Empire Streets Chapter III: Gumshoe Darwin

What's worse than Manila traffic? Manila traffic when you're in a fuckin' hurry. Those words ran through Detective Darwin Rodriguez mind as he drove down the bumper-to-bumper traffic near Pasig. A few minutes ago, he got a call from the chief-of-police. Some kid decided to swim in the god-forsaken river and as luck would have it, trash, muck and grime weren't the only things running down Pasig river's course. Chief said some kid felt someone grab his foot as he swam down the river. Turns out some poor dude got his feet cemented and was thrown down the river. Heh, someone's been watching too much gangster movies.

Darwin arrived at a scene all to familiar to him. The detective parked his blue Toyota near a small family-owned shop Just a street away from the busy and now-crowded river. At the opposite side of the street, an ambulance was parked. Its siren wasn't blaring aloud yet its blinding blue and red lights were swirling atop the white vehicle. Darwin grabbed his pack of cigarettes inside the glove compartment, his fedora idly sitting atop the passenger seat, and left his car. As he walked towards the edge of the river while lighting the first stick from his freshly-opened pack, he took in the sight of a busy crime scene. Some nosy civilians were getting too curious for their own good as a team of men-in-blue swatted them off like they were flies hovering on day-old meatloaf. Some even had their hands raised, phone in hand and recording whatever they found interesting. He knew it was only a matter of time before the media vultures come swarming the scene to get their headline.

“Jesus, Darwin!” A voice from behind caught the detective's attention. “The Nineteen-thirties called, they said they want their fuckin' hat back.” A chuckle followed.

Darwin looked like a stereotypical gumshoe. A cigarette between his lips, a brown fedora guarding his short brown hair and a rugged, masculine face. He was in his early thirties.

“Fuck you, Phil,” Darwin retorted, his voice rough and seemingly annoyed. “I didn't drive for almost an hour to hear your lame-ass jokes.”

Phil was just a rookie unfortunate enough to deal with Darwin in a bad mood. He looked like any other Manila Policeman, minus the giant gut.

“Ease up, detective,” Phil, trying to calm Darwin down, rested his hand upon his shoulders only for it to be brushed off. “Wow man, you're as tense as the chief. Couldn't even take a joke. He's near the body, better hurry up. Forensic guys are almost done.”

Without a word, Darwin left. Through the crowd of on-lookers, he went. He presented his badge that he fished out from his back-pocket and the cops let him through. Darwin seemed indifferent from all the noise everyone was making. His eyes wandered, even though uninterested. Some folks were still at the riverbank, trying to fish out some more evidence. The forensic guys were already examining the dead body. He couldn't get a good look yet, he still needed to find the chief. Cameras flash everywhere, the tip of his fedora tried to shield some of it.

Finally, he saw Chief Gonzales. He was in his uniform today, talking to some guy in a black jacket with the word 'Forensic' on his back. Darwin couldn't hear it clearly but by the way the chief moved, it wasn't a really pleasant conversation. As he approached, Chief Gonzales noticed. He told the forensic guy to scat as he attended to his favorite detective.

“Where the hell have you been, Rodriguez?” Chief Gonzales asked in his rough and raspy voice. “You're late. The forensic department swarmed the body like vultures when they got here thirty minutes ago. We only have some time left before the media circus gets here and full-on ass-fucks us with questions.”

“Let them do their jobs, sir,” Darwin took a last hit from his dying cigarette and threw it in the river.

“Hey, that's littering!” the chief exclaimed but was too late.

“And I'll do mine. So, what have we got so far.”

The chief sighed. “If you weren't so goddamn gifted with what you do, I wouldn't have to deal with you, you know that?”

Darwin's eyes were just wandering, ignoring Gonzales' words completely.

“Anyway, another body was found submerged in the murky water of Pasig river-”

“That much you have told me on the phone, sir.” Darwin interrupted.

“Would you just let me finish?” Again, the chief sighed. “The body was fished out just about an hour ago. The poor fella's feet were cemented to a bucket and he drowned... or so we think.”

“What?”

“You see, when we fished him out, all he wore was his boxers and a navy-blue shirt. With a stroke of luck, as the guys were examining the body, we found two holes on the vic's chest.”

“Bullet holes?”

“Most likely. The thing is, there was no blood on the shirt. If he really was shot, at least there had to be some residue left on what he wore right?”

“Unless that wasn't the shirt he wore when he was shot.” Darwin placed his fingers on his chest, a habit he did once he got into thinking. Finally, this case takes the expected unnecessary twist.

“That doesn't make any sense. Why shoot someone, then drown 'em?”

“Maybe they were just trying to dispose of the body.”

“Then why dress him up? It's not like we could see shit inside the river. That place is a sty. If it wasn't for some disgusting kid who swam on that lake, we wouldn't have found this fucker. Anyway, we'll have more info once the forensic gives an autopsy.”

“That'd take a day. What am I supposed to do until then? By the way, got an ID yet?”

“Nope, the vic was clean of any form of identification,” Gonzales shook his head. “Credit card, driver's license, nothing. All I can say is he ain't from around here.

“A foreigner?” Darwin was surprised.

“Yeah. And this kind of shit is a PR nightmare. I can only think of the headlines the media are going to make.”

“Let PR worry about that. I'm going to check on the body. I'll talk to you once I find anything worthwhile.”

“Go, Rodriguez. But they already picked up evidence to the bone. It'd be a miracle if you find something new.”

Rodriguez turned around and headed off. Waving back at the chief. “We never know.”

Darwin arrived just in time. They were just about to stuff the body bag at the back of a truck.

“Hey, Detective Darwin Rodriguez here,” the detective told the folks carrying the stretcher. “Mind if I look at the body for a few minutes?”

One of them answered. “Sorry detective, you're too late. We're about to ship this body for autopsy. You'd know more once we're done.

“Come on, let's help each other out,” said Darwin, turning on his charm. “Just unzip the body bag, I'll take a look and we'll all have a drink later. Aren't we all friends here? Besides, it'll only take a second. Please?”

The forensic folks decided with undertoned murmurs. One raised her shoulder and the other shook his head. In the end, someone had to decide.

“Fine. One minute.”

It took him less than a minute. Once the body-bag was opened, as soon as he saw the victim's face. He couldn't believe it.

“Jesus Fuckin' Christ.” was all he could say.

He muttered his thanks and ran back to his car. There was nothing that could stop him. Everyone that bumped his shoulder ended up falling to the ground. Darwin would shout “Sorry!” every time he hit someone or something. He was panting as soon as he reached his car and keyed in the passenger seat. He then grabbed an old newspaper he had stashed at the back seat, locked his car again and ran back. Only this time, he headed for Chief Gonzales.

“Sir!” he shouted, catching the attention of everyone surrounding him.

“What the hell, Rodriguez?” Gonzales approached the panting and tired detective.

Darwin regained his composure. And handed his superior the old paper which the chief took.

“This is the paper two weeks ago...”

“I know. And I know who the victim is.”

A giant headline popped up from the paper. 'CRIME BOSS ALFONSE SANTINO SICK?”

Just like the detective, all the chief could utter was “Jesus fuckin' Christ.”

TO BE CONTINUED