Tales from the Alleyway

So here I am, the lowest of the lows, the most filthy and disgusting part of the slums. Hobo alleyway. Been assigned to find out about a new shady character in town, codenamed stk, don't know who the hell he is, but if anyone's gonna know, its these bums.

So here I's goes, walking down this alleyway, all them moochers, leeches, and rapists lookin' at their pretty magazines of nude women. They all turn an eye to me, look at me like they got a problem. Probably do, I'm in the force, no one here likes the force. I look about me, dozens of eyes lookin' back. I says to them,

"anyone of you bums knows a guy called stk?"

They didn't like that word, their staring eyes start to squint, I hear's knuckles crackin', looks like they're wantin' to fight. One of them stands tall though,

"I know of they man ye' be lookin' fer."

I turns to the sound, a hobo with a peg leg an' an eye patch emerges from the shadows. Grizzly beard, torn clothing, the usual dirty winter hat, and yellowed, loose teeth. He looke at me with his reddened eye, a smirk crossin' his face.

"for a price of course," he lifted his hand, elongated finger nails rubbing against one another.

"Tell me your story first, then you'sll get paid."

He frowned, "so be it," he sat down on a trash can, "the man ye' be lookin' fer is a killer, assassin, stealthiest basterd alive." He raised a hand for emphasis.

"So he's a vigilante eh?"

"aye, a dammed good one at that, left a city a while back, don't know which, maybe if ye' dig sumthin' up," he scratched his beard, I felt disgusted when flakes of dandriff fell from it, "man wanted to start a new life, came here, ran from the cops. He was content for a few days, maybe, but then evil started spredin' to his ears. Decided to take up his old job, get this city in shape mayhap."

"So don't know which city he left, but at least we know he caused troubles back there."

"Aye, do ye' be needin' anything else, or you gonna be payin' me."

"That'll do's it," so I's bring out some cash, $100 bucks, toss it to the bastard, "I'll walks myselves outta here."

"Argh, thank ye' boy, be forewarned though, stk doesn't like the police."

Oh he's gonna hate us alright, when we bring his sorry ass in the brig, that's whats I thought. Who knew though, we'll find out soon enough.

It's a crazy world. E'rybody know that. But I caught wind o' some things -- bad things -- an' folks is tryin' to say it's gonna git a lot crazier in a lil' while. Word on the street is, there's some fresh meat comin' to New Ave and they bringin' all kinds o' hell wit' 'em. Da boss don't like the sound of that -- not one bit. So he sends me where ya always send a man when you catch wind of somethin' foul: straight to the source, straight to the alley, straight to the bottom. 'Cuz no man comes into New Ave on top. Never. They crawl in the ass-end of the city on dey belly, like a snake.

Boss don't like snakes. Only thing worse than a snake is a rat. So he sent me to find out who tryin' to slip into his city. These bums -- street prophets, modern-day monks -- they see e'rything from down here. They live at the bottom, but their eyes -- beady lil' eyes -- stay constantly watchin' the top. Lookin' up. They see it all, like gazin' up a lady's skirt, no panties, no nothin'. The world laid bare before 'em, like X-ray vision.

The bums iz everywhere and see everything, like Jesus. God bless 'em. So I show 'em my tithe and hold mass, right here among the dumpsters and the piss-filled gutters. I hold up a c-note and they flock to me like flies to s**t. All hail the almighty dollar. Moves crowds better than the Holy Ghost ever could.

"We ain't got no change," one of 'em says. "Ya got sumthin' smaller?" E'rybody's a comedian. Nobody's laughin'.

I tell him, "I might have sumthin' bigger... if you got what I need." They all straighten up and I put away the green. They know me. They know they ain't gon' see Ben Franklin again 'til they tell me what I need to know. "Listen up. There's some new marks comin' to Nac. Most of 'em don't mean s**t to me, but the boss has his eye on one in particular. What you know 'bout a guy named McGee?"

Some of 'em laughed, most just walked away. They eat, breathe, and live in s**t and they got the nerve to turn they back on me!? I woulda started shootin' then and there, but folks iz always tellin' me to chill wit' dat s**t, so I kept the nine strapped. An' e'rybody knows better than to pop off here. "I asked you a question," I says to one of 'em and he stops.

