Word Count!

2893/50,000

Sweet.

Here's the opening exerpt!

It had been the hottest day of the year, humidex reaching 45 degrees C, and even at 2 am it hadn’t dropped below 38. Detective Marshall Grant loosened his tie, feeling the sweat dripping down his back, plastering the light cotton shirt to his skin. The alley was narrow, dank and damp, stinking of the green bins from the Chinese grocery that fronted the alley stored back there in between the weekly garbage pickups. The green bins had been removed hours before, but the stench of rotting food lingered, mingling with urine, dog droppings, and the smell of the neighbouring fish market.

But none of those smells, usual for the large and busy Toronto neighbourhood, could even begin to cover over the stench of death.

Marshall sighed, wiping at the sweat trickling down his temple and stared at the body being studiously photographed by FIS. A young Chinese man, couldn’t be more than 18, handsome by any culture’s standards and well built. He was sprawled on his back, his finely sculpted features frozen forever in a grimace, dark almond shaped eyes staring blankly at the graffiti covered wall. The flash of the camera illuminated the horror with each click; his chest had been torn open. Not by any blade or surgical instrument, and not by an animal. Blood pooled and festered under the body; his ribcage snapped in half and pried open.

“Heart’s missing.” Jake, the FIS investigator looked up at Marshall, one eyebrow raised. They’d been seeing far too much of this particular style lately.

“Another one? He got the tattoo?” Marshall inched forward, nose wrinkling at the smell. “Shit but they stink when opened up like that and left out.”

Jake beamed his flashlight on the body, the blood glistening under the glare and seeming to come to life. Beyond the alley were the faint sounds of a city that never really slept, the chatter of drunken partygoers leaving the various bars and nightclubs at last call. “Right there, left wrist. Same as the others.”

The light bared to the eyes of the investigators the simple tattoo on the inside of the left wrist, smooth black lines done by the hand of one who was intimately familiar with the ancient continuous style, the symbol of the dragon. “Another one for the Special Unit.” Jake muttered, a shiver running up his spine.

“Yup.” Marshall drew back, the stench of rotting human flesh threatening to overwhelm the veteran police officer.

“They give me the creeps.” Jake handed his camera to another FIS member and drew back to join the homicide detective. “You think they know who’s behind this?”

Marshall dabbed again at the sweat that trickled constantly down his face, short-cropped hair glistening. “They know. And thank God it’s their territory. Don’t think I could handle it myself.”

“Detective!” A uniformed officer approached, coughing slightly as the smell from the body sprawled in the alley reached him, his youthful face turning slightly gray. “Media’s here.”

“Fuck.” Marshall patted Jake on the shoulder. “Keep working, gotta keep the media happy and keep the details out of the news. Franklin, call in and ask for the Special Unit.”
“Yes sir.” Franklin backed away, glad for the command that would take him away from the horror of the alley.