Alex nodded calmly, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the stairs. It was as silent inside the apartment complex as it was on the street. For a building that surely housed dozens of tenants, it was extremely alarming that not a single voice or footstep could be heard from the floors above. As he peered up the stairwell into the ascending gloom, the route to this supposed forger appeared no less appealing than the street. “All right, just…just tell me what to do,” Alex muttered weakly.
“Keep your mouth shut, stay close, and keep an eye on the shadows.” Seeing that Alex was as pale as a ghost and appeared likely to crumple to his knees at any moment, Moody then roughly smacked his shoulder and grinned. “Hey, look on the bright side: If we pull this off and get back to that crazy freaking woman in one piece, we can take turns kicking the living crap out of her.”
“Well, there’s incentive,” Alex replied, trying his best to smile.
Moody glanced one last time in the direction of the window, and with her right hand resting lightly on the hilt of her knife, cautiously began her ascent up the stairs, Alex quietly filing behind her. The old wooden staircase creaked and groaned as they proceeded step by anxious step upward, and the resulting noise echoing throughout the entire complex seemed an unbearably loud racket compared to the eerie silence that enveloped them. As they worked their way past the various apartment doors, it was abundantly clear that someone lived behind them. Doormats, toys, and various other miscellaneous signs of life littered the halls. But where the people were now was anyone’s guess.
Upon reaching the fourth floor, Moody walked to an unmarked door, glanced at Alex uneasily, then knocked. Her soft rap seemed to boom through the deserted hallway, all the way down to the first floor. After a long period without a response or any sound from behind the door, Moody lifted her fist to knock again, but stopped short as the door soundlessly opened an inch or two. It was pitch black within, and instead of greeting or questioning meeting their ears, all that could be heard was the soft breathing of someone, or something, on the other side. “We’re here for Scarab,” Moody whispered into the crack.
The door now opened another inch or so wider, but still no response came other than the continuous sound of breathing. With the widening of the gap, Alex could now detect a strong odor seeping from the apartment, thick and musty like that of a kennel, but also different from that of a dog or cat.
“Lady Divine sent me,” Moody added.
The door swung open wider still, just enough for someone to squeeze through. Cautiously, a calloused, long-fingered hand slipped out from the darkness, stained all over in many colors of ink, and motioned for Moody and Alex to step inside. The hunchback didn’t immediately accept the invitation, but instead leaned forward a bit, straining her eyes into the gloom. Alex then noticed that Moody was inhaling deeply, presumably sniffing the air oozing out from the room. Once more the hand appeared, motioning them to enter, but this time with a motion that reflected a growing impatience with Moody’s reluctance. Apparently satisfied, Moody gave a quick nod for Alex to follow and stepped inside. Alex took a deep breath, as though he were jumping feet first into unknown waters, and slipped through the doorway.
As soon as Alex had cleared the threshold, the door quickly shut behind him without a sound, and a low click heralded the illumination of the room. Standing next to a light switch by the door was the owner of the ink-stained hands: Scarab the forger. The being appeared to be human, and yet something about it was decidedly off, somehow unnatural, though Alex couldn‘t quite put his finger on precisely why or what in particular. The person was short, barely five feet tall, with long, greasy black hair parted down the middle, stretching down past the shoulders. Massive glasses with astoundingly thick lenses magnified the person’s brown eyes many times over. Its husky physique was covered in unremarkable, loose fitting clothing, and as Alex curiously studied this person’s figure and features he couldn’t make out whether this being were male or female.
“There are but two of you,” the forger stated, in a gravelly, hissing voice, that sounded like neither sex in particular.
“That’s right,” Moody added bluntly. “You have something for us.”
Scarab studied the two visitors a while more with distrustful eyes, before hobbling off toward the opposite side of the room. The forger’s dwelling was dirty and cluttered, with piles of papers and books covering every surface. Stacks of documents were strewn all over the floor in messy piles waist high or more, separated only enough to create paths for Scarab to move around. As Alex scanned this mess, his gaze met that of a small, inquisitive set of eyes staring up at him from under a pile of junk. It was a ferret, running loose about the apartment, coming to check out this new curiosity. Alex smiled at the little beast, and as he continued to survey the Scarab’s dwelling he came to realize that several dozen of these creatures lived with the forger. On top of shelves, under furniture, and from behind the clutter strewn from one end of the room to the next were more ferrets, slithering about, playing, sleeping, spying on the newcomers.
