Flash Fiction 3-18 (not submitted)

Just like the every Thursday for the eight weeks, I started the night with a call about a dead body.  It hadn’t taken long to get to this one.  It was a short two blocks from the Chronicle.

I turned over the body with my foot, and nudged the arm away from the side.  There was just enough light in the back ally to see something was there, just below the left wrist.  I switched on my pen light, and as expected, there was the tell-tale tattoo, a skull and cross bones.  Only this time, there was a number written in thick black magic marker, just below the tattoo.

“Three” a voice said behind me.

I shuddered. 

I half turned and saw her standing, a dark silhouette haloed by the street light.

“What happened to the first two?” I asked her.

“They were, practice” she said.  Her voice was sultry, whiskey smooth.  It thrilled me.  Maybe I just didn’t have the good sense to be scared.
Approaching sirens echoed off the buildings. 

I knew I only had time for one more question, and so much was at stake.  This was my chance. 

“Why Bristol gang members?” I asked.

“Because no one is going to miss them” She answered.

“Wait!” I tried to stall her.

But it was too late.

She was gone.