"This is Michael."
"I'm fairly certain that I am only two years younger than yourself."
"Not at the moment. I am preoccupied."
"I am currently in the home of a tenant of Washington Heights. Breaking into each of their homes is slightly more complex when you are not here to kick down the door. It is most tedious to place an observational camera, why do you not complain more?"
"I'm not quite sure what you mean, please do not call this line unless you have information or more urgent matters to discuss within the next ten hours or so."
click.
He is a rather intelligent man himself, it is a shame he indulges in the drink so frequently. What is the use of a mystic? Do I not pay him with money and information for his assignments? What a strange man. His passive nature may lead to my death. There are some things I suppose even I will not be able to solve, such as that man's brain. That and the where abouts of my missing #6.
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Sugar
Justice...or...
Right Round
Sugar
About Me
- Daniel Cross
- A person with horns like a cow. I got questions, you don't have the answer.
3 comments:
George Jefferson - The End of the First Night
The night had gone well in the beginning. He had stopped two small time robberies and scared the living daylights out of a crack dealer. With his deep voice he would bellow something awe-inspiring, then he would leap out with his sword and whack their weapons right out of their hands. He would then proceed to work them over with his sword and his fists, and he would top it off by handcuffing them to a nearby object. There they would stay until the police came, if they were lucky. He knew he had struck a fear of the night into at least four criminals, and they would not be returning to crime anytime soon. Except, of course, for that last one.
In his wandering he had come upon what seemed like a classic crime: a man was holding a gun to another man's head in a dark alley. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but he didn't care - they were obviously criminals. Jefferson leaped from the shadows and yelled, "Criminals never prosper, motherf---er!" in his most menacing voice. He sliced the sword down on the first man's hand, sending his gun flying, and possibly breaking his wrist. Jefferson then clocked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The second man fled. Jefferson chased after him, assuming he was also involved in the crime. It was his first mistake.
Jefferson caught up to the second man and grabbed him by his collar, but he fainted in terror. Then Jefferson heard the cocking of a gun that saved his life. He turned just in time to see the first man, his nose bleeding profusely, aiming the gun directly at his chest. Jefferson dived headlong into a nearby window just as the first man fired. He could've sworn he felt the bullet narrowly miss his hand. He climbed out of the window with a few cuts and bruises but unscathed overall. That leather jacket was a lifesaver. The man with the gun was nowhere to be seen. Jefferson dragged the fainted man's body over to a nearby lamppost and handcuffed his hand to it. An elderly woman walked by, who Jefferson recognized as Mrs. Pearl, one of the tenants of his building. "Someone should call the police" Jefferson said, and fled into the night. He hoped she would not recognize him under his mask.
Jefferson ran through the back alleys of his neighborhood, shaken. That man was obviously a part of some sort of organized crime. Small-time druggies and messed-up kids could be scared straight, but crime bosses and their followers were something else. He stopped in the vacant lot next to Washington Heights. If he kept this up, he could be dead within a week. Then he remembered why he had started this crusade in the first place. This was one of the most crime-ridden parts of the city; it was also the neighborhood he grew up in. This was where he had first decided to become a police officer. He had done it with the hope that he could clean up the city. That plan had failed, so he moved on to another plan - the sword.
Jefferson stood up. Within a week he could be dead, but, he asked himself, how would that be different from any other week? He would have to change his tactics. He would deal with crime from the top down., instead of just scaring the bottomfeeders straight. This neighbor was where his first crusade had began, so this neighborhood was where his second crusade would begin, as well. Jefferson looked across the street. He could see the owner of Oscar's Meat setting up shop, and also discreetly taking down a sign that read "New York Strip." Something illegal was going on over there, but he would have to wait to investigate. The sun was just beginning to rise over the skyline, and Jefferson was still in costume. Also, he was tired. Jefferson climbed the fire escape, but he paused and looked out over the city. He would focus his efforts here, until Washington Heights was a beacon of hope for the rest of the city. Or he would die trying.
Brone Barnheart Apt. 223
I was sitting on my bed staring at the squirrel on the table. It’s grey and brown fur forming a perfect coat. Sitting on its haunches, its tail curving up it’s backbone before bending the other way forming a sort of question mark. With a quizzical look frozen on its face as if to say, “Hey, what’s that shiny object coming at me?” I sighed. “Why did I buy this?”
The day had dragged on and was now turning into night. “It’s time for some payback,” I thought. I pocketed my newly acquired squirrel and headed into the hallway. At door 22 , (226) I stopped. “What a jerk, waking me up early. This is gonna be good.” I thought. I lightly knocked on the door and looked directly into the peep hole, waiting for it to turn black. There it was! I swiftly kicked the door as hard as I could. The cheap brittle dead bolt snapped, and the old rusty hinges flew off. The door went crashing into the room, pinning him to the floor. Well, I didn’t mean to kick it that hard. I took a cautious step inside, “Yo, Michael you still alive?” In response, he somehow threw the door right back at me, I barley had time to take a boxer’s stance and block with my forearms, it still hurt like hell. He rolled away, and the door fell sluggishly back to the floor. Michael slowly stood to full height and coolly stared at me with those calculating eyes.
“Brone, I was quite certain it was you,” He said.
“Oh? How could you tell?” I said.
