𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Prologue

"Shit," Robert Caruso exclaimed, hastily shielding his nostrils with his palm. "That reeks!"

As the Chief of Police Superintendent, Robert Caruso stood armed with two others in front of an oversized shipping crate, awaiting the prompt opening of its steel doors by harbor employees.

"I can taste it, Chief!" One of the other officers exclaimed, joining the three of them in their inpatient observation. 

"Oh God, it's worse than my morning shit," the twenty-eight-year-old grimaced. He tried to bury his face in his police-issued outfit, but the low-cut button-up polo shirt prevented him from reaching his nose.

Chief Robert Caruso swiftly deactivated the safety mechanism on his police-issued glock, offering some much-needed counsel to the officer facing him. "Tough it out, Chico. Your bowels are the least of our worries."

As the daybreak sunlight beamed through the cracks of the container doors being pulled ajar, it became inherently clear what was in the crate...

Sectioned-off pieces of skin, muscle, and bone distributed around. Stained pools of dried blood were everywhere. A family of several rats trailed about, quickly hiding beneath a large, scooped, pile of singular teeth.

"Another damn trash mill," he disappointingly spoke out loud before turning his attention toward the two port employees who opened the crate. "How the fuck do they always get past you guys?"

The two immigrant workers cursed out the three officers in Polish, shrugging in response to the Chief's comment before walking away.

Robert sneered at the workers, while Christopher Chico quickly averted his gaze, dropping his gun and vomiting the breakfast burrito he had eaten earlier.

"Atta boy," the third and eldest officer of the group encouraged, urging, "just let it all out."

Dan MacArthur, the former Chief of Police, dutifully followed, bound by the lingering four-hour mandatory patrol he had to complete before officially retiring. At sixty-eight years young, he had become indifferent to the city's numerous crimes—now, all he cared about were the precious moments that defined life.

"You gonna hold his bitch hair back too?" Robert taunted the two as he frustratingly veered from the crime scene.

"Quit yapping, Bobby," the elder scolded. "I still remember what you done back in '77. You know," Dan reminisced, gently stroking Christopher's back, "this guy here had a little accident during his first murder scene."

Christopher froze, glancing up at his Superior with curiosity.

"I mean literal, colossal, shit." Dan went on, "It went right through his pants—"

"Hey!" Robert interjected urgently, hoping to prevent further humiliation of the rookie in front of everyone. "Not now..."

"What?" Dan questioned, observing Christopher as he sat up, wiping his face with his sleeve. "It's helping him relax. Besides, it's something that happens to everyone in some way or another."

"Thank you, Sir," Christopher acknowledged, as both Robert and Dan helped him stand up.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, rising to his feet, "I... It's the smell..."

"Don't worry, Chico. We'll keep this between us," Robert assured, observing as the young man regained his composure.

In unison, they turned their attention to the unsettling contents concealed within the shipping crate.

"You realize we have to report this, don't you?" Dan inadvertently pointed out, fully aware of the necessary protocols involved in handling a public crime scene.

Disappointed, Robert shook his head as he turned towards Christopher. "Are you still on for tonight?"

Robert wanted to give him a clear opportunity to assist with the engagement plans for his daughter, Rebecca.

Confusion crossed Christopher's face as he replied, "I hope so."

"Good. Once that's done, we can address this mess."

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Welcome to the case that shadows this entire storyline. Hope you enjoy this epic, enthralling, and sexy, slow-burn adventure.