Jefferson stood on the rooftop of Washington Heights. It was raining heavily. Lightening flashed in the distance. Jefferson had been watching Oscar's for about a week now-it hadn't stopped raining since then. It had paid off though. It seemed like every criminal in the city hung out there, to join in on the illegal gambling that took place in the back. Tonight, Jefferson thought, he would strike at the heart of this criminal enterprise. Tonight he would announce officially to the criminal underworld that he was here. He surveyed the area. Clio Ford was closing up her flower shop and walking across the street, obviously quite irritated by the rain. Jefferson waited until she had entered the building. He climbed down the fire escape. More lightening in the distance; it was getting closer.
Jefferson pulled his mask over his head and shivered - the rain was very cold. He looked across the street. It was deserted. He darted out into the open and ran behind Oscar's shop. He could barely hear the sound of the activity inside over the pounding rain. Jefferson climbed on top of a dilapidated dumpster, then pulled himself up on the roof of the building. There was a little skylight in the middle of the roof - a nice touch, thought Jefferson. A little too nice for a butcher's shop. He peered down into the illegal casino. It was full of people. He recognized a few. There was Machelli, of course, surrounded by his goons. Jefferson would have to take him out first; fortunately he was just below the skylight. There was Marcus Manuel, the small time drug dealer; there was Grandma Pearl; Elizabeth Farraday was there, yelling at some guy; Lola Fontaine, dressed like a stripper; Oscar himself, of course; and others from around the neighborhood. Jefferson had unsheathed his sword and was prepared to strike, when he felt something cold and sharp on his neck.
Jefferson turned around abruptly and held up his sword. Lightening flashed, and the figure of Holger Vollsunger appeared. "I know you," Jefferson said. "You're the guy who owns that gas station down the street."
"I know you as well," Holger said. "I know that fighting you is the only way I can gain the honor of my ancestors and clean up this dirthole of a town."
"We both want the same thing," Jefferson said. "We should be working together. We shouldn't be fighting!"
"No," said Holger, ominously. "this is the only way. Defend yourself, George Jefferson, and defend your honor!"
Holger slashed at Jefferson with his huge, serrated sword. Jefferson knew if that thing hit him it would hurt, a lot. Jefferson blocked with his own sword; the two swords collided with a loud clang as lightening flashed and thunder rumbled across the city. Maybe my sword is real after all, thought Jefferson. The two sparred and parried across Oscar's roof. Jefferson had been practicing in his spare time, but Holger was still more skilled and larger. Jefferson was on the defensive as Holger swung wildly. The pounding rain only made his job more difficult. Jefferson was blocking every one of Holger's massive blows, but he was being pushed to the edge of the roof. It's time to change the game, thought Jefferson. He ducked Holger's blade and tackled him to the ground. The two warriors rolled across the roof. Holger got up a split-second faster than Jefferson, and Jefferson only had enough time to just barely block his blow; neither of them had noticed that Oscar's skylight was just behind them. They both lost their balance and fell through.
They landed on a roulette table, breaking it in two and sending chips everywhere. Lola Fontaine screamed. Jefferson stood up with a groan, and picked up his sword. Suddenly, Holger came out of nowhere and swung at Jefferson, narrowly missing him and cleaving another table in two. People began running and screaming. Jefferson was dodging Holger's massive blade. It missed him again and almost became stuck in one unlucky soul, who Jefferson only knew as "Lowride." "What is it with these freaks with swords? Kill them!" yelled Machelli. Gunshots filled the air as Jefferson leaped behind an overturned table. I've got to get out of here, he thought. He picked up a roullette ball on the floor and threw it at a light switch. The lights went out and more people screamed and ran out of the building. Jefferson kicked down the back door and fled into the night.
He ran across the street, breathing heavily. The police had just arrived, thankfully. Maybe some good would come from this after all. Still, Jefferson thought, he would once again have to be more careful. Basic criminals he could deal with, but he hadn't expected anything like Holger. Fortunately, Holger at least had a sense of honor, sort of; Jefferson wouldn't have to worry about him killing him in his sleep, or anything like that. Of course, he would probably have to face him again. Next time, though, Jefferson would be more prepared. He sheathed his sword and climbed up the fire escape.
The rain continued to fall.
1 comment:
Going Out
He cannot follow one simple request. It's not that I do not understand our relationship enough to think of asking "why?" Over the time we have worked together I have learned the only thing he respects are sarcastic remarks and his payment, and his tactics of implementation upon his duties slightly resemble a hurricane. I, being too much of a good individual, feign ignorance to his misdeeds, not to say of course that my actions are technically what you would call "legal."
Is it because he was bred to be annoying, or does he enjoy watching me suffer? I remember an incident involving a random shooting, myself suffering a shot to the hand, where he refused to acknowledge that I could not pay him on the spot for "taking the guy out."
I said, exhaling into the empty air.
"There's no helping it."
So its up to me? Fine, I should have the efficiency required to fulfill this task. I suppose I shall head to the local grocer.