"You's late," he says. "The Russos was askin' 'bout him yesterday. The Pack too. You's small time. We aint gotta tell you nuthin'."

"Jus' tell me what you told them."

"We don't know nuthin'," he says. "That's what we told 'em. He don't exist -- there ain't no f**kin' McGee." Another bum strolls up and cuts in. "Dat ain't true, man. He's real. I swear he's real." And a third: "Folks wouldn't be talkin' 'bout him so much if he wasn't real." Before long, they all came back. I was surrounded by a bunch of stanky crackheads and alcoholics arguing 'bout this guy. And not a single one of 'em seemed to know what the f**k he was talkin' about.

"Is he real or not? Just tell me what you know," I says. "I'll pay big. You can buy enough coke to make a f**kin' snowman in summer for all I care. Just tell me who the hell this guy is!"

"Look, man, he's real. I don't care what the rest of these guys say. They don't know what the f**k they're talkin' 'bout," one of 'em says. "He's about 5'5", straight outta Jersey, and-"
Another one cuts him off. "Bulls**t! He's at least six foot. Born and raised in Texas."
"Naw, he from New Orleans," another says and it all fell apart after that.
"Both of y'all need to shut the hell up. He from Mexico. Wears a sombrero all the time."
"Look man, he's from the ATL. He's a boss down south."
"He ain't boss o' nuthin'. He's a hitman. Carries a hand cannon and can bus' a head from a block away."
"Quit playin', foo'. He ain't no hitman. He runs the books. Heard so from a credible source."
"I met him myself. Shook his hand. True story, I swear."
"Bulls**t!"
"I heard he's crazy. Killed a man with a spoon just for the hell of it."
"I heard he kickboxed bigfoot and won."
"I heard he's got a third testicle."
"I heard he's colorblind and can see sounds."
"blah, blah, blah..."

I quit listenin' after that. Left half a grand on the ground and split. First time in my life the bums let me down. They didn't even know what that son of a b**ch looked like. But I guess even God gotta blink sometime. Can't see e'rything all the time, right? And some kinda way, this Fitz McGee fella slipped in under the radar. Or jammed the radar.

He's either very smart or very stupid. Either way, Nac gets the last laugh. It's a crazy world an' it's 'bout to get a lot crazier.

Hey! Newbie! I got a job for ya. I need you to go find some info on a guy called Sceleratus.

That's what boss said when he sent me down to this stink hole. I didn't join the force to chat with some bums. After walking through the trashiest part of town I find the place where John told me I could find the hobos with the most info.

"Cellar Rats you say? Well everyone knows 'bout them. Stinky, dirty, live in the sewers. Of course... If you're talking 'bout the new Italian guy I might have a little info. But I'm just sooo hungry..."

Dam* bums... Can't get shi* from them without some cash.

"Yeah, I mean the Italian guy. Astus Sceleratus. What do you know about him?" I ask as I hand him a fresh twenty.

"Oh, well he's Italian. I know that" The bum tells me as he pockets my hard earned cash and looks back at me with a raised eyebrow.

I grit my teeth as I hand him another 4 twenties.

"Okay then, do you remember anything else about him?"

"Yeah, of course... that's a mighty fine watch you got there..."

I hate bums... I really really hate bums

"Here you go. So do you know anything or not?" I ask while gritting my teeth even harder than before as I hand him my watch.

"Well you sure are a mighty charitable guy. Yeah I know 'bout him. His name is Astus Sceleratus, seems that he's some rich Italian prince or something. One way or another he's got cash spilling out of his ears. Used to work for you're kind up in New York, but he just up and quit one day. No one knows quite why. Word on the street though... Is that he got bored. Got tired of being the good guy, so now he's down here looking for something a bit more... interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yep, apparently he's some kind of genius. Up in New York he was solving cases left and right like it was nothing. I bet you guys would love to have a guy like him on you're side. Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess that's why boss wants info on him."

"Hahaha. Well I doubt that you'll be getting much of that from him. Like I said, he ditched you guys cause he got bored."
"Murder cases are always the same. Bob slept with Joe's wife so Joe killed Bob, or Tom stole from Tim so Tim killed Tom. Same thing every time. It's horribly boring. I want something more... challenging." The bum says in a horrible, fake Italian accent. "That's what they say that he said. Apparently he's thinking of joining one of the gangs around here, maybe one of the smaller ones. Says he's going to take over the whole city. And you know what? I bet he could do it too. You know why?"

