Categories > TV > NCIS
Wolf In Sheep's Clothing.
0 reviewsSpecial Agent Gibbs and the NCIS Team answer a call from a Local Virginian Fishery with evidence of a possible murder. However, Ziva is experiencing some tough decisions closer to home...
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A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING - CHAPTER 1
Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA
Saturday 23rd October 2014
It was a warm, sunny day in Virginia Beach. The hot sun beating down on the tired Fishermen. All of them eager to earn their day’s wages. America going over the Fiscal Cliff back in 2014 really made things difficult for the working class. These men had bills to pay; families to feed and the Reduced Spending by the Government really took them back.
The stinging scents of seawater and freshly caught fish lingered in the air. Men all around at their stations, preparing the fish, beheading and disembowelling the poor creatures…all was normal on this sunny Saturday afternoon.
‘Hey John, How’s it goin’ bud?’ The man called to his Workmate.
His friend replied ‘Ahhh, y’know. Things are goin’ okay…Wife thinks she’s comin’ down with some kinda illness but that ain’t nothin’ new. How ‘boucha yerself?’ His Texan Twang resonated with every syllable.
‘Man, well, ‘lest she’s still breathin’ I guess’ Jack responded.
‘Yeah, yeah, I hear ya Jack’ he said, drawing the dialogue to a close.
They gave their friendly nods and turned back to their duties. Jack turned and hoisted a large plastic crate of fresh mackerel up into his hands. Drawing the crate up to his chest in an attempt to spread the weight of the heavy fish.
‘Squelch’
He kept on walking.
‘Squelch, Squelch’
He looked down at the sickly noise that his rubber boots were making.
‘Man, what the fu…’ He proclaimed.
It was blood.
‘Ahhh pssshhh, they need to keep these walkways clean, one of us is gonna break our necks real soon…’ He said, dismissively. Waving his hand in the air as if to swat a fly.
Now, in any other circumstances, one might look at a trail of fresh blood and instantly panic or cry out for help under the premise that someone may be injured or possibly even dead. But not here. Blood was a common sight here at the docks and was no place to be squeamish. It was only until Jack took 5 more paces, turned round a few shipping containers to take in the view of the jetty that he realised where the blood came from.
There, by the jetty, where the sea meets the meagre stretch of sand next to the port, lay a mangled body. Seemingly crushed beyond any sign of life at all. Blood staining the clothes that remained on the carcass.
The crate of mackerel fell and crashed by Jack’s feet.
This was most surely a murder.
Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA
Saturday 23rd October 2014
It was a warm, sunny day in Virginia Beach. The hot sun beating down on the tired Fishermen. All of them eager to earn their day’s wages. America going over the Fiscal Cliff back in 2014 really made things difficult for the working class. These men had bills to pay; families to feed and the Reduced Spending by the Government really took them back.
The stinging scents of seawater and freshly caught fish lingered in the air. Men all around at their stations, preparing the fish, beheading and disembowelling the poor creatures…all was normal on this sunny Saturday afternoon.
‘Hey John, How’s it goin’ bud?’ The man called to his Workmate.
His friend replied ‘Ahhh, y’know. Things are goin’ okay…Wife thinks she’s comin’ down with some kinda illness but that ain’t nothin’ new. How ‘boucha yerself?’ His Texan Twang resonated with every syllable.
‘Man, well, ‘lest she’s still breathin’ I guess’ Jack responded.
‘Yeah, yeah, I hear ya Jack’ he said, drawing the dialogue to a close.
They gave their friendly nods and turned back to their duties. Jack turned and hoisted a large plastic crate of fresh mackerel up into his hands. Drawing the crate up to his chest in an attempt to spread the weight of the heavy fish.
‘Squelch’
He kept on walking.
‘Squelch, Squelch’
He looked down at the sickly noise that his rubber boots were making.
‘Man, what the fu…’ He proclaimed.
It was blood.
‘Ahhh pssshhh, they need to keep these walkways clean, one of us is gonna break our necks real soon…’ He said, dismissively. Waving his hand in the air as if to swat a fly.
Now, in any other circumstances, one might look at a trail of fresh blood and instantly panic or cry out for help under the premise that someone may be injured or possibly even dead. But not here. Blood was a common sight here at the docks and was no place to be squeamish. It was only until Jack took 5 more paces, turned round a few shipping containers to take in the view of the jetty that he realised where the blood came from.
There, by the jetty, where the sea meets the meagre stretch of sand next to the port, lay a mangled body. Seemingly crushed beyond any sign of life at all. Blood staining the clothes that remained on the carcass.
The crate of mackerel fell and crashed by Jack’s feet.
This was most surely a murder.
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