Warren City; the land of opportunity; the land where anyone regardless of their race, could find common ground with others; the land where the police never get a chance to rest.

I was there when the city's foundations were first laid out almost 40 years ago. Yeah, I was young, but I remember the words of President Harding as he declared the creation of Warren County "for the welfare of the citizens we never knew we had and the citizens who were cast out because they were different." But those days are long gone.

These days Warren City is a den of thieves, corrupt politicians, and gangs. Even the police department isn't immune to the debauchery, but we do try to keep order. My work as a police lieutenant puts food on the table and it does have its perks. Only if I wasn't assigned to the homicide division. My current case started a year ago.

It was dark out and I was sleeping on my desk when I heard that the captain wanted everyone in the briefing room. I didn't have enough time to fix myself a cup of joe, but I was awake enough to know what happened. The chief broke the news to us, a murder at the Weeping Flower hotel. At first nothing seemed new except for who our vic was and what happened.

It was a young centaur going by the name Iohannis Papadopoulos was reportedly torn to shreds. I had to see for myself, so I volunteered to take this case on, and it looks like the captain was also going to ask me to get on it anyway. So, I made my way over there in a squad car because my car was back in the shops after I blew a gasket.

When I got to the scene the first thing I noted was the smell, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. It was like the scent of rancid fruit rotting under a hot sun with a just hint of chlorine. I was sure I knew where I smelled it before, but that didn't matter at that time. There were the usual people there; the coroner, crime scene photographers, beat cops, and journalists.

When I saw the body with my own eyes I couldn't believe it. They weren't exaggerating when they said, "torn to shreds". The lower half of his body was mangled, and his lower set of entrails were splayed out all over the ground. I asked around for the first responder to the call, apparently it was a werewolf. Police Officer Marguerite Leclerc.

I asked her what she found on the scene earlier and said that she did see prints leading from a manhole cover hidden in the alley beside the hotel. I dispatched detective Wilson to check the inside hotel for any matches regarding the prints. And as luck would have it, he found out that there were prints in the room where Mister Papadopoulos was killed in.

The prints themselves indicated that the assailant entered from the window without being detected as not even the guards noticed anything go in or out of that side of the establishment. And few things get past a pair of Jorogumo and their webs. I asked around some of the other staff and guests and they too failed to notice anything.

Left with little leads, I asked officer Leclerc to help me look as she also doubled as a member of the K9 unit. She was apprehensive at first due to the strong scent of garbage repulsing her, I did, however, managed to convince her by saying that I'd put in a good word for her with the captain. That and it was also a direct order. I lifted the manhole cover, and we descended down below.

The dim lights that lined the walls of the sewer didn't help as the prints vanished in the thick layer of grime that caked the walkways of the dark, filthy tunnels. I had to rely on Officer Leclerc to watch my back while I checked every single thing that might lead me closer to the perp. I was at a loss, that was until I spotted something at the edge of a grate.

Just barely visible in the corner was a gang sign of sorts. We had no idea what it meant but I quickly sent Officer Leclerc to grab the photographer. I first assumed it was some sort of mark to signify a dead drop, a small hidden cache for discrete use by gang-members, and began to think of gangs off the top of my head.

The police had spies within all of the major criminal organizations of Warren City, so they were going to be my go-to. The next day, after I got some sleep, I sent copies of the photo to our contacts while I planned to dig around the vic's house. So, I partnered up with Sergeant Kantorek and then we headed off into Farmer's Lane, a suburb on the east end of the city.

Mister Papadopoulos' home wasn't what I expected it to be. From what I've had about him on the file, he supposedly worked in the import and export business. Importing rare Greek goods and exporting American goods in return. His house was plastered in Greek memorabilia ranging from pottery to pictures of his time in Athens.

What struck me as odd was the lack refinement you get with these types. There was little in the way of vanity, and it looked like an average bungalow, adjusted for a centaur of course. The wallpaper was plain, and the decor was a bare minimum. From this I could tell that there was no woman in Mister Papadopoulos' life. This meant that foul play was definately not the motive here.

We looked deeper into his abode. Kantorek was in the garage, and I was in the kitchen looking for even the slightest bit of involvement with any sort of gang. And then I heard Kantorek yell.

"Decker, get your ass over here I found something!"

I made sure to put everything back in place before going over to see what my partner had uncovered, Kantorek was standing over a hatch. Behind the hatch was a safe of some sorts and it was locked up tighter than fort Knox. I gave it a whirl, but it wouldn't budge, we knew that we had to call in a safecracker.

