Dillan Blight: Supernatural Detective

August 14, 2008

Dillan patted down his pockets and pulled out a mangled cigerette. He started reaching for the lighter and stopped. Still mangled. He sighed and dropped the cigerette, crushing it under foot. Maybe this was a sign that he should try and quit. Or stick to higher quality lighters. Dillan shook his head then took a moment to get his bearings. North, huh? Well, if Al was trying to get him killed, he was certainly going about it in a round-about fashion.

Dillan started off toward the north end of the city, hobling along at a steady pace. He was also missing his car. He was really starting to look forward to finding whatever maniac was playing games with him. Hopefully, he’d be the talkative sort. Give Dillan a chance to knock his teath down his throat while he blathered on about his master plan.

Distracting himself with thoughts of extreme violence was probably not the best choice. Dillan completely missed the two men in dark suits stepping out of the building he was passing. The nearing footsteps drew his attention just soon enough to take the sap more to the side of his head then the back. Dillan cursed and fell to the ground hard as his vision swam between black and red.

A sharp kick to his side rolled Dillan onto his back. Dillan groaned, trying to blink back the spots. Instinct was the only thing that saved him from the next kick, aimed at his head. Dillan manage to get a hand up and caught the man’s ankle, then rolled with is momentum. The first of the two suits jerked and tried to twist free, only making him more tangled in his own limbs as he flew over Dillan and into the street.

The second suit stepped in and stomped Dillan’s injured leg. Dillan let out a roar of pain and half curled in on the injured leg. Through it though, he made a quick mental note that they knew not only which leg but also where to stomp. Could have been a luck coincedence, but that seemed too much to hope for.

The first suit untangled himself and pushed himself up, whiping a line of blood from his now split lip and growled, “Back off, Johnny. I want to teach him some manners.”

The second suit nodded and stepped back. His friend stepped back over, loosening his tie.

“Could have saved yourself a lot of pain if you’d have just gone down,” the first suit said. He nudged at Dillan with one foot, then rocked back onto his other foot and drove a solid kick into Dillan’s back.

Dillan drew in a sharp breath and scrabbled a hand in close against him, trying to curl in a little more to hide his movemenet for his gun.

“Nothing smart to say now? No clever retort?” the suit said and launched another viscious kick into Dillan’s back.

This time, Dillan rolled with the momentum of the kick, and came over facing the man with his gun out of the holster. Not the best shooting position, but rather then hoping the suits would see it in their best interest to back down now that a gun was in play, Dillan squeezed off a shot.

Both suits instinctively dove away from the sound. The bullet grazed the first suit’s calf and he hit the ground hard. The second though was a little more prepared and rolled and then threw himself at Dillan. Twisted enough to be ready, but the suit still managed to push the gun up and away. Dillan took the chance to tug the man in closer and brought his forehead in sharply against the bridge of the suit’s nose. There was a horrible crack, a startled pained noise, and blood. The suit’s grip slipped and Dillan brough the revolver in hard, clipping him in the side of the head. The suit went limp and Dillan started shoving him aside when the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered in an semi-automatic hand gun stopped him dead.

“Breath too hard and I’ll put a bullet right between your fucking eyes,” said the first suit, a little unsteady and still bleeding decently from the graze.

Dillan cracked a slight smile. “I’m going to hazard a guess and say that your boss wanted me alive, or you’d have just shot me from the outset,” said Dillan, though he still didn’t move.

“I don’t see anyone here to tell him how it happened, do you?” said the suit, stepping in close and leaning down to shove the gun against Dillan’s head.

“Do you really think he’d leave you unsupervised when he has disposable minions running wild?” said Dillan, focusing his gaze over the suit’s shoulder.

The man twitched a little, but didn’t pull away. “You’re bluffing and it ain’t going to work,” said the suit.

Dillan’s smile twitched just a bit wider. “I’m taking your wallet and using your money to pay for the dry cleaning bill on this, just so you know.”

The suit snarled and pulled back the gun to smash it into Dillan’s face, only to have his arm snagged while it was back. The suit turned, eyes snapping wide at the undead, sigiled creature. It kept twisting his arm back into a painful and implossible angle, while the suit’s body tried to twist to lessen the pain. Dillan shoved aside the unconscious suit still pinning him and sat up, leveling the gun. There was a scream and a pop as the suit’s arm dislocated. Possibly in more then one place. Dillan squeezed the trigger.

The undead man’s head snapped backwards and the rest of the body slumped after it, leaving the suit to crumple to the ground, still screaming and clutching at his ruined arm.

“I’m guessing you’re probably fired, by the way,” said Dillan. He then pulled himself over next to the man and patted him down, finding his wallet and taking it, tucking it into one of his own pockets. He also picked up the gun, thumbed the safety and pocketed it as well before carefully pushing himself upright. He took a minute to shake out another pair of painpills and swallow them. Yep. Deffinetly going to be knocking someone’s teath in before this was done.

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