"No, why?"

"Cause he payed off all of us bums to take out anyone that asks 'bout him" The bum says as he grins big and wide while he shoves a gun up under my stomach.

"Too bad for you, huh?"

You might not expect the big bosses to help each other out, but sometimes they do. Not often, but occasionally. Different contacts in different places, see? Means they can always get something. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours kinda deal. Oh, sure, they'll still kill each other given the chance but, hey, if there's opportunity to be taken otherwise then why the hell not? Well ... if they're like the Russos and the New Pack, that's why the hell not, but otherwise it happens more than you'd think.

Like today. I haven't come down to the asshole of NAC for my boss, but for some other bigwig the other side of the Atlantic. The two have a 'mutually beneficial arrangment' that's now found me making my way through the putrid scum that lines the alleyways of NAC. In other words, I've come to talk to the bums.

How in God's name the vagrants of this place know so much is beyond me. Maybe people lower their guard in front of them, maybe they just have sharp ears. Whatever the reason, they know more than the damned press. You want information, you go to the bums. Costly, sure, but worth every penny, no matter how .... distasteful ... their regular haunts. I wasn't waxing poetic about the putrid scum. I keep my face covered when I come to visit these stinking sons of sewer rats, and not just to keep from being recognisd; if that stench assaulted my unprotected nostrils I'd be out cold in seconds.

I'm greeted by a brown, rotting, gap-toothed grin. "Yer late."

"Didn't realise I had a schedule to keep."

"After all the time yer've spent with us poor sods? Tha's poor form. Now whaddaya want?"

"Info, Mack. Same as always." I lean back against one of the brick walls, then think better of it as I feel something slimy through my coat. I don't even want to think about what it is.

There's a wheezing laugh. "O' course. Show us the green then."

I pull a couple of notes from my pocket and toss them at them. They're not cheap, these bums. All the cash they'd made giving information, they must be swimming in it. But I can't fathom why anyone making this amount of money would willingly choose to stay in such squallor. Just being here a few minutes is making my stomach turn. And I'm standing as far back as possible.

"Whatcha need to know, then?"

"The whereabouts of a girl the boss wants found. Lucia Grey, otherwise known as Dollgirl."

"Dollgirl?" There's a hesitation. "Whaddaya wanna know about her for?"

I don't bother repeating myself. I know these cretins know why. I also know when they're trying to avoid giving me an answer. But I paid them fair and square, I want my answer. "You know her?"

A scowl. "Of her. One of us, ain't she? Leastways she used to be."

"She's a bum?"

"Sorta. She grew up one of our equivalent on the other side o' the Atlantic."

Equivalent. Jesus. These bums aren't to be underestimated. Their facade of being stupid, uneducated vagrants, that's all it is: an act. These snakes have minds as sharp as anything, and are cunning with it. A dangerous combination. The bosses better watch out. If the bums ever decide they don't like their place in NAC, all hell will break loose. I tell you, I don't wanna be there if it does.

"So you don't want to rat out one of your own?" I surmise.

"Bingo."

"Only she's not a bum anymore, is she?"

"Once a bum, always a bum." He puts his hand over his heart as he says it. Jesus. A brotherhood of bums. Who'd've thought it? "But she did make it good, if that's what you're meanin'. Little Dolly. We all know her story. Picked up by some bigwig. Trained up to be a seductress, a hacker, a killer. 'Course, I don't s'pose she had much of a choice. A beauty growin' up on the streets? You either end up like she did, or you end up a hooker. Dunno which is worse, really."

"You know where she is?"

"Nah. Did hear she'd run away though. Grew a conscience, didn't she?"

"You heard anything else?"

"Nope."

"Would you tell me if you had?"

"Depends on what I'd heard. I'll tell you something though, kid. Dollgirl ain't stupid. If you ain't found her yet, you ain't gonna. She don't wanna be found, and she knows tricks from both sides of the street. She won't leave no trace of herself anywhere. So don't waste yer time."

"Thanks for the advice."

