The Alexandru Chronicles: The Beginning (5 page)

That bastard!

How dare he pull him into this.

Couldn't Cirpian accept that he was going to be alive forever? The sooner he did, the sooner he could live a happy...

Well, not happy, but pretty decent existence.

“I don't know where Cirpian is...I haven't seen him for...ah...I don't know...fifty years are so.”

“
Now why don't I believe you...” his foe smiled. “Come on Cailean, I'm going to get it out of you, either way...It could either be painful or...painful.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Brian frowned at him. “What's the difference?”

“You're right...you're going to die in pieces anyway.”

“
Do you listen to yourself when you talk...? That didn't make a whole lot of sense.”

“
What?” his foe stood there silently mumbling to himself. It was during this brief lapse, that Brian had moved over to his discarded black duffel and withdrew his sword from it.

Moving back over to the same spot as before, yet now holding his blade, he noticed how his foe finally was able to grasp that Brian had insulted him – took him long enough.

As Brian's enemy stood there, angrily swallowing his bottom lip, he spatted out, “I'll kill you, Cailean.”

“
Not if I kill you first...,
friend.
”

XXX

“I can't believe you would be so insensitive...”

Genevieve had just heard the last part of what Kyle was spouting on about. Since she had been tuning him out, by picturing what it would feel like to run him over with her car, she hadn't been paying that much attention to his mouth.

As she glanced over to the practically deserted dark side walk, she couldn't help thinking how easy it would be to just leave the jerk at the side of the road. Yet, he was, after all, her partner, and...

Oh hell, who was she kidding; the fucker was getting on her nerves.

“Shut-up.”

“
What...?”

“
You heard me...shut-up...please.”

“
Genevieve...Keith...”

“
Kyle, shut-up...it's my personal life and as much as I like you, I don't tell you how to live your life...or, who you should sleep with...”

For a few brief, glorious, moments, he was silent. Yet, that briefness didn't last.

“Gen...”

“
Ah, shit...”

“
All I'm saying..., is that you could have handled the break-up a little better.”

“
Okay...the next time a guy breaks-up with me..., I'll cry like a bitch.” she sarcastically smiled at him.

Genevieve's partner, Detective Kyle Ernesto, was a very attractive man. There were times, when the lighting was just right, that he reminded her of a young
Lou Diamond Phillips.
He was a mixture of Filipino and Cherokee, and he had dark brown hair that he refused to let grow out – he insisted on doing it up in a crew cut. And he had the prettiest hazelnut eyes, that Genevieve had ever seen on a man—there was this goldish glint to them. If that wasn't bad enough, his eyes were encased with thick eye lashes; that would have made any woman jealous.

Yea, he was a good looking man alright. Or at least pretty to look at.

There were times, when he was silent, that she felt a deep attraction for him. Yet, no sooner was that desire there, was it quickly gone. All he had to do was open his big, stupid, mouth and she lost all interest. It was that need for him to constantly tell her, her own business, that had her desire quickly dying and her wanting to drive her foot all the way up his royal behind.

“
Gen, are you listening to me?” it was that irritating nagging voice that had her quickly drawn back to the pain in the neck sitting next to her.

“
Nah...I was just picturing what it would feel like to put you in the trunk.” she chuckled.

“
Funny..., you're just another comedian, aren't you...? Gen...” before he could finish, they pulled up to her missing stiff's apartment complex.

As Genevieve stared up at the towering, crumbling, building before her, she was instantly overpowered by that dreaded déjà vu feeling. While earlier that day, when the sun had been out and the light of day had made things less ominous, she had come out to this very complex; and felt nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, now, from seeing this building at night, with shadows creeping up and down it, she was overwhelmed by this awkward dreaded feeling that something was amiss...

Chapter Five

Early Friday Afternoon

That morning when Genevieve had been working on some much needed paperwork, she was instructed – half past eleven—by her captain to head over to ninth street:
Sherries apartment complex.
She didn't need directions on where this was,
she had been called out on more than one occasion—always because of some sort of homicide.

If Genevieve had been asked to name on one hand, how many times she had had to come out to this complex, she wouldn't have been able to.

It was apparent, from the number of dead bodies that always turned up at Sherries, that the renters were as crummier than the building itself. 

Not all the time was a murder committed on the premises of the complex, though. In some cases, the structure made for a good dumping ground, because most of the tenants there were either drug dealers, gang bangers, prostitutes, and etc.; the majority of them weren't inclined to talk, unless they were being threatened with prison time. 

While the unsolved murders over at Sherries were pretty high, Genevieve felt that it was no higher than any other place in Tucson. These days, hardly any people around had or used their conscience – everyone was too busy looking out for themselves.

As Genevieve pulled up in her red Chevy Cruze, she groaned at the idea of having to walk past the wannabee gangsters that always gave her a hard time; when she made her way to where ever the crime scene was at.

Too bad she couldn't shoot them.

Yet, there were laws and rights for even the most undeserving of the undesirable. While her method was to line all the assholes up and just start using them as target practice, she was again halted by the Constitution that these idiots refused to follow themselves. Yet, they used it when ever they felt their rights were being wronged.

After making her way from her car to the crime scene tape, she was instantly halted by the first responding officer. It was the typical procedure – show the guy her identification and then make her way to the crime scene.

