[h2]Argentina[/h2]
[b]Buenos Aires[/b]

"Do people really have nothing better to do?" Agente Caceres said as he looked at the shattered glass that covered the sidewalk. A rock, slightly smaller than his fist, lay just inside the store near a mannequin that had toppled over, the dress sliding up to expose the gender-less lower body. The rest of the store, a womens clothing boutique, was otherwise untouched.

Agente Medina, Caceres partner, who was leaning against the hood of the car shrugged. "Of course not, who doesn't want to smash windows just for the sake of it." 

"I hate people." Muttered Caceres as he kicked some of the larger pieces of glass against the stone wall. 

"Shall I ask dispatch to call city works?"

"Yea, can't leave the window like this." Caceres pulled out his notebook and flipped open the battered leather to pull out a police business card. He scribbled the file number on the back and tucked it into the door before walking back to the car. Medina was halfway through the car window on the radio and Caceres could hear him passing along the request for city works to come and board up the window. The business owner would have to replace it. 

"They'll get here when they get here." Medina said as he pulled himself out of the open window and resumed his leaning. "Until then, we can hurry up and wait."

"City units for a shots heard, Museo de Arte Hispanoamericano." The radio crackled behind them and Medina glanced at it before turning away. Three other units were dispatched and he could hear the wail of sirens start up several blocks away as the cars began to respond. 

"They get shots heard, and we're dealing with broken glass." Medina sighed.

"It's fireworks, it's always fucking fireworks." Caceres replied, shifting his duty belt in an effort to give his lower back a break. The leather belt was probably to small, he wasn't an eighteen year old anymore, and it had been getting more and more irritating the past few years. 

"Until its not." Medina snorted. The pair had responded to a fireworks complaint a year ago that actually turned out to be shots fired. They attended to find shell casings, tire marks, and a man who claimed he had tripped into four bullets; he had refused to cooperate with police and died enroute to the hospital. One less shit rat. 

"Delta 27, confirming fireworks. Other units can clear." The radio again. Caceres laughed, Medina rolled his eyes. 

The two stood in companionable silence. The retail neighborhood they had been dispatched to was quiet this time of night, the stores having closed hours ago. Usually they wouldn't have bothered with a call like this but it had been a slow night so far and anything was better than driving around in circles looking for cars to pull over that weren't military, secret police, or taxis. Almost no one else was out and about these days. The war in Chile had brought on petrol shortages and only the government and the wealthy could afford to run vehicles more than absolutely necessary. 

City works happened to be one of those who could afford to fuel their vehicles and a small pick-up truck with two half asleep workers arrived about thirty minutes later. They climbed out slowly, one stretching his arms wide and giving a very loud yawn. "Evening officers."

"Fellas." Medina smiled and Caceres nodded in greeting. "Thanks for coming out."

"Not a problem. Quiet night for you?" The worker asked; he had the good grace to look guilty when Medina groaned. "Shit, sorry... Decent night for you?"

Medina laughed. "Yea, so far so good. We're short, as always, but it's pretty good. Things tend to get a little less crazy around this time of night."

The friendly banter continued as the workers hammered a couple sheets of plywood into place over the window. It wasn't much, but it was the best they could do. Only recently had the city started securing businesses like this after a police call. It tended to prevent the following theft calls when early morning commuters found gaping windows and open storefronts which made it easy to help themselves. 

"Done and dusted, thank you." Caceres gave the city workers a wave and clambered into the passenger side of the car. He began to write their report as Medina chatted with the workers for a few minutes more. A couple jokes about firefighters and Medina slipped into the drivers side. 

"It's a glass break, no need to write a novel." Medina teased as he shifted the car into gear. Caceres had barely written four sentences and that was probably two more than he needed. He slipped the pen into his shirt pocket, put the report into the patrol folder and tucked it back above the sun visor. 

"Onward, young apprentice!" The car shifted into gear and rolled down the darkened street. 

[center]*  *  *  *  *  *[/center]

"Delta 23 for screams heard."

"Go ahead." Caceres had grabbed the pic from the stand, cursing quietly as he had to unwind the cord as it almost yanked his coffee mug out of the cup holder.

"Report of a woman screaming for help, a man yelling, and slapping sounds." 

