One
The man in the nice suit approached the man in the not-so
nice suit. Removing his hat while his astoundingly perfectly gelled hair stayed
where it was, he poked up his tinted glasses and smiled. The other man looked
shiftily around for an excuse to cross the street, scratching the back of his
bald head before finally making eye contact.
“Mister Crow if I presume?” he asked, and the man with the
darkened glasses nodded. He withdrew a notepad from his coat pocket.
“Oh blimey, does this mean I’m...” the bald man was cut off
by Crow.
“I know this may seem a tad hard to come around, but you’re
dead. Have been so for about 15 minutes. Sorry I’m a little late, I had some
demons to fight, plus I stopped off at subway.”
“You fought demons!?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, demons don’t exist” Crow’s eyebrows
scrunched, as it to mock pity the man’s ignorance.
The awkward silence was interrupted a little by the street
flickering, not something streets tend to do often. The bald man looked around
with widened eyes, as Crow clicked his pen.
“Look I know these are your last conscious seconds and all,
but I really do have a job to do. Let’s start with your name?”
The man started to run, shooting out panicked gasps and
white jagged lines closed in and cracked the flint wall around him. A faint
rumbling could be heard in the distance and Crow sighed, tucking away his pen
and notepad. Turning his back on the screaming man disappearing into the gaping
white chasms, his round glasses flashed as he smoothly stepped through the
ornate oak door behind him. As soon as he had shut and locked it behind him,
the door was ripped apart by the white cracks that consumed the world, and tore
the bald man messily in half.
The front of the car was no longer attached, as was the bald
man’s head laying some feet away. Crow winced a little behind his glasses,
stepping out the door and back into the blare of the sirens. The constable
looked at him under the peak of his cap, and he coughed before he spoke.
“Get anything on him then?” he grunted. Crow weighed his
pockets down with his hands sheepishly.
“Not as such no. He knew about me and was scared, so scared
he chose to run into eternal sodomy and be ripped apart than talk to me.”
“Rightly so, I don’t blame him.”
“Can’t see why”
A trickle of brilliant blue liquid ran out under Crow’s
sunglasses, and down his cheek.
“I’m hurt, Constable” he mocked, wiping it away. Walking
toward the crashed car that had ended the bald man’s life, he peered in through
the shattered windows. Whipping out his pad to take notes, he scribbled down
the interior of the car and straightened up. The Constable shuffled over.
“Well, anything?”
“Other than this wasn't an accident? I mean it’s pretty
clear this isn't an accident. Cars don’t decapitate people.”
“Or course it’s not an accident! We wouldn’t have called you
if this was a normal hit & run job!”
“Fair play”
“So.....?” The Constable fumed. He was growing sick of being
led around. Crow gestured to the car.
“Gang emblem crudely cut onto the left passenger door, tyres
sourced from the dodgy end of town, traces of illegal substances seen on back
seats, bald head and suit is very stereotypical and honestly who could miss
that the blood splatters all over the car are at the wrong angle. The bald guy
was shot against the bonnet, taken here; the car was crashed while the driver
escaped. I’m suspecting drug debts or gang war.”
“That’s all very well thought out, you defiantly sure?”
grumbled the Constable, already knowing the answer as Mr. Crow leaned his tall
frame over him.
“Have I ever been wrong?” he smiled.
Two
Not a great deal was known about Mr. Crow, at least by the
general public. Some said he had a long hooked nose and a feathered coat,
likened to a real crow. Some said he was monstrously skinny and misshapen,
helping the police by day but preying on innocents by night. Others claimed him
to be just a normal bloke, a bit on the lanky side but generally dressed in
nice sharp suits and constantly pushing up his dark glasses. The latter were
the right people, and the description himself stalked along the broad sidewalk,
looking a bit out-of-place. His greased back hair was once again hidden by his
hat, and his coat collar was pulled up in the night air. He seemed deep in
thought, until his head snapped up as the woman’s scream pierced the night air.
It was cut off abruptly as it started, leaving Crow standing alone in the quiet
street under the orange light, which flickered once or twice. Comically raising
his nose to the air like a dog, the tall man sniffed and turned sharply to a small
alleyway at his left. Unbuttoning his coat as he ran toward it, a set of six
small sharp knives glinted in the orange, strapped three –a-side to his chest.
The alley was empty, aside the blonde woman’s corpse. Crouching down next to
her, Crow noticed the blood was dry. Shooting her unblinking face a puzzled
look, he straightened up and turned to face the oak door that shimmered into
reality behind him. Something stopped him opening the door though; this woman
had been dead for days, so who had screamed just now? Another woman discovering
the corpse then fleeing? No, the scream had been too abruptly cut off, almost
like a recording...? The only way was through the door. Crow took hold of the
door knob. The word “trap” hadn’t properly graced his mind till he was part way
through, but by then it was too late. He was in the alley, but he saw no woman.
When he passed through the door normally he was no more than 10 yards away than
the person who died, and could interview them to discover the whereabouts of
their deaths. Complicated, Crow glared at the alley, silently demanding the
woman to show herself. The only way he didn’t look was up. The angel smashed
into him, throwing him into the brick wall. He swung a fist at the skinny
all-white creature, but it glanced harmlessly off the huge feathered wings. The
creature was a starling white, with no markings aside two golden slits for
eyes. Crow in his all black suit was stunned, thanking his sunglasses or he
would’ve been blinded.
“Hello there, I’m looking for a woman.” He coughed, pushing
up his glasses. The angel barked from no mouth, and Crow jumped a little.
“Ah well then, guess it’s the hard way. You didn’t even let
me fini...”
The angel flung itself at him again, Crow barely dodging to
the side before the wall he had sat against became a pile of rubble. Drawing a
knife, he scanned around for the oak door. Street fighter style, the angel
dropped down square in the middle of the alley, blocking Crow’s path to the
door. Straightening up his lanky frame, he brushed some brick dust off his
shoulder and in one swift movement flung the knife perfectly into the angel’s
face. It screamed, golden blood splattering across the ground as Crow kicked
out one of its legs and sent it sprawling to the ground with a shattering
punch. Using the confusion, he leapt over the shrieking mass of white feathers
and made a dash for the door. Ripping it open, he took one last look back as
the angel pounced and carved his shoulder open with long golden fingernails.
Crow cried out, slamming the door shut behind him with his good arm, and
sagging down against it on the other side. Blood was pouring down his left
shoulder, and he gritted his teeth while using the last of his strength to pull
a phone out his pocket. Holding in his consciousness, he dialed.
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