Curious_Muse
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2016
- Posts
- 168
I am looking for a co-writer for this thread - please PM for details.
Matthew Ricci walked into the prosecutor’s office without knocking, waving a folder triumphantly. “We are getting so close that the bastard will start to feel our breath down his neck. A few more days, and this case will be so watertight that we can cross the Gulf in it, Emily.”
Emily raised one eyebrow and stretched behind her desk. “I think you might be right. Our two colleagues from across the border seem to agree with you, anyway.”
Only in her late twenties, Emily Perez was the youngest member of their small task force, and certainly the youngest prosecutor ever to go after a fish as big as this one. Few people would have guessed that Emily, with her slim, petite build and the dark curls framing her face, was the woman to take on one of the most violent drug cartels the border region had recently brought forth. But appearances could be deceiving.
Her eyes wandered to the clippings and photographs pinned to the wall. Her cool gaze swept across the pictures of gruesomely murdered bodies, of stacks of cocaine and marijuana, of women, bruised and bloodied, staring blankly into the camera. Clippings of newspaper articles littered the wall, next to graphs indicating stocks and sales figures.
Drugs, murders, money laundering and raging corruption had turned up on her desk in regular, but frustratingly disjointed intervals. It had been like trying to pin down puddles of oil with her bare hands, with cases separating into petty crimes and single murders when Emily knew that they all led back to one man. Now, all the puzzle pieces had started to neatly fall into place. The lines, drawn with a black marker across the board to link murders, shipments, bank accounts, companies and photographs to each other, were finally all connected to form a satisfyingly coherent network of crime and vice.
An informant had come forward to provide her with the necessary lead to tighten the noose around the neck of Jacinto Garza. To civilians he was known as the head of an international conglomerate of banks and financial businesses, a darling patron of the arts and celebrated philanthropist. To the more investigative-minded he was “The Scorpion”, the head of one of the most powerful drug cartels currently dominating the market. Emily contemplated the picture in the center of the wall, showing a young man weaving his way through a festive crowd, a beautiful woman on his arm. It had been the opening of the new design museum in the city, a jewel in the crown of the local art scene. Garza had donated several million dollars to the foundation running the museum. That night, as always, he had looked the part, sporting the casual chic of a tech business tycoon combined with the class and taste of a rich bohemian. Without noticing, Emily’s lips curled in disgust. The local elites were all at his feet, admiring him like a rock star while he terrorized those less fortunate, both materially and geographically.
Next to him on the picture, half-hidden in the shadow, stood a man dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, a suit jacket slung across his tattooed arm. Emily knew better than to be misled by the smile of Garza’s right-hand man. She had come across too many mutilated bodies to still fall for his boyish charm, though Texan high society still nurtured a soft spot for the man she knew to be a cold-blooded killer.
Then she pointed at the woman next to Garza. “With the new documents and the other material our informant can provide, we get all three of them in one sweep.” Matthew stood next to her, eyes fixed on the young woman on the crime lord’s arm. He whistled in appreciation. “She’s one smoking hot broad. That bastard sure knows how to pick them.”
The prosecutor threw him a disbelieving glance. “They call her ‘The Viper’. Some people say she likes to cut out the hearts of traitors to make them eat it before she kills them.” Her colleague raised an eyebrow, trying not to look sheepish. “Well, nobody’s perfect, eh? At least she knows how to rock a pair of high heels while doing that.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You are a walking cliché of a male cop, Matt.” He grinned. “All I’m saying is that criminals should not look this good.” He joined her in front of the wall, looking at the photograph of Garza and his two companions. “I mean, this looks like a fucking page out of a bloody modelling catalogue,” he mused. “Juries don’t like to put rich, pretty people away for life.”
“Don’t worry. Blood and dirt stick, even to the pretty ones. After we are through with them that is all the jury will be able to see. Once this case file is complete, Garza is done, and this strip of the border will be a little safer again.”
Matt smiled. He admired the idealism and backbone of his younger colleague, and hoped that some of it would rub off on him. It was not easy. After a slump of a few, complacent years, murder rates had gone through the roof again. Corruption had eaten through the ranks of law enforcement, reaching levels that the local authorities could no longer ignore. Impunity was rampant, leading to a level of violence that first provoked, later only mocked what was left of law and order in the border region. Elections were coming up in both countries, and the authorities needed to be seen fighting the increasingly violent waves of drug trafficking crimes, at least until the votes were cast.
A small task force of detectives and police officers from both side of the border had been working for months to bring down The Scorpion. Matt knew that a few local politicians and officers had at first balked at going after Garza and his business empire. When they realized that Emily Perez was not to be deterred, a few had quietly backed away from the investigation. First there had been threats, then a few bodies. It only made the young prosecutor go after the man harder, and for some reason or another Garza had not yet attempted to smash the task force working on this side of the border. Matt looked at the dark-haired woman bent over a pile of documents, his chest suddenly aching with worry and affection. He hoped that the mobsters simply did not take her efforts seriously enough. They would not be the first ones to make that mistake.
“Why don’t you join us for a drink down at The Grashopper, Emily? It’ll provide some distraction and will get you out of this office for a few hours.” She looked up and frowned as if he had made her an inappropriate offer. Tucking a curl back behind her ear, she shook her head. “Go on without me,” she said distractedly. “I’m supposed to meet the Juarez detective and our informant later, and I’d rather be sober when I do. My regards to Erica, and happy birthday to her!”
Matt sighed while putting on his coat, muttering: “It’s her good-bye party. You really need to get a life outside this case, sweetheart.” But Emily did not hear him. Chewing on the end of her pen, she studied the text in front of her, waiting for her telephone to ring.