The dispatcher continued, rattling off an address that Caceres quickly jotted down before pulling out a map of the city from the glovebox. He and Medina were in District 20, it was central to the city and largely residential. He tracked down the grid reference first, and then located the street and finally an address. Medina had pulled over while all this was going on and was waiting patiently. 

"Got it. Four blocks up, six blocks over, and I'll tell you more details as we go."

Medina flicked on the single red light on the roof before cranking the siren. The piercing wail shattered the quiet night air and the vehicle tires squealed slightly as he applied the gas. Further updates continued to flow as they raced toward the scene, darkened houses fliting past on all sides, the odd vehicle hurrying out of their way. Neighbours stated that the screaming had slowed now and one of them, braver than all the others, had crept up on the house, and could whimpering from the female even as the male voice continued. More slapping was reported. 

Caceres felt a familiar knot in his chest as they drew closer. Domestic violence was a real problem and he didn't agree with some of those who insisted that what a man did with his wife was no one elses business. On two occasions he had attended similar calls only to find the female dead and the male claiming he had been in the right because she cheated on him. There was no proof of infidelity, but such was the current legal system that there was little police could do about it. The support from prosecutors just didn't exist.

"Neighbours now reporting they can hear the female screaming and what sounds like metal hitting meat."

"Well fuck me..." Medina said as he sent the car hurtling around a corner, the back end wobbling as if about to fish tail before he corrected and the patrol car shot down increasingly narrow residential streets. Most of the house were three story townhouse blocks that were crowded close to the sidewalks. Few people in this area could afford a vehicle so the streets were largely empty, and even then, only wide enough for two vehicles to pass with little room to spare.

Caceres navigated Medina deeper into the labyrinth until at last they came around a corner to see a large group of men waving frantically at them. The car slammed to a halt and both officers bailed out of the car, Medina making sure he took the key, you only had to have your car stolen once to never make that mistake again. Several of the men hurried toward.

"That house, it is my brothers house. The door is locked and no one is answering us. I am worried for him!"

Caceres bit back a sarcastic comment about how the call had come in, instead waving the man away as he drew his pistol. The crowd scattered as he and Medina approached the door. The lower windows, like all houses around here, were barred. White walls showing signs of age and lack of maintenance flanked a heavy wooden door that he pressed his ear up to. No sound.

"Policia!" His voice was a crashing bark in the quiet of the street, the sound of his boot slamming into the wood equally loud. No response from inside. Medina had done his best to clamber up to the window, levering himself up against the bars to peer in through the half drawn curtain. 

"Someone on the ground, a lot of blood." He dropped to the ground and hurried back to the police car. He requested additional units and then returned to Caceres. The two threw their weight against the door and it shuddered. Again they hammered their shoulders against it and a cracking sound somewhere around the bolt told them they were getting somewhere. A third body check and door burst open.

"Policia! Policia!" They pushed into the home, weapons drawn. On their right a door, closed, showed light beneath it. A low moan came from inside and Medina shown his light on the door. It wasn't the type of door that could be locked. 

Medina raised his pistol, nodded to Caceres, and then shoved the door open. Blood had been spattered everywhere, the white cabinets, the tile floor, even the ceiling, it was everywhere. The door bumped against something that prevented it opening all the way and Medina gave it a hard shove as he forced his way into the room. A woman was slumped in one corner, her eyes closed, blood was running from her mouth and nose. Clutched in her left hand, and resting on the flood beside her, was a cast iron frying pan. 

"Jesus..." Caceres hissed as he rounded the door. The body of a male was lying crumpled on the floor, partially blocking the door. The body was nude which was the only thing that made any sort of identification possible, the face and head had been smashed into a pulp. 

"Senorita?" Medina had approached the woman, his boots leaving blood tracks behind him, and kicked the frying pan away before speaking. She gave a moan and rolled her head so she could look up at him. He swore again and reached for the house phone. He dialed the emergency line, identified himself to the call taker, and confirmed an ambulance was enroute. 

"Is he dead?" She whispered, blood spraying from her lips, causing Medina to jerk back. He glanced at the body, the smashed head, and nodded. 

"Yes, I suspect he is."

"Thank god." She began to cry, the tears mixing with the blood on her cheeks, running down to further stain the pink shirt that hugged her body. Medina glanced at Caceres and saw his partners face was tight with anger. At least the soc was dead. There was some justice after all.