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.

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.

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.

Off the Clock

The cold brings all of my old injuries to life. A symphony of pain that maps out my career in law enforcement. Every major event that has shaped me.

Rage allows me to push it all aside. Compartmentalize it as background noise. The kids blood still stains my shirt. That is the only badge I’m carrying tonight. Innocent blood and the rage of a man who swore to serve and protect and every day watches the city die a little more.

The apartment building stinks. Honestly, that’s probably the least of the problems facing the few tenants that scurry about the dark halls. It’s certainly the least of Ricky’s problems.

I find the apartment . I want to kick the door in. I want to send a hail of bullets screaming for vengeance tearing through the air. I reign everything in and simply knock.

The footsteps inside are hesitant. Wary. The door opens, a flimsy chain the only thing between me and the child killer. I flash my teeth at him.

“Hello, Ricky,” I say. “I’d like to talk with you for a minute.”

“Who the hell are you, man?” he says. He has a gun. Probably the same one he used earlier. He’s almost flaunting it.

“Does that matter?” I ask.

He points the can at me, held at a ridiculous angle. “I think you better back the hell off,” he says.

I shrug once and turn, taking one step to the side. He starts easing the door closed and I throw myself into it. The chain doesn’t even slow me down, the impact only really echoing into my should when the door connects with Ricky. The gun goes off once  before bouncing off across the floor.

Before he even has a chance to react, I’m on him. A hand clenched around his throat. I squeeze and he squirms, clawing at my hand.

“You killed two people today, Ricky. One of them was only seven years old.” I drive the point home by smashing him against the wall every few words. Then I drop him. Giving him a moment to wheeze for breath.

“You. You’re fuckin’ crazy,” he says, eyes moving to his fallen gun.

I slam a fist into the side of his head and send him sprawling, followed with a solid kick to the stomach. Then I pull him back to his feat, holding him there.

“You’re done, Ricky. You made your last mistake,” I say and throw him into his own table, sending drug workings flying everywhere. The rage ebbs slightly. I hit him twice more when he tries to stand, sending him back to the ground.

He coughs and whimpers, bravado vanishing as quick as it came. I toss a phone at him. “Enough people have died today. Call the cops. Tell them what you did. Tell them to take you in. Because otherwise you’re leaving through the window,” I say.

He reaches for the gun.

Hard Landing

It all started with a kiss. Johnathon new better, but he had still fallen fast and hard. Now, there was only one way that things could end.

The flash of Johnathon’s lighter lit up scarred hands and his weathered face momentarily. He blew a puff of smoke into the crisp autumn night. It was time to end things. He had no real delusions of a fairy-tale ending, but it was against his nature to give in.

Johnathon picked up the duffle bag at his feat, slung it over his shoulder and started down the street. As he rounded the final corner, he pulled his Glock and put two slugs in the first guard. The second guard managed to get his gun drawn before Johnathon put a round in his head.

Johnathon shifted the duffle forward and pulled out the sawed-off shotgun stashed inside. He stepped past the fallen men and kicked open the door. The chaos began almost instantly. The room was full of men in suits, all scrambling for weapons.

The shotgun opened the scene with a roar and the first man fell. Then gunfire erupted through the room. Johnathon was hit almost immediately, caught in the leg, the shoulder and the chest. Johnathon fired once more before the gun slipped from his numbed fingers as the men in the room continued emptying guns into him.

Johnathon collapsed to the ground with a soft laugh. Several of the still standing goons crept closer, guns ready.

“He’s done for,” said one goon, kicking away the shotgun.

“Is his bag beeping?” said a second goon.

“Ah shit,” said a third as he turned to run for the door.

The explosion ripped through the building and the remaining men. No loose ends. Just like Johnathon liked it. Well, except for the girl. But she was on her own now. At least he had given her a big enough distraction to slip away. Hopefully, unnoticed.

Tony’s Break

The rain falls hard and fast, drowning out the screams in the warehouse. The rain obscures and cleans, while driving most scrambling indoors. It makes for excellent working conditions, if your business requires privacy.

The pattern of the rain makes the work fall into a simple pattern. One finger. One toe. Cold rain-water to keep him lucid. Honestly, he likely finished telling everything he new an hour ago, but it doesn’t pay to take chances in criminal enterprises. When you catch a mole in the organization, you make sure you know everything they know.

