump to conclusions too quickly for my tastes. Homicide and vice...not so much.

"Any match for the semen yet?" I ask.

She gives her head a shake.

"You gone mute?"

She nods and looks over my shoulder.

I turn to see the Captain standing in the doorway behind me.

"I didn't call you in on this one, Taline. In fact I resent the hell out of your being here."

I pull the metal case from my pocket and flipping it open I pull out my second Egyptian cigarette out of the case. I tap it on my lighter and light it before even giving him an acknowledgment of his presence.

"You resenting me is nothing new." I take a long drag and blow smoke in his direction. It's cliche but I still love to do it to assholes like him.

"Just because the Mayor thinks you're the fucking Second Coming doesn't make you God. There is no smoking in any building in this city and you know it. Put it out before I have you arrested."

"Feel free. Been arrested before, I know the routine probably better than most. I still, even in this modern world, get one call. I know who that will be to and so do you." I hang the threat of the Mayor over his head like the sword of Damocles.

He looks past me to Leia.

"Ms. Morgain I would have like to have seen that file before a civilian got access to it. He works here maybe three times a year; I'm here every day. How about you 'Work' on your priorities," he says holding out his hand.

Without a word she hands him the clipboard.

I watch him take it in. I love being around detectives. Probably why I do what I do. I love to see the wheels start to turn. The gears, full of clotted grease, easing into the familiar pathways. The tires, worn till they are as balding as he is, dropping into the ruts they have worn smooth so may times before.

He already is dismissing it as a simple sex crime. Pervert with a bit more imagination about how to dispose of a body than most but just a sex crime.

I give Leia a look then go back to looking at the body. Well body part would be closer. Left arm, upper arm to elbow, part of shoulder, maybe a bit of her left chest. My eyes move like striking vipers from one detail to the next storing them away in the massive filing cabinet that is my back brain.

"Crudely severed." I hear beside me. I glance at the Captain standing next to me.

"Only on the lower part where the elbow joint was. The upper cut was done with something much sharper." I can almost hear the click in my head. "The humerus was broken not saw through right?"

"That's correct," says Leia pulling a large photo out of an envelope and pulling onto the table next to the body. "Ragged break, at the Humeral Medial Epicondyle. Signs of blunt force trauma around the break. Off hand I would say an axe or large cleaver."

I look at the picture and my arm aches in sympathy.

"It was sloppy. The killer was in a hurry. Needed to dismember the body quickly." I hear the Captain's words but they roll past me when I know they are wrong.

"No. Doesn't match. Clean here...rough here. This was done for the sake of being brutal. The victim was alive when her arm was severed."

I take a short draw on the cigarette feeling the flavors of Egypt fill my mouth. The spices, the smells. The taste of the forbidden fruits under their veils of black. My mind drifts for a half second back to a darker time. Then I refocus with a bitter lack of new thoughts.

"I would like a copy of the tattoo. As close up as you can give me. I need one that will show details. It's a simple design but some artists give their works a signature. A kind of mistake that not a mistake. I'll make a few stops on my way for lunch. Italian sound good?" I ask the Captain looking up at him.

His eyes snap up off the piece of once human even as a greenish pallor makes him twitch his lips. He takes a breath and looks over to Leia.

"Give him what he wants."

I watch the man's back as he disappears out the door.

Old cop, street cop at that. Made desk because of tenure not desire. Seen too much, been in the middle of too much. Worn down. Knows I get results but dislikes that I do when his people don't. Would be a nice guy to go drink a beer with.

I kick my brain back out of gear and turn to see Leia watching me.

"So what all do you want?" she asks.

I smile.

"A copy of the file, a close up of the photo of the tattoo. A cup of coffee and a blowjob." I grin as her eyes widen.

She looks to the gurney and pulls back the sheet.

"I haven't determined age of the victim yet. Such language, not in front of the children please." The look she gives me tells me she's been having a long day.

Her comment is like ice water.

"Just the coffee then," I say.

She looks over towards her office and I see the black pot sitting on it's warmer.

"Your copy is in there. I'll have the photo of the tat you want before your coffee's cold. No smoking in my office."

I nod and stub out the last puff in the little metal bowl.

The coffee is bitter and smooth at the same time. I can taste the chicory. A true daughter of the Big Easy, Leia take her coffee home style. I add a bit of cream from the small cooler under the pot. I try not to look at the plastic cases next to the carton. I've had some bad surprises doing that in the past.