My tone's sarcastic, but I know he's got a point. This girl's been gone for three months. That's a long time for someone to stay hidden when people like my boss are on her trail. If she doesn't want to be found, she's going to make it as hard as possible to find her. A needle in haystack. And if the bums are on her side, all the worse for my boss. They can usually tell us which haystack to look in. Now we got fifty to choose from, and no clues where to start. And yeah, I use farm imagery. What of it?

I can't help but ask. "If she does turn up, you gonna tell me where she is?"

"Not a chance."

"Not even for double the price?"

"Toldja. Doll's one of us. Worth more'n cash."

Ah, ****. I though so. My boss isn't gonna like hearing this.

There are some wrong turns that forgive you for making them and some that bite your head off.

I was supposed to meet Karen at seven at a little bohemian coffeeshop on the corner of Third and Maple. She would wear a red sweater. I would wear the Santa hat. Now it’s almost nine and my phone is sitting back in my hotel room.

Good going, I know.

Never having been to New Avarus City before, I seem to have wandered in the wrong direction, the stupid fuzzy red hat long since stuffed into my greatcoat pocket as the buildings got shabbier with more boarded-up windows, loitering people looking at me in a disconcerting way. A way that said they would really love it if I would just stop for directions.

So I’ve kept on, trying to look like I still have someplace to go.

“Hey mistuh,” the voice is like a wet chain dragged through a gravel pit and the bum who appears from the mouth of the alley looks like he’s just been pulled out of it on the end of that same chain, “You got the time?”

Rolling my wrist I pull up the sleeve of my coat, my Seiko timepiece glinting platinum in the weakening light.

“Eight-Fifty-two.” Damn, Karen will be long gone. I look up and down the street but still no cabs in sight.

“Mistuh, you lookin’ for somethin’?”

“Well, yes, but I…”

“Like info? I can give it ya, quick text, quick…ya just gotta little grease for Johnny’s palm, that’s all.”

“No! No, I don’t need any…”

“Maybe ladies? You lookin’ for a nice lady, Mistuh?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of Karen then realized what he meant, “No! I mea-

“You are and you ain’t?” His little eyes seems to swim in the hairy face, “Give ya both, right? Saw a pitty lady, just a bit ago.”

“Did you really now…” I edge away but he follows each step, more agile than I expected.

“Yuh, big shiny black car, she got out yellin’.”

“Did she.” I know my voice is a little desperate but I just want to be on my way instead of continuing this uncomfortable pas de deux.

“Yuh,” he’s right up in my face now and I know my features are pinched against the sour stench but I can’t help it, backing away again, “pitty dark lady, all long hair and legs downtuh here,” the bum licks his lips and I try not to think of those crabbed dirty hands on such a woman.

“Yellin’ at someone inside somthin’ fierce,” he gives a wet chuckle and wipes his mouth on his grimy sleeve, “till this big guy got out, nice suit, looked almost pitty as you.” The bum gives another chuckle at his own wit, “went aroun’ and tossed all her luggage out an’ drove off.”

I feel some sympathy for the woman, whoever she is, lost in this hellhole and abandoned. For a moment I consider going after her, she might need help. But if I can’t even manage a blind date with an address how on earth can I pull a Sir Galahad for someone who could have gone anywhere? No, she’s likely long gone one way or another. Maybe she doesn’t even exist outside the bum’s head.

“Sayin’ she’s a singer, she’s no ho’.” The bum shakes his head as though the woman has mistaken her place in life, “Tol’ that fancy man to go straight to hell. Pitty good for a foreigner, too. She sounded like a Mexi, ‘specially when she’s cursin’.”

He laughs again. We step, never having stopped, and though I have at least five inches of height on the guy and I’m about twenty years younger, I can’t seem to get around him. He keeps getting right up in my personal space, too, advertising his lack of hygiene.

“Well…thanks,” I’m backing away again, trying not to raise my arm defensively, “I really have to…”

The bum seems to dwindle inside his ill-fitting coat, looking defeated. So now I feel guilty compassion.

“Look,” I interrupt myself, reaching for my wallet, “I don’t have much cash but…”

“That’s all right,” a voice behind me says. It’s accompanied by a pressure on my side, “we’ll just take what you’ve got and that nice watch, too. Step into my office.”

Hands pull at me, dragging me into the alley and the bum with all the information suddenly looks a lot less vague, holding a gleaming knife, eyes dimly joyless as he helps to drive me backwards...

