Falling Down Part II

Read Part I Here

The blood oozing around the knife blade in my arm keeps distracting me. I shrug my trench coat off with a bit of a wince and carefully tear the hole in my shirt wider. It isn’t much of a knife, just a little pen blade sort of thing. Seems to have missed anything important, but I just know it’s going to bleed like hell. I sigh and give the glove box a good wack with my good hand and it falls open. The first aid kit barely fits, but it has been handy to keep around. I toss it into the passengers seat and flick it open. A shot of borboun for me from a small bottle, follow by a splash of rubbing alcohol for the wound and the tweezers. Sure as hell aint using my drinking alcohol to clean up if I don’t have to.

I manage to get a good grip on the end of the knife and take a moment to start breathing steady. I give it a good yank on the fourth intake which very quickly turns into a string of curses. I need stitches. Instead, I squeeze the wound together and stick a butterfly bandage on it. I’d use the little tube of superglue if I had an extra arm.

I wrap a bit of gauze around the arm for good measure and tape it down. My fingers can still wiggle and the little stabs of pain are a definite improvement. I toss the first aid kit back into the glove box and sit back with a sigh, snatching up the notebook page again. It probably wouldn’t hurt to clean up more, but at the same time I really don’t know how much time I have. It has  been a much louder night then I normally like to have.

The notes on the paper don’t make me any happier even after the quick patch job on my arm, but I can focus more on what I’m seeing. Francis Cordell was the sort of man that everyone knew was up to his eyeballs in sleeze, but managed to avoid being implicated in anything at all. It also meant that getting at him without having to gun down a small army wasn’t going to be easy.

I took a moment to reload my revolver to capacity and snapped it shut. I really wasn’t equiped for a blood bath. That and Francis was probably smart enough to catch wind of all the noise. Despite that, I find myself starting up the car and wheeling across town toward the penthouse address in the note. Maybe I can come up with some sort of crazy plan that wont get me killed until I toss Francis out a window. Either way, I’m not backing down now.

Midnight Snacks

My trench coat falls to the floor, her negligee and a fresh bottle of scotch on my desk. In this light, all the angles of her are perfect. It’s then, amidst my admiration, she pulls out my gun. It barks once and the world explodes.

I wake up in a dark room, pain dancing through my body, taking the deluxe scenic tour. I’m slumped in a chair and when I try to move, more pain. But I manage to catch the feel of rope biting into my skin around my ankles, wrists, waist and neck. Shit. I’m not wearing anything but rope and my own blood.

My eyes focus a little, but the light shining in my eyes turns the rest of the room into mud. I think there are two people. The girl and her partner?

“What the hell do you want?” I say, attempting a growl but not managing much more then a whisper.

“Amusement,” comes back her voice.

“Lady, if you wanted to tie me up, you could have tried asking. I’m willing to try anything once, especially with a hot thing like you,” I say, managing to muster a little more voice.

She laughs and a large man steps forward. The kind of guy that looks like he was vat grown to bust people’s knee-caps. Hell. That’s never a good sign. Laughing and thugs never ends well for me.

His fists land like hammers and the world fractures into bits of red and black and then nothing.

A splash of cold water stirs me. Everything seems sideways. Which is when I realize that the thug most have knocked me over while he worked. I cough and the spots dance back across my eyes.

“I’d like to make you an offer,” she said.

“Sorry, lady. I’m running low on ribs at this point. I think you might want to find another punching bag for your friend,” I mumble into the concrete.

Feat step into my view. And then knees as she crouches. She tugs my face up toward hers by my hair. I grunt my dismay, which doesn’t seem to impress her much.

“You can entertain my companion here for what little time you might last under his… minestration. Or, you can  be mine,” she says.

I blink at her. “You realize this isn’t really a normal way to pick up men.”

She backhands me with her free hand, not letting go of my hair. I’m suprised at her strength. Come to think of it, I’m suprised I haven’t finished bleeding out by now. She must have really picked her shot. She gives me enough time to regain at least a little bit of my vision, before continuing.

“One last chance. Yes or no,” she says.

“Sure, why the hell not? I mean, how much rougher can you be then knuckles over there?” I say, trying to sound flipant. Honestly, I’m scared as hell. This all feels wrong.

Then she smiles a bright fanged smile and my head swims. Before I manage any other noise, her teath are deep in my throat and I’m lost in the most horrifyingly wonderful sensation I’ve ever felt. She’s killing me, but god help me, I don’t want her to stop.

She doesn’t. I feel the world slide away from me and despite a momentary attempt to cling, the darkness swallows me whole.

Falling Down

The rain dances over the city and I can’t help but smile just a little. There is something satisfying about mood-weather. Besides, it helped wash the smell of burning plastic off of me. Not to mention making it harder to see the fire spreading through the building. I bury my hands in deep coat pockets and head for the car. Hopefully the goons inside were distracted enough by the noise he made on the way in.

I’m making good time up the street in the bucket of bolts that passes for my car by the time sirens start off in the distance. Yeah. I’m probably going to have some questions to answer later, but I have a lead. A chance to catch up with a killer that I have a bit of a grudge with. I’ve always prefer the hands on approach to solving problems. The more hands on the better.