My miniature refrigerator had not been supplied with calorie-heavy foods since yesterday, causing my deduction capabilities to fall drastically. My house guest the baron does not seem to take well to the food I provided him as well. Cats need certain nutrients I realize, but one of Brone's three main dislikes has affected my eating habits, and I'd rather not give the creature to Mrs. Lampshade. Animals, kids and women. There's nothing wrong with any of those things that I can think of...Do you speak in that arrogant way because the nature is carved into your DNA?
I heave a heavy sigh and decide to rest my eyes before heading outside. Going outside is dangerous in general. In Washington Heights, its fairly certain you will be attacked by one thing or another. I have evidence that numerous tenants have the capability to do so. Of course some rooms have been inaccessible, this is probably a good thing, It is not my job to break into every apartment anyways, my job is to analyze and find the solution to the puzzle. One bounty hunter under my supervision is not enough manpower to solve the problems of this town, and I have no intention of calling a full-scale operation into play for every town I visit.
SLAM.
The new polished door gleamed back at me. The two deadbolts which secured it in place were much more calming than the rusty old locks on the old door. Of course, the lack of numbers on my door may raise some questions. I at least, in all my effort in this place, will locate that missing number 6.
Chilling wind blew across my feet, making me realize that I should have worn socks this time, but the feet I stuffed onto the soles of my shoes felt cramped enough already. How could anyone put things like these on their feet all the time? Especially women, high heels must reduce a lifespan by at least 7 years. But I have owned these long enough to wear them into a soft, raggedy pair which is comfortable. Unfortunately it seemed to be raining. My feet would get wet no matter what, why bother wearing shoes?
What to buy? Pudding is good, as well as coffee, tea, sugar cubes. To balance the nutrition in my body I should buy different flavors of jell-o, possibly a cup of ramen and protein. Even I know that my body could deteriorate from nothing but sweets.
"Dansa med oss Klappa era händer Gör som vi gör Ta några steg åt vänster Lyssna och lär Missa inte chansen Nu är vi här med Caramelldansen O-o-oa-oa..."
One of my cellphones erupted in the fast paced Swedish tune. Which person was I on this one? It is hard to micromanage.
"This is Lambo Bovino."
"Were you seen?"
"That is fortunate, he is ranked high on the list of individuals whom would not leave a witness alive."
"Please head to the Washington Heights apartment complex, and go to room #_____. It should be empty, you may lock the door from inside, and wait if you wish."
"Very well."
How annoying, why would they call me with business when I am out in public? I still have an errand to attend to, the client may wait as long as he cares for his life.
I slowly stalked past the flower shop, hunched over and thinking about what puddings they may have in stock. I kept my eyes to the sidewalk, it's hard to stare at so many bright colors without blinking. Blinking is easy, realizing that you may have missed something in those milli-seconds is hard. Not to mention the involuntary impulse to blink is irresistible when raindrops hit your face.
Excuses.
I cannot abide this place. The insufferable pressure. I can't sleep, there is no time. So many things to fix, the entire populace is littered with despicable fiends. I will not look at it directly. The only way to observe is from behind a veil, otherwise I would go blind. Justice shall take hold in this place. Justice is holding me here.
"Butterscotch. Delicious."
I allowed a small smirk to pass by my mouth. I was already in Manny's Groceries observing the selection. Looking around on the street is not something I do, I have no time to observe and worry for my own safety while I'm outside. People shouldn't even know I'm here really, unless they require my assistance, or I want them to know. Why on earth do you think I would hire that man?
Twenty packs of pudding are quite difficult to handle when you usually only use the tips of your fingers to hold things. Coupled with a large bag of cat food, I am going to collapse any moment. The checkout counter was swamped with customers, and the man in front of me was tapping his cigarettes on the counter. Pineapple White Owls were stuck in the back pocket of his black jeans. I'm just going to assume he has purchased them. No, I should be slightly more vigil, let me just slowly- There. I hope he enjoys Pocky. He already has cigarettes, and from the small marks on his arm I can see he enjoys plenty of heroin injections. The leather straps on his arm are modified S&M straps,(I'm quite certain I have seen the brand before,) I wonder if he is a male prostitute. The clip of money in his pocket seems to suggest so.
Riding alone in the apartment elevator, my paper bag of pudding seems strangely small. This won't last me very long at all. Opening a door needing three keys is painfully difficult, you have to switch the arm holding the bag to search each pocket only to realize you left the door unlocked. Or did I...? Hm. I threw the large bag of cat food and puddings upon a small table, and walked over to my window. The rain blanketing the city made it difficult to observe at the moment. If the rain wasn't so difficult to predict, I would assume the flashing light I just saw was a rather large sword. There is no reason he would be running around simply because It was raining.
Another one? Every one seems to be heading for Oscar's Butchery tonight, perhaps a sample attraction for their little casino. Depending on whether it is "bring your blade" night, it may or may not be a busy night for me as well...Am I just bored, or is it loneliness? Impossible, I have a cat. I'm certain that people with cats cannot be lonely.
...
"Brone, be prepared to investigate please."
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