Russell Twyce

Chapter 10 of Shiva’s Messenger

All Eyes on the Class Action

The Winnipeg city police responded to the emergency call after tracing the dead air connection. They were slightly baffled by what they found. There was no sign of a struggle. The register hadn’t been jimmied and the cash was still inside it. The victims had been killed in mostly a professional manner. From the blood scuffs, it appeared that one had been allowed to suffer a leg wound before being murdered. One man had been armed but he had been killed before his weapon could be drawn.

The nightshift wasn’t equipped to solve this mystery. They took photos and then sealed off the area. A contingent of investigators arrived on Saturday to process the cadaver evidence. The remains were then transferred to the morgue before the odor became even more ghastly. The specialists in different aspects of criminology would have to examine this crime scene after they reported for work on Monday morning. Yellow ‘police line – do not cross tape’ fluttered in the biting wind and Frosty the Car Man’s lot remained closed for the weekend.

A watch was posted and the guards were pleased with what should have been an easy assignment. They might have even had time to read or just relax but they were kept busy fending off the dead owner’s obnoxious wife. When not present and whining for admittance, she could be found trying to sneak in by the back alley. While they could understand her desire to salvage the remnants of her husband’s livelihood, she couldn’t be allowed in to possibly remove or tamper with the evidence.

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“Phew!” The flamboyant hairdresser wrinkled his nose as he ran slender fingers though the black hair with the light roots. “Did a butcher shop do this or did you use a bottle of shoe polish all by yourself? Let me clip off everything that isn’t your beautiful natural color. You’ll look so butch that all of the boys will chase you.”

“You go, girl!” Doug treated him to a suggestive wink. He didn’t have the heart to break it to barber that he wasn’t gay. His head was cropped military short with all hairs bristling fully erect: this was a drastic shift from his original shoulder length style.

Yuri would have a different sense of style than either Romero or Garcia but he wouldn’t dress down either. A black lamb leather jacket was a must and Armani jeans to wear under it. He picked out some expensive gold rings, chains and a very good Swiss watch. Alterations completed, he gazed into the mirror and a Russian man stared back. “Hello, Yuri Malenkov.”