While Kantorek was busying trying to get a hold of a safecracker, I was going door-to-door and asking anyone if they saw something odd regarding Mister Papadopoulos' place. I had little luck finding a good eyewitness but most of their testimonies all mentioned some car, an old black Chrysler from the 40's by their descriptions, visiting the place last night.

I jotted everything down and went back to my partner who was eager to share some news. He told me that they managed to get Warren City's best safecracker to open it. So, we sat on our asses and waited for a while until a squad car came in with the safecracker. And boy was he a sight to behold.

He was a small man wearing a plaid vest on top of his white shirt. Small but very efficient. We showed him the lock and knew instantly how to break in. Five minutes, it took him five minutes to crack the code and we were in. We opened the door to find ledgers inside and a firearm. We had the gun ran for serial numbers while we rummaged through the pages of the ledgers.

"Well I'll be..." I exclaimed. "These don't look like regular transactions to me."

It was there that I thought I saw my next lead. According to the receipts Mr. Nigel Cheng, some Chinese man from the 'Rising Phoenix' triad, was mentioned several times when placing orders for Sten guns and ammo to go along with them. Our suspicions that this might be related to gang violence were just confirmed. I brought the papers directly to the chief so we could build a case and bust these hooligans once and for all.

The whole case went under-wraps for a week or so while Commissioner Teague formed a task force alongside the FBI. It turns out that the ledgers also had mention of the gang known only as 'The Sewer Rats'. And boy did these guys mean business. They were all veterans of the Pacific campaign and controlled the flow of Chinese opium throughout the west coast.

As a fellow veteran I could sympathize with their need for income to some extent, but distributing drugs like sine two-bit junkie wasn't my style. Mister Papadopoulos wasn't the first and he wasn't going to be the last. I was assigned to lead the taskforce since I had been the lead investigator of the case and because of my record with dealing with gang related homicides. The first thing we had to do was capture one of their hitmen.

In our attempt to catch the elusive son of a gun I had to use live bait. I had an un-timely reunion with Officer Leclerc who had to go undercover as an arms dealer to the Rising Phoenix triad who was hungry for some military grade equipment. She was perfect for the task as few people outside of the government knew what she looked like as a human. Her cover was a that of a French arms dealer selling sub machineguns for cheap.

We monitored her for the next three months as she was slowly gaining the trust of the triad members. I felt sorry for the kid. Three months in isolation and no contact with her family or friends. At least in France I had my buddies to keep me company. But her? She had nothing at all. And speaking of France, she reminded me of a broad that I met when I was on furlough in Paris before going to Belgium.

One night we discovered that Officer Leclerc was going to meet with a guy named 'Frank' at the parking lot of Joshua's Diner near 3rd street. The FBI had marksmen placed on every elevated surface from here to Timbuktu. And we had Officer Kohaku at the ready if things went wrong. Frank came in with a black 1948 Chrysler Town & Country. This was our guy.

The moment he stepped out of the vehicle we jumped him from all sides, and I told him to put his hands where I could see them. He seemed to comply at first, but he brought back-up. Suddenly people were shooting at us with Garands and Tommy guns from all over the place. The FBI marksmen opened up to keep the gunmen pinned.

Officer Kohaku rushed to pin Frank and managed to wrap him up in her web and kept him sedated with a tiny amount of her venom; all the mean while we were busy with a firefight. I felt like I was back in St. Vith when the krauts came at us. Images of advancing panzers and Nazis filled my mind. The only difference was that these boys weren't krauts. They're Americans.

By the time I snapped back into my senses I was on a stretcher and bound for an ambulance. I later heard that officer Leclerc was in critical condition, they said she was hit multiple times by .30-06 rounds. I also received news that Frank was now locked up and guarded to high hell. I sent Kantorek to loosen him up a bit.

The man knew how to work any Kraut back in Belgium during our time in the 82nd. So, I figured that maybe he could finesse something out of this chump. Anyway, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. No dreams came to me that night. only thoughts about what move those bastards are going to make next.

The following day I was told that officer Leclerc was stable. They said she was lucky that none of her organs were hit, just bone, though her being a werewolf also helped in stopping her from biting the dust. As for the others, three officers and an FBI agent were declared K.I.A from the firefight. Just more brave men who died to preserve peace.

The sewer rats managed to squeak out of this one for now, but I'll nab 'em one day. I swear to God.

To be continued...