Real cream, real sugar, expensive coffee. I could get use to this.

I should know, I have before.

Opening my copy of the file I all but feel the gears switch again. I love the feeling, which is a good thing, since I can't really control it. It started after a severe accident when I was a child, I cracked my skull open in a fall. I focus was what the school councilor had told my mother. About a year after the accident and the surgeries he had called her in. I had only been back to school for a month or so. I could die in a house fire if I was reading a good enough book was what he told her. I would never notice the house was burning around me unless the paper started to catch.

Female victim...presence of semen... tortured... mutilated prior to death. Filmed? Hum...check with a guy I know deals in snuff clips. See if he's getting anything new and sick.

I ignore the growing feeling in my left arm. I knew it would begin as soon as the phone rang and I saw who the caller ID said it was. I don't have time to indulge yet. Still I know the 'need' will take me there before the end of this case.

Tapping out a cigarette I let it hang unlit from my lips taking puffs of the tastes of Cairo from it time to time.

Hot sip of coffee, the taste of chicory. Memories of long nights in New Orleans with Leia in a hotel in the French quarter. Small place above a bar who's name I can't remember. For a second my mind starts to rush back to try and locate where that name is filed away but I stop it and set it back to task.

I sit back and focus on the picture of the tattoo. Tight line work, good colors...even against the dead skin tone.

Tattoo picture?

I blink and look up seeing Leia standing next to me. She smiles. I look around and see that she has closed the shades on her office windows. A glance shows me the office door is closed. Locked.

I watch her sink slowly to her knees in front of me.

"Enjoying the coffee?" she asks me as she begins to rub her hands across my crotch. I feel myself stir under her touch. It's been so long since I felt her attention. Four months? Three months seventeen days...eight hours...thirty minutes. I give my head a shake to make it stop. Better things going on that that to focus on. As I watch her undo my belt and pop the snap on my pants my mind and I agree. A rare occurrence.

As she pulls my cock free I see I'm already half hard and getting harder by the second.

"Someones happy to see me." I watch her lean down and place a soft kiss on the head. "You said you would call this time John."

"I know," I say softly wishing I had. "I'm sorry."

"You said that the last time too."

I lean my head back into her office chair as I feel the whole length of me disappear into her mouth. I watch with the customary wonder as her mouth gulps me deeper and deeper. I not huge but still it looks so erotic to see her with her nose pressing into the skin at the base. Then I feel her teeth. I bite my lip as she let her displeasure be know up the length of my cock. The hard raking of her teeth finish the job. I'm hard as a rock when the head pops free of her mouth.

"You call me next time or I'll bite it off and keep it as a souvenir," she says.

I nod that I will knowing even as I do that I may not.

The soft feeling of her tongue as she licked the flared crown, lapping at the bubble of precum that surfaces. I watch her take me back in then settle herself a bit. I lean back and just enjoy the soft suction. The warm slick feeling as she gives my cock a gentle massage with her mouth. I learned years ago never to close my eyes with her. That bite had been truly painful. I watch her and smile when our eyes meet. She grins around my cock and takes me back to the base. I moan as I feel her tongue snaking its way back up the underside from base to tip.

She pulls off and begins to take nibbling bits down the side. Then her tongue is licking me softly long strokes the whole length.

Her fingernails dig into my thighs as she takes just the head in and applies an incredible amount of suction. Like she's trying to make the top pop off in her mouth. Her teeth hook under the head and her tongue lashes the precum from the hole. I grip the arms of her chair and feel my fingers dig into the leather.

The phone rings.

Her fingers close around me and start to stroke the wet flesh. I watch her pick the phone up and bring it to her ear.

"Coroners office. Yes this is she."

I wince as she tightens her fingers.

"I understand. Yea I'll be here." I see her go to put the phone down then stop and bring it back to her ear when someone calls out loud enough for me to hear. "What... yea if I see him I'll let him know."

She looks down at her hand sitting still, her fingers wrapped with a white knuckled grip around me. I hear her sigh.