...into the alley’s mouth.

I could practically taste the sweat as I walked down the street. The cheap smell of perfume to cover the smell of sex that lingered with the whores that walked the street. My eyes scan the body of one of the woman leaning on the wall. She’s barely wearing anything and must only be 16 yet she’s working the streets. I never got the chance to be a father but all my senses are screaming at me to sort her out. She see’s me looking and mistakes my intention. Jeez what kind of low life does she take me for.

She flinches as I flick my overcoat back. This is Avarus everyone’s packing I need to remember that. A different crowd and my brain would be smeared all over the sidewalk over a misunderstanding. Looking myself over I could understand her mistake. How many sick men had came down here wearing nothing but an overcoat.

She see’s the flash of silver. My new badge proclaiming me a member of the New Avarus Police Service. Naps for short. Certainly seems like that’s what they’ve been doing here. This place has gone to hell and it was my job to restore it. The badge has far more power than any gun would in this side of town. She shrivels up and retreats into the darkness, her fellow women follow suite. If only this badge had the same effect on the rest of the city.

I pick up my pace not wanting to stay here any longer than necessary. But from what I gather this department doesn’t do intelligence. Confiscated gang money goes towards funding the hobos. Feeding the blood money straight back into the system. Who was I to question their system before I’d even set myself up in this town.

A man emerges from an alleyway and for a second I think I’ve angered their pimp but this man isn’t well placed, doesn’t command any authority. He invades my personal space and puts his dirty hand on me. I take a step back repelled by his breath but he closes the distance. Wants me to know I’m in his domain now. Cop or no cop I shouldn’t get comfortable. I flash a bit of green in a pocket and he eagerly takes it beckoning me into the alleyway pointing at some bum sprawled out on the floor. So this would be my informant. I’d dealt with some deadbeats but this was a whole new experience with contacts.

“Name Lyle mean anything to ya?”

The man feigns to be asleep until a wad of cash falls next to him then suddenly he’s up arm round me cosying up like it would somehow make me want to give him more.
“Lyle? Yea I know name. Know more than that to. Could tell you his exploits but looks like you already know those.” His arm pushed aside my blonde hair revealing my desecrated eye. I’d slap him away but truth was even though this man was nothing it meant something to me that he didn’t recoil at the sight of it like so many.

“Got back ‘ere few nitss go. Carrying lotta green, spending mosta it to. Even got a pretty girls company if ya know what I mean.” He twiddled with my hair and gave me a toothy grin as he leant in. “Looks like you could do with some to. Enough cash and they won’t mind ya know.” He pushed my fringe back over my eye and I made a mental note to wash thoroughly when I got home. I didn’t need both my eyes to shot him a glare that made him get back on track.

“His allegiance is to the New Pack. Pretty boy like you won’t fit in there. He has some kinda deal with em and his department. They don’t interfere and they get a cut. Best you don’t step on any toes looks like you haven’t learnt that lesson yet. Age doesn’t seem to make you wiser old man. Go home.”

I bite my tongue and restrain myself from kicking him. Old man? Who'd he think he was. I depart wordlessly but step on his toes to make a point and throw a few more notes at him. Looks like I was gonna have my work cut out but this time I would get the job done. I’d be cutting out the crime rather than them cutting out my eye.

Why does it always have to rain? Especially when you don't want it to. Have you ever noticed that? It always has to rain after a sad movie, or when the broad doesn't show up to the wedding, or when you're walking alone down the highway because some sh*t faced dude in a Crown Vic has to get all sh*t faced about some dude he knew in your old gang, which incidentally was just burned to death by some psycho ass. It always has to rain.

I couldn't even remember how long I had been walking. I was too busy concentrating on my frozen ass not falling off. Again with the rain. It always comes back to that. Behind me I heard the distinct roar that was particular to big diesel trucks. Reminds me of home. So I turn around and do my best impression of a dude with a frozen ass trying to walk backwards. I'm pretty good at it by now. I throw my thumb out and wave a hand as the truck passes by. Didn't really expect him to stop, but then again a lot of unexpected things have happened recently and I guess it can't hurt to get my hopes up about this one. For once, I'm not totally disappointed.

