Shrouds of Darkness by Brock Deskins

face contorts in anger and frustration. She hates Will almost as much as she hates me and that is an accomplishment worthy of a trophy.
    “Now, if you will kindly remove the handcuffs from my unlawfully detained client.”
    Castillo has had enough and snaps at the small man. “He is a suspect in two murders and you expect me to let him go because he has a permit to carry the murder weapon? Are you out of your rotten, little mind?”
    If she hopes to intimidate my lawyer, she is bound for disappointment. Will hands his cell phone over to Castillo. I can see that the line is open as he passes the expensive device across the table.
    “I have taken the liberty of calling your captain and explaining to him the circumstances of my client’s involvement. This was verified to him by a statement from one of the uniforms downstairs after talking to several witnesses.”
    After a few yes sirs, the angry detective drops the phone onto the table.
    “How the hell do you sleep at night defending scum like this?” Castillo asks in disgust.
    “On two-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and firmly wedged between two gorgeous bimbos,” Will replies without missing a beat or a hint of shame. “Granted, two is just an average.”
    My lawyer grabs my hands and inspects my wrists. “Oh this looks a lot like bodily injury resulting from police brutality,” Will exclaims as he snaps several photos of my bruised and creased wrists with the camera on his phone.
    Castillo steps within a few inches of my face and the smell of smoker’s breath is almost over-whelming to my sensitive olfactory receptors. “One of these days your slimy little lawyer is not going to be there to save your ass. You will slip up and neither he nor any of his powerful friends will be able to keep me from strapping you into that chair where I will personally throw the switch and fry your ass.”
    “Awe, does this mean I’m not invited to your Cinco de Mayo party?” I ask with my most infuriating smile.
    It is all I can do not to laugh as the detective’s face contorts in barely suppressed fury. “I’m Puerto Rican you stupid son of a bitch, not a damn Mexican!”
    “Oh, now this is awkward,” I reply innocently as I face Angel. “Aren’t you Mexican, Angel? It sounds to me like she is really offended that someone would think she is Mexican, like they are inferior or something.”
    I take delight in watching Castillo’s anger at me deflate like a ruptured tire in humiliation. “Angel, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” She turns back towards me. “You fucking prick!” she shouts as she storms away. “Bag that murder weapon as evidence. At least we can get that out of his hands for a few months!”
    “Self-defense weapon, thank you,” Will sings out at her retreating back as he places my various licenses back into his briefcase.
    I can hear her downstairs screaming at the uniformed officers, venting her frustrations at every tiny imperfection, real or perceived. Angel lets out a long breath he has probably been holding for several minutes.
    “Why do you do that? She already hates you without you throwing gas on the fire. I have to ride with her you know.”
    “That fire is so out of control by now it doesn’t matter what I do,” I reply with a soft shake of my head. “Besides, it’s so easy and so much fun. Is it just me or is she even a bigger bitch than usual?”
    “Come on, Leo. She’s my partner and a good cop. Cut her some slack.” Angel sighs once again as he shakes his head. “We were at another scene near Classon and Willoughby when we got the call to come here. Fucking bodies—parts of bodies—everywhere in an alley on the other side of the borough. Most disgusting thing I ever saw.”
    “Mafia?” I ask, thinking that normal street violence was usually swift and reasonably clean.
    “It looked more like animals got them. A pack of wild dogs maybe. Pit bulls would be my guess, but whether they were torn up before or