I clutch at the chair as her hand begins to stroke me with a furious pace. Then her mouth is hot and wet around the head. The feeling of suction is terribly strong. I lean back my head and endure more than really enjoy what she's doing to my cock. I reach a point in seconds where I almost want her to stop but then I feel it. The tightening inside the building rush, the pulse from underneath. I pant for breath as I arch myself up off her chair driving another inch into her mouth. I can fell her fingers tighten and loosen around me as I cum. Her tongue licking and her mouth working to drink down all I can give. Then she sucks harder pulling more from me.

I all but collapse into the chair as she turns me lose.

"That was Dixson over at S.V.U. they found another piece."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The brick steps on Wooster Street are cool under my ass. I sit watching the traffic go by as my friend looks over the photo. I have to keep my eyes from drifting to his tattoos. I could find myself entranced by the way they have been interwoven. Years of different art all coming together in a bright collage of colors.

"West coast," he says.

I look away from the cab I was following with my eyes. The advertisement on the roof sign. Women's perfume... sexy blue bottle.

"How can you tell?" I ask looking at the photo again. His finger drifts across the picture to the different lines.

"Style of line work. Go back about twenty-five... thirty years and it would be even more obvious. See the line work here. The way this is curved. Graffiti artist. Someone who got started tagging and turned to tattooing to make a living. I've seen tons of it from when I worked down in Miami. A lot of the new school style came from that. This is a traditional piece but the style shows through." Shrugging he hand me back the photo.

"You're sure no artist from around here would have done this?" I ask.

"Only if he got his start out west. Here I'll show you." He rolls up his sleeve and my eye come to rest on the melange of colors. It is a tapestry of his life. "This was done West Coast." He points to a Brightly colored fish.

Koei fish...Japanese symbol for strength and perseverance.

"See the way the line work is done here." When I nod he roll back his other sleeve and places the Koei next to a second tattoo on his other arm.

I see it then. It is a subtle thing but I see what he meant. Like difference between a photo taken from two just slightly different angles. I slowly nod.

I sit back and my eyes drift out of focus a bit.

Female victim...from or visits the West Coast... male killer still most likely.

"You coming by to box some time soon?" I look up at my friend. He's watching me with the customary look any of my long time friends have. They know me when I focus inward.

I smile and nod as I get to my feet. Placing my unread paper under my arm I hold out my hand to him as he stands.

"Be my pleasure. I'll call you soon," I tell him quickly as I see my bus pulling around the corner.

"Be waiting."

The bus smells of people, the mixtures of colognes and perfumes, sweat and stink that the cities holds in tight places. I settle down in the seat near the back and unfold my paper. My eyes skim the news taking in the articles for later perusal. I'll focus on anything that has any meaning for what I'm looking at. An add for roses for example catches my eyes for a second then add for butchered meat.

I turn to the crosswords puzzle and pull my pen from my pocket.

One across bird fop, seven letters...peacock.

The killer grabs the victim. At random or planned out? Unknown. Takes victim someplace away from everything. The victim had to have done a lot of screaming when that arm was severed. Masturbates on the victim...gets off on the screams. Enjoys seeing others in pain. May need to talk to some people I know in the lifestyle. Have to avoid the BDSM clubs though too many old friends.

Two across Halloween space royalty, fourteen letters...

Killer's getting a rush off the killings? No...he wouldn't hide the bodies the way he's doing. He would want to advertise. See his name, as it were, in the paper. Get to relive the thrill every night on TV when they talk about it.

Three across ten-cent priest, percussionist...thirteen letters...Dimebag Darrel. Born Darrel lance Abbott.

Dime...Dime...

I put down the paper and pull the file from my inner pocket.

"...presence of Dimethyl Sulfoxide."

I set my thoughts to finding it's purpose as I pick back up the newspaper.

The killer is hiding his victims near a place that makes or stores Dimethyl Sulfoxide. Cheek to see it the industrial areas are near where the body parts were found.

The bus comes to a stop. I glance towards the street signs and see I've road two stops past where I wanted to. I get up and step off into the growing shade of the late afternoon.

I walk back the two stops letting thing simmer and stew.

The neighborhood is not the best but I feel it's familiar embrace. Old memories of my early years here. The damp cold of winter is missing but I can feel it's remembered chill never the less. I pass the alley way where I almost bled out one night with a shiver that's not from the cold.

The door opens to my knock.

The ogre on the other side takes a step back when he sees it's me. I see his hand go towards his armpit. My eyes lock hard on his and his hand slows.

"Before you do anything stupid tell Joshua I'm here," I say.