Up ahead, the big tanker is slowing down and pulling off to the side of the road. I run over to the passenger side and hop in, not even asking if the bearded driver wanted me to turn the heater all the way up. Dude didn't seem to care much, just laughed a little. I frowned.

"Where ya headed?" he asks.

"New Avarus," I says back to him.

He just nods his chubby head and pulls back onto the road. We're both silent for a little bit. He seems to be concentrating on the road and I'm just concentrating on unfreezing my hind quarters. I guess the silence got to him because he cleared his throat and started talkin'.

"Only three types of people go to NAC anymore. Small time crooks, big time criminals, or people looking to work for the other two. Which one are you?"

I laugh. "A little of each I guess. I'm just lookin' to disappear until I can get some stuff all orderly like ya know?"

The driver laughed again. "Yeah I know what that can be like..." he says mostly to himself. Maybe I wasn't supposed to hear that but I don't say anything about it. "Well...if you are lookin' for some work, you might wanna stop by the New Pack's joint. You look like their type. Place called Hungry Like a Wolf. Ask around a bit, I'm sure someone will be able to point you in the right direction."

I guess I hadn't noticed it, but we were in the city. I look around at all the slummy buildings, slummier in the rain. I swear the grime must have been so thick if even the rain didn't wash it off. Of course, in a big city like this where everything and everyone was a little dirty, who's to say the rain isn't a little dirty too?

The trucker pulls off to the side and I move to get out. He puts a hand on my shoulder before I can get away and I turn back to face him a bit.

"Don't get yourself killed kid. This is a city of killers. It eats people alive. You still got a life ahead of you. Get your business done here and get out. Go live your life somewhere."

Wow...weird. I give a small smile and a nod of my head before I pull away from his hand and step down onto the sidewalk. As I shut the door, the truck speeds off and look up at the dark sky. Before I have a chance to jump out of the way, a car speeds by and sends a tidal wave over me. Just like that thirty minutes worth of quality ass warming goes out the door. Why does it always have to rain?

The police of the Kyoto narcotics department swept through my fathers house as though it was their sworn duty to make a mess of his valuable processions. With ums and ahs in his intimidating presence they dared to question the lord of the underworld as though he was merely a common criminal. All this while I played my Cello and tried to block out the acquisitions they put towards him. Of course they would find nothing, my father had many links and they all worked together like a giant chain tugging at the land to pry away what he wanted.

I smiled when they looked my way, the gracious Japanese lady, who did not ask question, who was not part of a mans world.

“Who is she?” a police officer asked my father stopping with an willow draw in his hand.

“No one, just a sectary, she helps me keep track of appointments through out the day.”

Being the daughter of my father’s mistress meant I had no father recorded on my certificate of birth. I could be whoever my father wanted at the time he needed me to be.

The policeman gave my father an unconvinced look then studied the Cello I was playing. “A sectary who plays the cello whilst at work?” he asked.
“Sure she is practicing and I like the sound I soothes me. When she‘s not busy I let her play.”

The police officer looked up as another other came over and whispered to the man.
“May I the police officer asked,” walking over to me and taking the Cello from my hands. He shook it and twisted strings. I looked on in annoyance, but said little. It was not my place to. My father looked to me an apologetic stare. I knew things would change now these men had crept further into our lives.

After the man was done with the Cello he handed it back to me. It was out of tune, it would take a while to put it right again. The police officers shaking their heads in frustration turned to my father with angry eyes.

“Kyo, you seem always one step ahead of us. One day soon we will catch you.”
Turning to the door they filed out leaving our home in a mess that would take our cleaner many days to put right.

“Father?” I asked slowly.

“No my daughter,” he moved to my side and bowed his head to my ear.

“I will go to Daijo please meet me there take you‘re time.” I nod my head.

My father was right to be worried. Who wasn’t to say that the police had bugged our home. We dare not even breath the wrong way in case it was a recordable offence.

My father left and I remained behind picking up my cello I began to tune it. My mind hazy with the business of police in our lives. I worried what my father would say. Would he send me out to kill traitors? Would he be caught, would I be caught. If that were so I would never see the true light of day again. Not without bars and razor wire separating me from the real world.

My concentration taken by the strings I tenderly touched, time moved without my knowledge and when I looked up I knew I should leave now to catch my father before I made him angry.

