Day 19: Two big bags of dead man’s bones
Now my dear mother's sick. Not as bad as I was (she can keep liquids and some simple foods down) but still.
We mosied up the stairs. It was a sad place, and the boards creaked worryingly in places. In a healthier economy this place would have been torn down, and something with a truly frightening pricetag built in its place. The walls were stained perpetually yellow by damp and nicotine.
“Looks like your office, except without handicap access” I said. I feel the need to apologize here. The urge to be a smartass is one of the hazards of this profession, only narrowly eked out by alcoholism and rampant paranoia.
“Funny” Oscar said. “Straighten your tie. You look like you escaped from a bachelor party.”
“And you're the bride's newly paroled uncle”. My hands were clammy. This could potentially be bad. After the local cops had found the third strangled corpse with eyes put out they had kicked the problem around a bit, then left it at our doorstep like a bastard child. There was nothing to indicate that this was our kind of thing. It could be more renegade Nazi Odinists. It could be a rare chance to take some Pale Sons cultists out of commision, before the problem became painfully unmanageable. It could equally well be a sick fuck of a more secular nature, nd the cops should do their damn job.
“This is the place” Oscar said, quite unnecessarily. “You ready?”
“I guess.”
Oscar knocked in that way which I've never managed to copy. The kind that doesn't say COP in big neon letters but suggest that this might in fact be opportunity itself knocking. A winning lottery ticket in a tight blouse.
A few moments passed. We coud hear traffic outside, a baby crying somewhere, and behind the door a TV. Then footsteps. Someone heavy, deliberate and not pleased. You get an intuition about these things.
“Here comes the big Billy Goat Gruff” I said just before the door began to open.
The man who opened the door was huge. Even through the crack we could see that he filled the doorframe and then some. His belly was a pale distended thing poking out of a black t-shirt and sweats. His arms were massive, doughy but also long. Almost like an ape. The face was like a huge round moon with eyes like black beads and a wide almost lipless mouth. The entire man gave the impression of something filled to the point of bursting. Some mass was straining behind the skin.
Oscar lit up a yellow smile. “Good afternoon. Have you considered what happens to you after death?”
There is a knock on the door. Just when I've begun drifting off to a place where my brother's innane attempts at conversation can't reach me. The TV shows music and nicely exaggreated emotions. That's when it has to happen. It's not the Old Man or any of his dogsbodies. They always call ahead.
“There's someone at the door” my brother says and I almost punch him.
“Then go see who it is”. We are like two mongoloids bickering. I have to focus on how good it will feel to get all this overwith.
“I never know what to say” He actually pouts.
I get up. It is something to do and I need that.
Outside the door stand two men. They're both in shabby suits and look like it's been a couple of days since their last bath. The one on the right has thick grey slicked-back hair and a wide smile. He says something that I don't quite catch. Some lie.
The other man is taller and has his hair in a ponytail. He's got a little potbelly and a short beard. I notice the bulge in his jacket pocket and throw a punch. This isn't meant to happen.
He was fast for his size, gotta give him that. Fast as hell. I do have some good reflexes myself however. When werewolves, cultistst and glamoured obese men with switchblades who claim to be Tybalt, king of cats take a swing at you on a weekly basis, you learn to get out of the way. This time I almost did so. His fist felt like twenty kilos of steel wrapped in lard as it connected with my shoulder. That was a lot better than my face, but it still knocked me ass over tits.
The man shut the door, right on Oscar's foot. I could hear him squeal in pain. Then there's the loud rapport of Oscar's Glock. He called back over his shoulder
“Are you dead?”
“No” I said, getting up. How's the guy?”
“Escaping. Call for backup” His voice was trembling.
I got to my feet and got out my cellphone while the world was playing The Magic Roundabout. Oscar forged ahead despite being old enough to know better. I pulled out my own gun and went in after him.
“They got away down the back stairs. Shoulda waited for backup”.
“The police should've been here” I said. “Not us”.
Oscar pointed at the floor. “Nope. This is one of ours”.
On the floor was a small trail of what I at first took to be grain. On closer inspection they turned out to be bone fragments so tiny they were barely more than a powder. I saw a human tooth, as well as something that could have been part of a finger bone.
“I hit that guy” Oscar said. “Now his stuffing's coming out”.
