Ugh... Fuck you, Yom Kippur

Going to try for a little more brevity on this one:

"Well."

He rolls his chin between thumb and forefinger.

"Well, well, well."

Crouching down, he scoops up a handful of salt. It's kosher salt, longer and thinner than sea salt, but still larger than table salt. It's also red. And gooey. It clumps together with the blood from which it's drawn and falls, spreading with a thick slap against the concrete.

"Adams?"

The requested aide was at the man's side in an instant.

"Y-yes?"

He cleans the blood from his hand with a kerchief and tosses it over his shoulder, where Adams scrambles to catch it before it hits the ground.

"Get a sample. I want to know, by morning, who this man was and where he'd been in the past..."

He looks to the slop at his feet and his forehead crinkles.

"Give it twelve hours to be safe."

The blood specialist pulls out his vial and a catheter and immediately sets to work getting a sample, squeezing at the corpse's exposed muscles in an attempt to coax out an uncontaminated blood vessel.

Uncontaminated... What a pain in the ass.

Watching Adams work, the thought hits him like a bullet train, turns him around and pushes him back to his car, the blue and red lights still flashing in sequence. He switches them off and pulls the assembly off of the roof, throwing it in the backseat, then backs off of the curb, sliding out into the street and turning onto the highway. Exits pass by for what seems like eternity.