Putting down the cello, I took my handbag from it’s hook and walked to the shoe cupboard. Shoes hung out of the wooden doors and were scattered about on the floor. I had to step over several of them to find my boots. I moved to the door and stepped outside. Leaning against the wall I put the boots on and laced them up. Then I took my car keys and pressed the unlock button on the small pad provided. The black sedans lights flashed twice and I opened the door climbing into the car.
The drive took much longer then anticipated, the end of the day drew near and people were leaving work. In the congestion it was hard to remain calm. By the time I reached Daijo restaurant night had fallen. I was satisfied that I had not been followed. Inside the restaurant was bustling with life. Knifes and forks of European customers clicked against plate. My father sat at a table where many other tables had not been taken up. I came and sat next to him. I could not eat a bite, thoughts of my father tying my stomach in knots. He dug inside his coat pocket and placed a piece of paper in front of me. An Airline ticket to America. I stared at it dismayed, my own father would send me away? I am I good daughter so I do not question him.

he gives a nod, “You will pave a path for me daughter. I have a small operation in New Avarus city. Engines are a big thing in America, cars motor cycles. I want you to over see things there. When you reach the airport one of my men will take you around show you what you need to know.”
“Yes father,” I stand up and bow to him. My flight leaves in three hours I need to be packed and ready.

“Morrigan. Speak up.”

I watch the bum stretch and yawn, eyes still closed. “Top ef the mo’w’ning to ye. Not goo’ at waking up meself.” The miserable pile of ragged clothing and dirty flesh turns under the Sesame street blanket. Never knew I could hate Big Bird that much. Disgusted, I take one of the ten dollar bills the boss gave me out of my pocket. These kind of people, they can smell the green ink in the bills or something. Only sure way to get them to talk. And surely enough, there’s the man grinning at me. “I think ye jus’ made a new f’w’iend.”

I watch how the man unfolds, by the lack of a better word of it. The Sesame blanket get’s folded neatly and placed in one of the corners. Underneath it is an orange sleeping bag, the zipper apparently broken. Next is another blanket, then a pile of clothing, is that bullet proof vest?, and finally some newspapers. Everything get’s folded and put away for tonight.

Then, finally, I get the miserable scumbag’s attention. He leans forward, slowly prying the then bill out of my hand. Then, equally slow, he checks the authenticity of the bill. Like I’m stupid. Unless you want to end up in a back alley with a dozen chopsticks up your private parts, you don’t pay bums with counterfeit.

Note to self; never eat Chinese again.
The man takes his time folding the money, and I manage to suppress the urge to bust his jaw just long enough for him to finish his origami. “’W’ight, Mo’ww’igan. Gun for hi’w’e, and she’s good. ‘W’eal good. But then again she’s a bitch, and bitches have it tough, ‘w’ight?” Nothing I didn’t know already. And he knows it. Another bill comes out, a fifty this time. The man grins, and smelling his putrid breath almost causes me to go for my gun and end the man’s life.

Besides, if the man’s smell doesn’t make me kill him, that damn accent will.

“Such a good f’w’iend.” Again, he checks it. Again, the origami. Control, that is the key. Control. Last guy to punch a bum was found with... well, the whole chopstick story all over again. “Heard she moved in with some I’w’ish man, baste’w’d ‘w’aped he’w’.” Raped her, raped her. Maybe if I break his jaw a little, he will regain his ability to say the freaking ‘R’ again. No, control. Chopsticks.

“Killed him, took his gun, became what she is.” The bum looks at my hands, and I produce another twenty bucks worth of ten dollar bills. She’s expensive, that’s what she is. “will kill fo’w’ anyone who can pay. ‘W’eal name Ba’w’ba’w’a Ann, like the song, last name Delia Tilton. ‘Mo’ww’igan’ o’w’ ‘Phantom Queen’. Oh, and some f’w’iendly advice f’w’om a new f’w’iend,” He’s doing it on purpose now, I just know it, “don’t piss he’w’ off. Was a guy named ‘Quick Jim´. Came onto he´w´, slapped he´w´ a´w´ound, now they call him ´Limp Jim´.

All I needed to know. I pull another ten from my pocket and throw it at him, then turn around and head back to base. First one to bring up Chinese get´s a bullet in his skull. In New Avarus, only bums and the boss get to piss me off.