A crowd was building along the street by the time the detectives arrived. The body they had come to investigate sat slouched on a bench, his hat pulled low over his face. At a glance no one would ever have noticed that he was dead, and no one did until someone saw the drops of blood dripping steadily off his face.

Calligan and McCullough pushed their way through the crowd, and into the crime scene kept diligently clear by several policemen holding back the crowd. McCullough stopped to speak to one of the officers, while Calligan, donning a pair of gloves, approached the corpse.

He was clearly male, dressed in a well tailored suit. He didn’t appear to be very tall, and his frame was narrow. Calligan gently shifted the man’s hat to reveal the face of a middle aged face underneath, the skin grooved from stress.

“So, what do you think?” McCullough asked, walking over from the officer.

“I’d say Mr. Taylor didn’t take his own advice. Or if he did, it didn’t do him any good.” Calligan responded. “There’s blood from the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth at least from the looks of it. Of course, Doc Rivers is going to have to take a look at it to confirm the cause of death, but it would seem that he’s gone the way of Mr. McGovern.”

“I guess he was good at doing things wrong. The only witness is the man who found him. I got a glimpse of him before coming over here. He seems oddly calm for someone who just found a body.”

“Yeah well, I think I’ll go talk to him. You stay here and see if you can find anything interesting, we don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

“Listen Calligan, I have a policy against that kind of interrogation in public. It’s just not polite.”

“I know.” Calligan laughed, turning until he spotted who he assumed was the man, standing calmly beside a police officer. He began to approach them, when suddenly a narrow man in a dark suit stepped quickly out of the crowd and in his way. He wasn’t a tall man, about a head shorter than Calligan, but he stood confidently in Calligan’s path.

“You were told to leave off this case.” He said, his voice a low baritone. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Calligan responded. “If I remember the sound of that voice right, the last time we met you were pointing a gun at my friend. How do I know that this time you won’t use it on me?”

“I don’t think you have much choice in the matter." The man replied, glancing at the officers nearby. "Notice how none of your pals in blue are doing anything? I could pull my gun and shoot you right now and that wouldn’t change. As it is, I don’t like to make a scene; but I suggest you come along if you know what’s good for you.”

The man gestured toward the crowd and began walking. Calligan hesitated for a moment, before following close behind. The man led Calligan out of the crowd to a nearby sidestreet, where an ominous black car sat waiting.

“Get in.” The man ordered, and Calligan obeyed; placing himself reluctantly in the back seat. The interior of the vehicle was as dark as its exterior, with not even a hint of chrome to be seen.

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“I see someone likes black.” Calligan remarked as the man seated himself in the driver’s seat.

“It’s a favorite of Mr. Donahue’s.” The man chimed in return. “He says it reminds him of his business, and the work related to it. The dark reminds him of his sins.”

“Poetic.” Calligan retorted flatly. “Why doesn’t he give it up?”

The man laughed. “Why should he? He has both money and power. Why would anyone want to throw that away?”

“Maybe out of the decency of his heart?”

“You crack me up.” The man responded and went silent, driving steadily along the road. He remained that way as he drove up to a storage building. It appeared abandoned, its windows cracked and broken and the paint peeling away. But still, the man got out of the car, gesturing for Calligan to do the same.

“I take it this is where you plan to kill me.” Calligan stated dryly.

“Well, I can’t kill a detective in public, and you disobeyed the Donahues’. They don’t give second chances.”The man replied, drawing a revolver.

Calligan moved quickly, drawing a gun of his own from his coat before the man had finished drawing his.

“If you’re going to kidnap someone with the intent to kill them, you really should remember to disarm them first.” Calligan said as he pointed the firearm at his opponent. “A smart detective always carries a gun.”

The man forced a smile, returning his gun to its holster.

“I suppose even the best make mistakes.” He replied grimly. “So, what now, you take me in?”

“I’ve got some questions for you first.”

“Fire away… though not literally of course.”

Calligan smiled for a moment, before once more turning serious.

“What’s your name?” He asked flatly.

“John Dempsey.” The man replied in return.

“Is that your real name?”

Dempsey sneered. “It’s as real of a name as I’m going to give you.”

“Fair enough.” Calligan returned. “What’s the Donahues’ interest in this case?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yeah, I would.”

“And why should I talk?”

“Because I’m the one with the gun.”

Dempsey smiled, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

“There’s a group from Boston that’s been moving in on the Donahues’ turf called the Syndicate. It’s made up of the most notorious crime families in Boston. McGovern was our inside man into their operations here in the city, but as you know he’s no longer filling that role.”

“So why the effort to keep us out?”

“In order to cull a cancer, you first have to locate it. We needed the information McGovern had been collecting for us to know just who to kill. But now he’s dead and the names, lost.”

“Well, It seems to me that we don’t have to be enemies here. You and I both want to find the murderer of Mr. McGovern.” Calligan said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but this is war. You wanna put him behind bars. We have other plans. And when we find out all the traitors and scoundrels who are working for the Syndicate in this city, there’ll be blood in the streets. That you can be sure of.”

With that, Dempsey charged at Calligan, reaching for the gun. Calmly, Calligan squeezed the trigger, watching Dempsey drop. Blood was already pooled around the body as Calligan stooped, checking the body for life. When he found no sign, he stood.

“It’s a pity.” He said somberly. “But there already is.”