The hotel I pull up in front of just screams trouble. Not that the neighborhood really begs for a classy hotel. I drive past the hotel, circling down a street a few blocks down. Hopefully the rain will keep anyone from wandering off with my car. Not that it’s worth wandering off with.

Thunder rumbles through the sounds of rain on the street and I step out of it into the hotel. The lobby is really just a desk with a pasty looking man flipping through a worn skin rag. I head straight to him, deciding to take the direct route.

“Big guy. Scar on his right cheek. Short cropped hair and probably wearing a suit. What room is he in?” I say, pulling out my revolver and checking the rounds.

The desk clerk stares at the gun and slowly lowers the magazine, “We… um…”

I snap the revolver closed, lowering it slightly and settling a finger inside the trigger guard.

The desk clerk swallows hard. “Ground floor, room far back room on the left near the emergency exit.”

“You might want to consider stepping out for a cigarette or something,” I say and start down the hall, keeping the gun in hand. The sound of rough sex leaks from one of the rooms early in the hall, and I keep walking. The door at the end of the hall has a burned out emergency exit sign and is open a crack. I frown a little. It feels wrong. But no where to go but forward now.

I pause at the door, to one side and look it over, considering the locks and frame. It looks flimsy. But if anyone called, it could easily be a trap. Or he could just be good enough to be ready. I close my eyes and picture the dying breath of a young man I promised to help, and the rest comes easy.

I kick the door, and it busts inward, the frame shattering at the deadbolt. I see the killer leaping to his feat at the noise and put a bullet in his right shoulder. He spins to the bed and I’m on top of him before he has a chance to reach for his backup piece.

The red haze slides between my eyes and the world as my fists rearrange his face. Somehow, he manages to get a knife into my arm. The blade breaks off there. Cheap thing. I keep hitting him until he goes loose, but not quite unconscious. Then I drag him to his feat.

“You son of a bitch. I want to know who hired you,” I say, my voice a growl.

He coughs a weak laugh. “You know better then that,” his eyes trail to his gun.

I take two steps, dragging him with and put his face through the hotel window. This gets a bit of a scream from him as I drag him back into the room by the back of his shirt and spin him to face me. “Care to try again?”

“Black book, in my suitcase. Christ, man. Are you fucking insane?”

I draw back my foot and stomp his knee. The pop sound would be sickening if I wasn’t still so angry. He falls to the ground with a high pitched squeal and finally passes out. I pick up my gun and move to his suitcase and dump it on the floor. As he promised, there’s a black ledger with careful notes and photos. Blackmail pieces. He was certainly a gem. I find the page with the young man and rip it out, folding it and tucking it into my pocket. I toss the book onto him and head for the door. I figure the cops will appreciate that little gesture. Maybe buy me enough time to finish this.

Back out in the rain the red fades for the moment and the aches from the fight start to settle. My knuckles are a mess. Not a surprise considering I wasn’t exactly being careful with my punches. And the knife in my arm was still oozing slowly and hissing with pain with the cold, damp air. I shake my head and stumble back to the car. Got to get some distance before planing my next move. Before the cops showed up and hauled me in and put a stop to it. To me.

I find the car and manage to get a few miles away, back into civilization enough to find a gas station to park in with some light. The world slid sideways for a moment and I clenched my teeth, growling and dragging it back with every ounce of my will. The night wasn’t over yet.

Saving Grace

“Another shot,” I say, slapping another large bill on the counter, “and keep them coming.”

The barkeep frowns at the money, but I catch his eyes and stare him down until he poors me another whiskey. I wouldn’t recommend most people try something like that. The barkeep is always right. I just don’t give a damn anymore. Which he can see in my eyes. I lost the one thing that mattered to the fire. My one saving grace turned to ash.

One swallow and I was ready for another shot. I wouldn’t have bothered comming out in public for drinks, but I already drank what I had in the office. I kept waiting to get enough in me to dull the pain or to poison myself into oblivion. I wasn’t really picky with which.

The night wore on, my money ran out and I was relieved of my keys before being pointed toward a taxi. I didn’t bother with it. I didn’t really have anywhere left to go at this point. Instead I tucked my hat down more firmly and stumbled into the night.

I certainly hadn’t planned to go back to the scene. There wasn’tn anything to see after all. Nothing but ash.

I find myself on the ground suddenly, staring up at the dark sky. Everything turns sort of fuzzy and wrong, bleeding into sparks of white and black. I see a wing and a hand set against the sparks and finally feel that release.

My Abyss

I am always falling down,

no bottom in site.

Just a torn gown,

remnant of our fight,

our fire burning flesh

into memory, ghosts

of a past I daily refresh,

edging towards a lethal dose.

I strive to escape the mesh

of my dreams, so close

with realities sting.

Instead, I thresh

myself, fall morose,

until your praise I sing.

Pulling Teath

He built the case for his tools himself. Modifying the briefcase had taken months, since he had no interest in allowing the tools to make any noise or for them to add any obvious bulk to the case. The entire point was keeping them from being accidentally discovered. Which had happened once. It had been a shame to have to vanish the girl like that. He had honestly liked her. But his business required the utmost discretion. Something an amazing number of people seemed to forget. Which is what kept him showing up to these warehouses late at night.