The moment she had walked away from that crime scene tape, though, and tried to enter the building, itself, she was immediately accosted by the same drags that she usually met.

“Hey baby, why don't you let me show you what a real man can do...?”

The wannabee idiot that now stood in front of her, was trying to suggestively wiggle his hips and rub up against her.

If he was trying to get her off or even himself, he was failing miserably.

It was just the way he was wiggling, that had Genevieve thinking that he was having a seizure of some kind. He was annoying her so much, that she had to literally stop herself from walloping the guy.

Since the guy was irritating her and his other four compadres were blocking her way, Genevieve decided it was only fair to accommodate her admirers by removing her jacket.

The moment they saw her side arm and badge, the one who had been doing his ants in the pants dance quickly stopped and he chanced a nervous glance over at his friends.

“
Babe...,” as she leaned in closer, to her first admirer, she said,  “why don't you let me shove my gun all the way up your ass...?” after the five of them had nervously moved out of her way, she walked past them. “I'll show you what a real woman can do with it.”

 
As she made her way into the complex, she briefly thought of what the five douches behind her could do to her professionally. If one of those pricks ever did decide to report her to IA, Genevieve already had a set of excuses ready.

First, her decision for removing her jacket was brought on by it being too hot to wear the damn thing. And, if that excuse didn't work, she would try being honest—she was just defending her honor.

While she knew that both would most likely not fly with IA, she was going to try anyway. Besides her brand of sarcasm had already worn itself out with the idiots in IA. They didn't seem to appreciate her version of 
'I'm sorry, assholes.'

XXX

From the very first moment that Genevieve entered the one bedroom apartment, she was right away startled by the lack of that usual smell—the stench of death.

Where was it?

Shrugging away that awkward sensation, she thought possibly the smell wasn't there because they had either taken the body away or the victim hadn't been dead long.

Yet, it was her rational mind that told her that the stench would still be lingering over everything.

As Genevieve looked around the small space, she was not at all surprised by the one bedroom apartment's dingy appearance. The furniture was falling apart and there was a small collection of ants already congregating on a discarded pizza box.

It was during this brief survey, that she was able to make an educated guess on what her murdered victim had been involved in before his death. From the amount of cocaine on his kitchen table, he had either been a drug dealer, user, or both.

Nodding at the two CSI investigators, she made her way into the bedroom where the medical examiner, Albert Sheritan, was already present.

He didn't spare her even a glance. For he was way too preoccupied in his work.

It wouldn't have matter either way. Genevieve was far too surprised, by the body laying before her. Taking a deep breathe, she was again puzzled by the lack of that unpleasant decomposing odor. While the apartment, itself, didn't smell like roses, it still should have smelled a whole lot worse than it did.

It was then that Albert noticed her standing there in the doorway. “Hey beautiful, what's up?”

Folding her arms, she continued to frowningly stare at the body on the bed. When she finally spoke, it was more a question to herself than anyone else. “Where's the smell...?

When all Albert did was puzzlingly stare at her, she said, “I mean, I know I've been at this for awhile now, but is it just me or does this scene lack something...I couldn't have gotten use to that smell...”

“I know what you mean...” Albert rubbed his face. “When I first showed up, I was baffled by the lack of a stench...Hell, I still am.”

It was the way he stared at the body, as if it was a poisonous viper, getting ready to strike him, that had Genevieve's frown deepening.

“You want to know what else is odd?” he rubbed his face. “Come over here...” it was the way he looked at her, that had Genevieve silently sauntering over to him.

As she stood next to the bed, staring down at the body, Albert then handed her a pair of gloves. “Try bending the wrist.”

After putting the gloves on, she did as he instructed her to do.

It was in that moment of bending that wrist back, that Genevieve felt this cold shiver go down her spine. “Okay that's odd...” she looked at Albert confoundedly. “This wrist shouldn't bend this easily...Unless, the body hasn't been dead for that long...?” she looked perplexedly down at the body. “Either way, rigor should have already started to set in.”

“That's what I said...” he rubbed his face. “From the moment I showed up, everything has felt wrong about this whole crime scene...” mumbling mostly to himself, “The body's flexibility and the lack of a stench...” looking at her, he said, “At first I thought him...” he motioned to the dead body. “To be sleeping...”

When all Genevieve did was quizzically stare at him, he said, “It was when I felt for a pulse, that I knew for sure he was dead.”

Taking off her gloves, she finally said, “How long do you suppose he's been here?”

“
I don't know...I can't say, until I get him down to the morgue...” turning on her heels to walk away, Albert said, “Hey, Gen..,” she turned back around. “If you really want to know, you should ask the first responding officers...They might be able to give you some clue on when he died.”

XXX

It was Albert's advice that now had her standing in front of the first office, who she had met earlier that day. As she stoically surveyed him, Genevieve could tell, just from his posture, that he was a young rookie.

From the way he presented himself, not wanting anyone to notice him and trying to be invisible, she knew he was the right person to talk to – his guard would not just be down, but he would be new enough that that
'be a shithead to the detectives'
attitude wouldn't have set in yet.

“
Officer Carven, is it?”

“
Yea...” he nervously looked down at his feet.