Free The Damascus Chronicles by Dominic R. Daniels Page B

teasing.
    “Paris,” spoke Serena softly.
    “We will babe, we will someday,” assured Michael, whispering into her ear, and with a kiss of affection the two fell asleep.
    An hour later the phone on Michael’s nightstand rang. Serena raised it to her ear and said, “Hello,” half awake.
    “It’s Paulie, put Michael on pronto!”
    Serena handed her lover the phone and lay back down.
    “Paulie?” said Michael groggily.
    “Yeah, listen up, two of our influential clients at Royal Dragon and Czar’s just got whacked!” said Paulie.
    “What, when!” asked Michael, awake now. “Did they say who did it?”
    “No, the news just said they were taken out clean,” replied Paulie.
    “Should I take care of it?”
    “No, you’re needed on solving this other dilemma with Franco’s weapons. We got some other guys handling this one; just thought though you might want to know. Stay in touch with me kid,” said Paulie as he hung up the phone.
    “Shit,” said Michael as he sat up in bed.
    “What’s wrong love?” asked Serena.
    “Nothing baby, just some bad news from the office,” Michael replied as he kissed her on the forehead and lay back down to sleep.

Chapter 21: Just a hunch
    The sunrise touched the sleepless city of sin with a shimmering golden shine. It looked to be a pleasant day for the common couple cruising the city highlights.
    But downtown, on the corner of the 34 th Precinct, death and murder were just another day at the office. Two large feet stepped onto the sidewalk from an unmarked car. The feet belonged to a behemoth of a middle-aged man dressed in greasy, stained brown pants, and a long brown leather coat with slick black shoes. He also wore a fedora and a badge on a shirt so tight that it seemed the buttons would pop off at any minute. This specimen of law enforcement was Lieutenant Frank Watson. He walked over to a murder scene on the corner where the CSI team was bagging the body of a guy with gunshot wounds in his chest and head, and a second body with punctures on the neck and chest. The second body was so pale it looked like it was carved from marble. Frank lit up his morning cigarette with a look of disgust and frustration and approached his partner, who had just arrived on the scene.
    “Well look at this, another fine mess to deal with. Just the perfect thing I need to start another day,” complained Watson.
    “I’d figure after seeing so many bodies like this you were beginning to wear down a little,” said his partner.
    “Please Jack, don’t insult me. Shit, three murders at the Royal Dragon and one at Czar’s last night and now this. Sorry piece of shit this town has become,” said Watson, pissed.
    “So what do we got here Frank?” asked Jack. “Standard gun shot wounds to the chest and head on this guy here and one that I think you should look at. It looks like to me this guy took a stabbing to the neck and chest. He was probably held at knife point and then robbed and killed,” said Watson confidently.
    “I don’t think so Frank,” replied Jack, getting a closer look at the wounds in the body. “I used to work as a coroner in the morgue years ago. I’ve seen many stab and gun shot wounds before, but this isn’t one of those.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “These four punctures look like they came from an ice pick, not a knife; just look at these jagged indentations here on the main artery,” said Jack, examining the body. Jack was a tough old Irish cop, he was the yin and Frank was the yang of their duo. Jack wore a grey trench coat and suit pants with black tie and white dress shirt; he was a respectful cop that stood for the law all the time. “Probably just another way to take out the garbage; another Scarfo family special, I presume,” said Frank.
    “Well?” said Jack.
    “I wouldn’t think too much about it. We’ll call the boys from forensics to send the meat truck down here, they will take the stiffs to the coroner’s office and we’ll get a full