Matthew Ricci walked into the prosecutor’s office without knocking, waving a folder triumphantly. “We are getting so close that the bastard will start to feel our breath down his neck. A few more days, and this case will be so watertight that we can cross the Gulf in it, Emily.”
Emily raised one eyebrow and stretched behind her desk. “I think you might be right. Our two colleagues from across the border seem to agree with you, anyway.”
Only in her late twenties, Emily Perez was the youngest member of their small task force, and certainly the youngest prosecutor ever to go after a fish as big as this one. Few people would have guessed that Emily, with her slim, petite build and the dark curls framing her face, was the woman to take on one of the most violent drug cartels the border region had recently brought forth. But appearances could be deceiving.
Her eyes wandered to the clippings and photographs pinned to the wall. Her cool gaze swept across the pictures of gruesomely murdered bodies, of stacks of cocaine and marijuana, of women, bruised and bloodied, staring blankly into the camera. Clippings of newspaper articles littered the wall, next to graphs indicating stocks and sales figures.
Drugs, murders, money laundering and raging corruption had turned up on her desk in regular, but frustratingly disjointed intervals. It had been like trying to pin down puddles of oil with her bare hands, with cases separating into petty crimes and single murders when Emily knew that they all led back to one man. Now, all the puzzle pieces had started to neatly fall into place. The lines, drawn with a black marker across the board to link murders, shipments, bank accounts, companies and photographs to each other, were finally all connected to form a satisfyingly coherent network of crime and vice.
An informant had come forward to provide her with the necessary lead to tighten the noose around the neck of Jacinto Garza. To civilians he was known as the head of an international conglomerate of banks and financial businesses, a darling patron of the arts and celebrated philanthropist. To the more investigative-minded he was “The Scorpion”, the head of one of the most powerful drug cartels currently dominating the market. Emily contemplated the picture in the center of the wall, showing a young man weaving his way through a festive crowd, a beautiful woman on his arm. It had been the opening of the new design museum in the city, a jewel in the crown of the local art scene. Garza had donated several million dollars to the foundation running the museum. That night, as always, he had looked the part, sporting the casual chic of a tech business tycoon combined with the class and taste of a rich bohemian. Without noticing, Emily’s lips curled in disgust. The local elites were all at his feet, admiring him like a rock star while he terrorized those less fortunate, both materially and geographically.
Next to him on the picture, half-hidden in the shadow, stood a man dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, a suit jacket slung across his tattooed arm. Emily knew better than to be misled by the smile of Garza’s right-hand man. She had come across too many mutilated bodies to still fall for his boyish charm, though Texan high society still nurtured a soft spot for the man she knew to be a cold-blooded killer.
Then she pointed at the woman next to Garza. “With the new documents and the other material our informant can provide, we get all three of them in one sweep.” Matthew stood next to her, eyes fixed on the young woman on the crime lord’s arm. He whistled in appreciation. “She’s one smoking hot broad. That bastard sure knows how to pick them.”
The prosecutor threw him a disbelieving glance. “They call her ‘The Viper’. Some people say she likes to cut out the hearts of traitors to make them eat it before she kills them.” Her colleague raised an eyebrow, trying not to look sheepish. “Well, nobody’s perfect, eh? At least she knows how to rock a pair of high heels while doing that.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You are a walking cliché of a male cop, Matt.” He grinned. “All I’m saying is that criminals should not look this good.” He joined her in front of the wall, looking at the photograph of Garza and his two companions. “I mean, this looks like a fucking page out of a bloody modelling catalogue,” he mused. “Juries don’t like to put rich, pretty people away for life.”
“Don’t worry. Blood and dirt stick, even to the pretty ones. After we are through with them that is all the jury will be able to see. Once this case file is complete, Garza is done, and this strip of the border will be a little safer again.”
Matt smiled. He admired the idealism and backbone of his younger colleague, and hoped that some of it would rub off on him. It was not easy. After a slump of a few, complacent years, murder rates had gone through the roof again. Corruption had eaten through the ranks of law enforcement, reaching levels that the local authorities could no longer ignore. Impunity was rampant, leading to a level of violence that first provoked, later only mocked what was left of law and order in the border region. Elections were coming up in both countries, and the authorities needed to be seen fighting the increasingly violent waves of drug trafficking crimes, at least until the votes were cast.
A small task force of detectives and police officers from both side of the border had been working for months to bring down The Scorpion. Matt knew that a few local politicians and officers had at first balked at going after Garza and his business empire. When they realized that Emily Perez was not to be deterred, a few had quietly backed away from the investigation. First there had been threats, then a few bodies. It only made the young prosecutor go after the man harder, and for some reason or another Garza had not yet attempted to smash the task force working on this side of the border. Matt looked at the dark-haired woman bent over a pile of documents, his chest suddenly aching with worry and affection. He hoped that the mobsters simply did not take her efforts seriously enough. They would not be the first ones to make that mistake.
“Why don’t you join us for a drink down at The Grashopper, Emily? It’ll provide some distraction and will get you out of this office for a few hours.” She looked up and frowned as if he had made her an inappropriate offer. Tucking a curl back behind her ear, she shook her head. “Go on without me,” she said distractedly. “I’m supposed to meet the Juarez detective and our informant later, and I’d rather be sober when I do. My regards to Erica, and happy birthday to her!”
Matt sighed while putting on his coat, muttering: “It’s her good-bye party. You really need to get a life outside this case, sweetheart.” But Emily did not hear him. Chewing on the end of her pen, she studied the text in front of her, waiting for her telephone to ring.
