Dharma Gun Fanfic: Under the Boardwalk
Title: Under the Boardwalk
Series: This is fanfiction for gogoangelgunboy's Dharma Gun
Genre: Spiritual Mayhem, or Feng Shui with a gun.
Rating: R for very explicit violence
Word Count: 750
Disclaimers: I do not own Dharma Gun, Tommy, or Immer and do not make any money off these writings. The story line and characters are owned by Gabriel Malloy and are used with his permission. Copyright 2009 by Liralen Li, all rights reserved.
A/N: This was a drabble that got away from me. From gogoangelgunboy's prompts: Immer, souvenir.
Immer closed his left eye as he slid under the Boardwalk of Atlantic City. In front of him he heard a man growl, "Where did that little punk go?"
The world underneath was shadow, striped by light coming through the few empty cracks. Shadows flickered against the ground as even at 5 a.m. the Atlantic City boardwalk had people on it. ZZ Tops' "Under Pressure" ground out above them from the House of Blues, covering every sound.
He felt more than saw Tommy slip out the other side.
None of his blood is to be spilled on this shore.
Now, in a pool of shadow under the concrete wind break, Immer opened his dark-adapted eye. The white collar of the mark jumped out against dark suit and tie. The idiot swore at having lost the slender youth he'd thought he'd trap in the shadows.
Immer walked up behind him, slipped the garrote over the hair product-slicked head, and yanked hard, crushing windpipe. The big man bucked, tried to elbow, kick, and then throw Immer over his head, but he grimly hung on. For a moment, he flashed back to Parker hanging onto a sunfishing bull; but this was no three-quarter tons of athletic muscle. All too soon, the soft sand muffled the drumming of kicking heels. Then the mark lay still with the usual aroma of shit and piss.
Immer kept his grip for a good five minutes more.
When he finally relaxed, a blood-red ball rolled from some unseen pocket and came to rest, gleaming with metallic runes, in a tiny pool of light.
He reached and hesitated.
Finish the job first. He wrestled the dead weight so that the head pointed North. He threw a white silk hood over the pop-eyed face, and carefully removed all change from the suit's pockets. He pulled out the belt and took off the patent leather shoes, showing gold-toed socks. He laid the arms out.
With the weight of the shoes and belt in his hands, he turned back to that little ball.
He picked it up. Nothing happened. It felt like any toy, light plastic. He slid it into his pocket.
When it hit the bottom of his pocket, the shadows moved.
"Shit," muttered Immer, and pulled his gun.
But a shift of the light and he saw dozens of cats slinking over the sand, eyes bright with reflected light. They were a ragged bunch, but each moved toward the corpse with a purpose Immer had no desire to know.
He holstered and left.
He emerged a few hundred yards to the south. A hungry gull eyed him and then flapped heavily away. An empty lifeguard station stood watch over a world dissolving to white mist.
The belt and shoes disappeared into a half-empty trash can.
Next to the can was a sign that began, "Please do not feed the cats that make the Boardwalk their home. Atlantic City Humane Society has formulated a comprehensive plan for controlling the feral population…"
He found Tommy at the Dunkin' Donuts on the Boardwalk. The slender man was eating a donut frosted in white and covered in rainbow sprinkles. Dark eyes looked up at him, and nudged a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts at him.
He sat down, took a grateful sip. Then he dug the ball from his pocket and rolled it toward Tommy.
Coming close to a rivet, the ball's path wobbled. It rolled right onto the rivet in front of Tommy and gave a small click. Immer's reflexes made to throw it as far away from them as possible; but Tommy's slender hand moved even faster to shield the ball.
Both of them watched as tiny wings and limbs unfurled. A tiny dragon appeared as red as blood, wings edged in gold, forehead crowned in diamond. Dark emerald eyes stared into Tommy's.
Tommy froze. He bit his lower lip, and then he smiled hugely and crowed, "It's a Pyrodragonoid! Drago becomes one, you know? I can tell by the gold wings…"
His slender fingers gently picked it up, and eager eyes searched the underside before Tommy gave a small whistle. "This is a strong one, too. Thanks!"
Immer nodded. "A little souvenir, baby, just for you."
Tommy smiled and nodded, crooning, "Just for me." In his hands, the toy looked to be nothing but red plastic painted with bits of yellow and white.