This entry was originally posted at http://hafwit.dreamwidth.org/17180.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
We mosied up the stairs. It was a sad place, and the boards creaked worryingly in places. In a healthier economy this place would have been torn down, and something with a truly frightening pricetag built in its place. The walls were stained perpetually yellow by damp and nicotine.
“Looks like your office, except without handicap access” I said. I feel the need to apologize here. The urge to be a smartass is one of the hazards of this profession, only narrowly eked out by alcoholism and rampant paranoia.
“Funny” Oscar said. “Straighten your tie. You look like you escaped from a bachelor party.”
“And you're the bride's newly paroled uncle”. My hands were clammy. This could potentially be bad. After the local cops had found the third strangled corpse with eyes put out they had kicked the problem around a bit, then left it at our doorstep like a bastard child. There was nothing to indicate that this was our kind of thing. It could be more renegade Nazi Odinists. It could be a rare chance to take some Pale Sons cultists out of commision, before the problem became painfully unmanageable. It could equally well be a sick fuck of a more secular nature, nd the cops should do their damn job.
“This is the place” Oscar said, quite unnecessarily. “You ready?”
“I guess.”
Oscar knocked in that way which I've never managed to copy. The kind that doesn't say COP in big neon letters but suggest that this might in fact be opportunity itself knocking. A winning lottery ticket in a tight blouse.
A few moments passed. We coud hear traffic outside, a baby crying somewhere, and behind the door a TV. Then footsteps. Someone heavy, deliberate and not pleased. You get an intuition about these things.
“Here comes the big Billy Goat Gruff” I said just before the door began to open.
The man who opened the door was huge. Even through the crack we could see that he filled the doorframe and then some. His belly was a pale distended thing poking out of a black t-shirt and sweats. His arms were massive, doughy but also long. Almost like an ape. The face was like a huge round moon with eyes like black beads and a wide almost lipless mouth. The entire man gave the impression of something filled to the point of bursting. Some mass was straining behind the skin.
Oscar lit up a yellow smile. “Good afternoon. Have you considered what happens to you after death?”
There is a knock on the door. Just when I've begun drifting off to a place where my brother's innane attempts at conversation can't reach me. The TV shows music and nicely exaggreated emotions. That's when it has to happen. It's not the Old Man or any of his dogsbodies. They always call ahead.
“There's someone at the door” my brother says and I almost punch him.
“Then go see who it is”. We are like two mongoloids bickering. I have to focus on how good it will feel to get all this overwith.
“I never know what to say” He actually pouts.
I get up. It is something to do and I need that.
Outside the door stand two men. They're both in shabby suits and look like it's been a couple of days since their last bath. The one on the right has thick grey slicked-back hair and a wide smile. He says something that I don't quite catch. Some lie.
The other man is taller and has his hair in a ponytail. He's got a little potbelly and a short beard. I notice the bulge in his jacket pocket and throw a punch. This isn't meant to happen.
He was fast for his size, gotta give him that. Fast as hell. I do have some good reflexes myself however. When werewolves, cultistst and glamoured obese men with switchblades who claim to be Tybalt, king of cats take a swing at you on a weekly basis, you learn to get out of the way. This time I almost did so. His fist felt like twenty kilos of steel wrapped in lard as it connected with my shoulder. That was a lot better than my face, but it still knocked me ass over tits.
The man shut the door, right on Oscar's foot. I could hear him squeal in pain. Then there's the loud rapport of Oscar's Glock. He called back over his shoulder
“Are you dead?”
“No” I said, getting up. How's the guy?”
“Escaping. Call for backup” His voice was trembling.
I got to my feet and got out my cellphone while the world was playing The Magic Roundabout. Oscar forged ahead despite being old enough to know better. I pulled out my own gun and went in after him.
“They got away down the back stairs. Shoulda waited for backup”.
“The police should've been here” I said. “Not us”.
Oscar pointed at the floor. “Nope. This is one of ours”.
On the floor was a small trail of what I at first took to be grain. On closer inspection they turned out to be bone fragments so tiny they were barely more than a powder. I saw a human tooth, as well as something that could have been part of a finger bone.
“I hit that guy” Oscar said. “Now his stuffing's coming out”.
This entry was originally posted at http://hafwit.dreamwidth.org/17180.html. Please comment there using OpenID.