“Your shoes make a unique sound against the tile in the hall. Along with the frequency of your step and knowledge of your usually languid stride I would say you are exactly 6 feet and 3/8ths of an inch tall. Strange, did you grow an eighth of an inch this week?”
“Hah, maybe. Here take this, a gift from me to you.” I tossed him the squirrel.
“Expertly crafted, done quickly but no mistakes, this is the work of Miss Victoria Lampshade.”
“So that’s her name, listen I need to know where there’s gambling nearby.”
“There are precisely eight places within a 100 mile radius, six of them illegal.”
“Just gimmie the closest.”
“Oscars Butchery, password new york strip, the entry fee is 50 dollars. Why? Must you indulge in the cheap thrill of losing money for nothing too?”
“You know me; my eyes are too sharp to lose. Besides, the thief, eyes like the bluest ocean, will appear with the rolling dice.” He looked puzzled.
“Chow,” I quickly left before he tried to make me fix the door or something.
Outside, I surveyed the butchery. It was a medium sized shop, but there were way too many cars parked nearby; not everybody was jonesing for delicious pork chops. I entered the shop and I saw Oscar. He was a large man but he knew how to carry himself, and with all those sharp culinary knives easily within reach I suppose I was gonna have to pay the 50 bucks. “I want a new york strip,” I said while pulling out a crisp 50 dollar bill.
“I think there’s one in the back, follow me.” He said, taking the bill. We went into the back of a freezer where he pulled away a rack of meat to reveal a small stairwell. I ambled down the stairs to find a large, well lit room. Green walls and green felt where everywhere. No windows, no clocks, no sense of time. I saw blackjack, poker, roulette and finally, craps. There were 28 people in the room, 13 had blue eyes. I went straight to the craps table and watched the action. The shooter was about to roll, he threw the dice from his right hand to his left, and back to his right. “That was bad etiquette, and he just switched the dice.” I thought. He rolled. “Winner! Winner!” He won five more rounds before I asked the brown-eyed dealer “Do you know a Sugar McCoy?” His eyes inadvertently traveled to the shooter. I looked at the shooter, the shooter looked at me…then Sugar McCoy dashed out of that room. “Shit! Those dice are loaded,” I yelled as I ran after him. Up the stairs he went, checking his watch. I followed taking them three at a time. At the top he threw the meat to the side, ran out of the freezer, around the counter and out the door. I followed, hopped the counter and sprinted after him. He was fast, but I was catching him. He raced down the smarta steps jumping sever or eight at a time. I was closing the gap every second. He hurtled the turn-style, and ran for the light of the open train door. He made it just as the doors were closing and I ran right up against them. I looked at him, he thought he was safe. I pulled out my window punch and stabbed the train car window with all my strength, it shattered, the train started to move. I put my hands on the roof of the train car, jumped, and swung my feet in first. I tore my shirt on the glass, he was gonna pay. “Alright! There’s no where to run so why don’t you just-” He pulled out a butterfly knife, I rolled my eyes. He charged me in the most awkward way imaginable. I side stepped him, grabbed his wrist, and tripped his feet. He went flying, head over heels, landing on his back. The butterfly knife slid out of his hands down the aisle. I turned him over and handcuffed him. Then we took a seat and I punched him in the face for making me run that much, “bastard.”
After twenty minutes we arrived at the police station. I opened the doors and threw him in; he stumbled and landed on his chin. The receptionist lady gave me a look. “Resisting arrest,” I said. “This is Sugar McCoy, a car thief who jumped bail, got my reward?” She looked at her computer, “Ah yes, Sugar McCoy, let’s see…the bail was set at 200 dollars so you get 20.”
We looked at each other.
“TWENTY DOLLARS!!!”
“Yes, the bounty hunter always gets 10% of the bail.”
“His bail was only 200?! Why couldn’t you have killed someone!? Asshole!” I kicked him in the kidney, he groaned. It was not satisfying. I snatched the measly 20 from the receptionist’s hand. On my way out I took out my window punch and shattered the front door.
“HEY!” she said. I felt much better.
Finally back in my hallway, I noticed room 22 , had shiny new hinges and two new dead bolts, I smiled. I went to my bed and collapsed, what a bad day. I caught the smallest of the small fries. It actually cost me 40 bucks to arrest the douche bag. I passed out. Then I smelled it again…
Taste of Peace
It was a early frigid morning in Baltimore, but despite the weather and my location I was in a good mood. I had my coffee in one hand and my blueberry muffin in the other.
Shop owners were already out beginning their day of business, and even the new guy Leroy Pickler was out and about. I walked to work every morning and home every night. In this town nothing’s ever too far a walk. I was walking past the Smarta station when…
“Good morning Ms. Evans, how are ya ?” an officer yelled from across the street.
“Mornin, Officer Seebach!” I replied.
The police department and the clinic work almost side by side, the station was just right next door. Just about every victim of violence comes to the clinic for help. Every time a victim comes in, I call Officer Seebach so he can make the report.
Officer Seebach walked into the precinct and I went into the clinic. It was amazing how the clinic was so peaceful every morning considering what all goes on everyday. Not only do the less fortunate people come in to get tested and treated for disease, but the homeless come in as well… And believe me, poor and homeless entails just about everybody here! As I sat at my desk thinking about all the things I had scheduled today, I took bites of my muffin and sipped my coffee. . .Ah perfect
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