Immer relaxed and finished his donuts and coffee before they headed back to his rig.
Series: This is fanfiction for gogoangelgunboy's Dharma Gun
Genre: Spiritual Mayhem, or Feng Shui with a gun.
Rating: R for very explicit violence
Word Count: 750
Disclaimers: I do not own Dharma Gun, Tommy, or Immer and do not make any money off these writings. The story line and characters are owned by Gabriel Malloy and are used with his permission. Copyright 2009 by Liralen Li, all rights reserved.
A/N: This was a drabble that got away from me. From gogoangelgunboy's prompts: Immer, souvenir.
Immer closed his left eye as he slid under the Boardwalk of Atlantic City. In front of him he heard a man growl, "Where did that little punk go?"
The world underneath was shadow, striped by light coming through the few empty cracks. Shadows flickered against the ground as even at 5 a.m. the Atlantic City boardwalk had people on it. ZZ Tops' "Under Pressure" ground out above them from the House of Blues, covering every sound.
He felt more than saw Tommy slip out the other side.
None of his blood is to be spilled on this shore.
Now, in a pool of shadow under the concrete wind break, Immer opened his dark-adapted eye. The white collar of the mark jumped out against dark suit and tie. The idiot swore at having lost the slender youth he'd thought he'd trap in the shadows.
Immer walked up behind him, slipped the garrote over the hair product-slicked head, and yanked hard, crushing windpipe. The big man bucked, tried to elbow, kick, and then throw Immer over his head, but he grimly hung on. For a moment, he flashed back to Parker hanging onto a sunfishing bull; but this was no three-quarter tons of athletic muscle. All too soon, the soft sand muffled the drumming of kicking heels. Then the mark lay still with the usual aroma of shit and piss.
Immer kept his grip for a good five minutes more.
When he finally relaxed, a blood-red ball rolled from some unseen pocket and came to rest, gleaming with metallic runes, in a tiny pool of light.
He reached and hesitated.
Finish the job first. He wrestled the dead weight so that the head pointed North. He threw a white silk hood over the pop-eyed face, and carefully removed all change from the suit's pockets. He pulled out the belt and took off the patent leather shoes, showing gold-toed socks. He laid the arms out.
With the weight of the shoes and belt in his hands, he turned back to that little ball.
He picked it up. Nothing happened. It felt like any toy, light plastic. He slid it into his pocket.
When it hit the bottom of his pocket, the shadows moved.
"Shit," muttered Immer, and pulled his gun.
But a shift of the light and he saw dozens of cats slinking over the sand, eyes bright with reflected light. They were a ragged bunch, but each moved toward the corpse with a purpose Immer had no desire to know.
He holstered and left.
He emerged a few hundred yards to the south. A hungry gull eyed him and then flapped heavily away. An empty lifeguard station stood watch over a world dissolving to white mist.
The belt and shoes disappeared into a half-empty trash can.
Next to the can was a sign that began, "Please do not feed the cats that make the Boardwalk their home. Atlantic City Humane Society has formulated a comprehensive plan for controlling the feral population…"
He found Tommy at the Dunkin' Donuts on the Boardwalk. The slender man was eating a donut frosted in white and covered in rainbow sprinkles. Dark eyes looked up at him, and nudged a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts at him.
He sat down, took a grateful sip. Then he dug the ball from his pocket and rolled it toward Tommy.
Coming close to a rivet, the ball's path wobbled. It rolled right onto the rivet in front of Tommy and gave a small click. Immer's reflexes made to throw it as far away from them as possible; but Tommy's slender hand moved even faster to shield the ball.
Both of them watched as tiny wings and limbs unfurled. A tiny dragon appeared as red as blood, wings edged in gold, forehead crowned in diamond. Dark emerald eyes stared into Tommy's.
Tommy froze. He bit his lower lip, and then he smiled hugely and crowed, "It's a Pyrodragonoid! Drago becomes one, you know? I can tell by the gold wings…"
His slender fingers gently picked it up, and eager eyes searched the underside before Tommy gave a small whistle. "This is a strong one, too. Thanks!"
Immer nodded. "A little souvenir, baby, just for you."
Tommy smiled and nodded, crooning, "Just for me." In his hands, the toy looked to be nothing but red plastic painted with bits of yellow and white.
Immer relaxed and finished his donuts and coffee before they headed back to his rig.