So I continue. Ignoring the plees as the rain keeps falling and one of the enforcers has to step outside. The gunmen like to think that they are the tough ones. The hard front-line that keeps people in line. But really, it is us quiet experts. The man people would rather catch a bullet than meet. Certainly Tony here would attest to that. Not that he will get to speak of anything else after this.

Finally, they are satisfied. They put two bullets in Tony, giving him his release and drag the body off to be disposed of, leaving me to clean my tools and listen to the rain. And to wonder when my bullet will finally come.

Twos

Her last cigerette left a smile on her face and a smudge of ash on the coffee-table.  Her empty wine-glass had rolled just a few inches from her finger-tips, but managed to stay on the couch. The expensive bottle of wine was only half-empty, standing neatly amid a pile of empty pill-bottles.

Her hair was immaculately curled. Gold waves left loose around shoulders, spilling across her silk robe. Her nails were painted red. A few tell-tale smudges where she had tried to clean up her mistakes broke the illusion of perfection. Of course, if that hadn’t, the cold blank stare of her eyes would have.

Suzy hadn’t turned up for work, which had set off alarms all through the club. You couldn’t do a night act without your performers. And with how the last no-show had turned out. Well, it seemed like a bad sign. Or, perhaps at this point, it would be fair to say it was a bad sign.

Two suicides from two performers in two nights. A lot of twos to be nothing but coincidence. But if it was a setup, this one was damn good. Or maybe she was just involved in the first suicide and couldn’t take the guilt. Didn’t matter too much, either way. The police were crawling over the place. They would figure something out, or they would toss it in a file in a back room and leave it there to rot. Only so much anyone can do to change that.

Unless, of course, there is some money to be made. Or just a guy who asks too many questions and hapened to like watching Suzy sing. Those were the sorts of things that could get a killer in hot water quick. Though generally not nearly so hot as the guy doing the digging.

Off Night

Last song of the night closes with a bare smattering of applause and Suzy exits in a bit of a huff. Me? I tuck the lid closed on my piano and make my way for the bar to weasle one last free drink before everyone is tossed out for the night.

A whiskey sour in my gut and a handful of tips in my pocket, I need some fun before I need some sleep. Even at this hour, Carson Street has plenty of action. The first girl in my price range (cheap, for the record) takes me to the local pay-by-the-hour joint.

We both leave feeling unsatisfied with the transaction.

The last couple of dollars go for a new pack of smokes on the way home. I’m tucking the third to last cigerette from the back between my lips when I round last corner before my building. I pause at the steps and dig out my lighter and try to coax one last bit of flame from the cheap piece of plastic.

A couple dozen sprays of spark and I finally toss it off into the street and pull out keys and head inside, cigerette still tucked in my mouth, waiting for the book of matches upstairs. The apartment door itself is unlocked, which seems wrong, but I was running late so I don’t concern myself much.

But three steps in, a few things click. Suzy is framed in the neon glow creeping in my window, smoking. I can’t see her expression in the backlight, but I can see she isn’t wearing much. I close the door quickly and clear my throat.

“So. Been a long time since you stopped by,” I say.

“Do you really want to waste my time with talk?” she asks.

I don’t. I cross the room toward her, tossing aside my jacket and start unbuttoning my pants when the whole world seems to lurch sideways and I find myself on the ground. I try and say something, but my mouth doesn’t seem to work right. In fact, my whole body suddenly feels cold and numb.

Then I see the boot stepping over me and a vague dark figure leaning over me. His voice is rough and not one I recognize. “Tub filled?”

“Just like you asked,” she says.

He grunts a bit and my view tumbles as  I’m suddenly flung up onto his shoulder. I want to plead and beg and try to understand. The best I manage is a slight gurgling noise.

Suzy follows and pats my cheek once in the bathroom door before turning away. “Bye, Larry. Your music is shit.”

And I’m in the tub, my head under water. I can’t thrash or scream. I can’t even blink as the wavy figure of a man lifts tosses something toward me. I see him turning to leave before my muscles jerk back to life with one last searing jolt of pain.