He clicked the case open and carefully released the catches in the lining, setting it aside with the various files and worn paperback books he kept in it. The three men tied to chairs fought hard against the knots as they saw the gleaming metal instruments. He always liked to make sure they had time to imagine. The anticipation was often enough to get them talking. Though the talking was rarely enough to satisfy his clients.

He motioned the nearby men in suits. “Turn them to face one another. With enough space for me to move between them.” His voice was soft, almost melodic. He picked up a set of pliers and waited for them to be moved into position, then turned, watching the men for a moment. He picked the one putting on the bravest face to start. That would rattle the others quickly.

He cleaned his tools thoroughly before returning them to the case, but the rest of the cleanup was not his job. In the early days he had offered that service as well. Now he was quite content with what he could make just working on the men who were brought to him. It kept his sister in the best care facility in the world and gave him enough to continue his own modest existence. He clicked the lining back into place and closed the briefcase. The remaining pleading and inevitable gunfire held little interest for him. It was time for a nice drive back into the city, a cup of tea and the newest harlequin book sitting on his coffee table at home.

City Paths

Concrete paths bleed

summers heat

into the evening,

into soles

of worn shoes,

old rythms

carrying me

into shadows,

alleyways, corners

of a city

I try to love.

Triplicates

I carefully inscribed the last ward around the circle. In triplicate. I made one final check to make sure every line was absolutely correct and perfect, then began the summoning. I didn’t bother with chanting. It didn’t seem appropriate in this particular case. Instead, I started throwing incorrectly filled out forms and red pens into the circle. Big rubber ‘denied’ stamps and a couple of half-dead flickering flourescent bulbs followed. I even managed to find a few scraps of hideous tile and carpet to join the pile that was my offering. My bait.

The lights in the warehouse flickered. Not a proper spooky flicker. That same annoying flicker of the flourescent bulbs laying the pile. The place didn’t even have flourescent bulbs. I stealed myself against the gathering mass in the center of the circle. From somewhere, the drone of instrumental muzac started filling the empty space.

I pulled my eyes away from the circle just for a moment. Just long enough to check on possible sources for the muzac. To make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. When I looked back, it was waiting. I cylopean horror dripping red ink from its mouth, full of pens for teath. It wore one of the most aweful boring suits ever and even had a set of thick coke-bottle glasses perched over one set of eyes.

“Please wait in the designated area until your number is called,” droned the horrible beast as it settled contentedly into the circle.

The room filled with a stale scent of cheap cleaners. I edged closer, eyeing up the horror I had called down. It seemed quite content to ignore me. Producing a nail file from somewhere and starting to work on manacuring its claws.

“Um. You realize I’ve summoned you into a circle and have you trapped, right?” I said.

My voice echoed softly and the creatue slowly looked up. “Your number has not been called yet, sir. I’m afraid you will just have to wait your turn.”

“But. But you aren’t even calling numbers. There’s not even anyone else HERE,” I said, getting more frustrated.

“I’m sorry sir, we have rules for a reason. Please go back to the waiting area and wait for your number to be called,” droned the creature.

I stomped a foot, raising my voice. “I have summoned and bound you. You will listen to me or I will leave you to rot in that circle.”

“I’m sorry sir, it doesn’t matter who you’re related to. Everyone is subject to the rules here. If you’ll just return to the waiting area, we’ll get to you just as soon as we have an available agent,” it said, sounding bored.

I bit back a curse and stalked away from the circle, taking several deep breaths.

“Number 666. Number 666, please report to the counter.”

The smell of sulfer filled the room and I turned. Standing in front of the circle was The Beast. In capital letters. My jaw dropped a little and I stood there, stairing.

“Um, yeah. I filled out this form about begining the apocolypse and just need to get it approved so I can get started,” said The Beast.

The creature took the form, which looked more like some sort of tome, looked it over briefly, then stamped it with a red denied stamp and offered it back to The Beast. ” I’m sorry. You forgot to initial line 3,376 twice. And there is a smudge on page 37. We can’t possibly accept this. Number 667. Number 667, please report to the counter.”

The Beasts jaw dropped, then it snuffled a bit, hugged the book and slunk back into the shadows, muttering. “I’ve filled this damn thing out 300 times now. It’s just not fair,” he said and vanished.

“Um. Where do I get a number?” I asked, keeping my voice more even.

“Numbers are handed out at the information kiosk. Now if you’ll please return to the waiting area, we’ll get to you just as soon as we can,” said the creature.

I shook my head slowly and tossed the ritual blade off to the side and left. If it was going to take that much effort just to get my turn with the physical manifestation of bureaucracy, then I’d just have to find some other way to seek my revenge.

Shaman

A handful of feathers

tied into braids,

a form of memory,

small tribute,

to what was,

to the wind,

and change.

NaPoWriMo Read Write Poem Prompt #30

Think

Forget her

with hope

of normal sleep,

a morning

not alone,

a fragment

of sanity,

a moment

of contact

with humanity.

NaPoWriMo Read Write Poem Prompt #29