They find them in penthouse apartments and around the back of dumpsters. They found them strung up, cast around, and neatly dissected. The blood neatly cleaned away with some, splattered in purposeful patterns around with others. Like an artist with his paint. Parts of their bodies are arranged in abstract formations. Effigies that dangle from steel wires. Pinned to walls by nails. All these corpses mounting up to the completion of a great, unknown project.
You are working your way through them. Someone knows something. Cartels. Traffickers. Cults. The usual suspects. Clergymen. Politicians. Police. Anyone with a grain of power. If they aren’t part of it, then they know someone who is. As the bodies pile up there, your ledger starts to fill up. And you don’t leave witnesses. You let them know that whoever they are, you are coming. And at some point you admit to yourself; you really like hurting other people, don’t you?
Two killers and a city stuck between them in an ever-tightening vice.
Paddy Dobson
11th January 2022