Scarab worked through the mess to a cluttered table set against a wall, gently brushed aside a crawling ferret, and lifted up a small package wrapped in brown paper, tied with simple twine. The forger moved back to the clients, stopping a step away from them. “Payment is required,” Scarab hissed.
“We have your money,” Moody replied curtly, “but I’m not handing you a single ’breath‘ until I see your work for myself. Unwrap the documents.”
Scarab let out a low, gurgling hiss, a sort of offended snarl from Moody’s audacity. The forger glared at the hunchback for a moment, and then with another hiss pulled the twine, loosening the knot of the package. Carefully the ink-stained hands unfolded the brown paper, revealing three rectangular objects, which Alex would have normally taken for checkbooks. Scarab took the topmost one in hand and held it out to Moody. Opening the booklet, Moody scanned the first page, showing no expression whatsoever, and then handed it to Alex. As he inspected the curiosity, the document did seem quite similar to a passport, and it just so happened that it was his own forged papers he was examining. Within was a reproduction of his driver’s license photo, except a scruffy beard had been added to his face, and Serene’s ridiculous eye patch covered his left eye. As Serene had previously indicated, his name was listed as Ludwig Bloch, a human, from Schweinfurt, Germany. The rest of the details, however, such as height, eye color and so on, were more or less correct, presumably taken from his driver’s license as well.
“This will do,” Moody said, sounding entirely unimpressed. “Show me the others.”
“Show me the payment.”
Moody gave a reluctant nod to Alex, and with a nervous cough he handed his document back to the hunchback and reached into the front of his overalls. After an uncomfortably lengthy period of groping about within his clothes, as the money had slipped all the way down to his left inner thigh, he procured the forger’s payment. With another nervous cough and an unintelligibly muttered apology, Alex placed the “souls” in Scarab’s expectant hands. The being flipped through the money carefully, then pulled out a random bill and held it up to the light emanating from the ceiling. Scarab’s giant brown eyes bored into the circular paper, precisely tracing from one end to the next, before emitting a satisfied grunt and placing the inspected bill back with the rest of the stack. “It is time for you to leave,” Scarab hissed, holding out the other two documents for Alex, whilst giving Moody a filthy look.
But as Alex reached forward with a relieved smile, eager to accept the forgeries and get the Hell out of this creepy place, a great commotion suddenly burst forth outside. Piercingly loud pops had begun echoing all about the streets surrounding the building. The first thing that went through Alex’s mind was that somebody had set off a whole crate of fireworks in one of the alleys. But once the yells and screams reached his ears, his blood chilled as the realization came upon him that this was no prank or celebration.
“Gunshots?” Moody gas
ped, her green eyes as large as dinner plates.
Scarab’s face twisted into a portrait of fury, hissing angrily, and jerked the documents out of Alex’s hand. Before he had time to react, the forger gave him a swift shove in the pit of his stomach, and began scrambling toward the rear of the room. Alex tumbled to his knees, coughing and gasping for air, reeling from the shock that this creepy little androgynous weirdo had so effortlessly knocked the wind out of him.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Moody yelled, plowing across the rubbish-covered floor.
In a fraction of a second, Moody closed the gap and leaped after Scarab, tackling it from behind. The two tumbled to the floor with a thud, sending papers and books flying through the air. Still gasping, Alex crawled through the littered room toward the two wrestling figures on the ground. Moody latched onto Scarab’s back, one arm wrapped tightly around the forger’s neck, the other grasping frantically for the documents. Scarab squealed angrily, and twisting its body wildly, broke free from Moody’s hold, and began beating the Hunchback. Alex wrapped his arms around the forger from behind and yanked the torso backward, now finding himself thrashing about the floor in a mass of kicking and swinging limbs. Despite the snarling and screaming pulsing through the room as the brawl wore on, Alex could still distinctly hear the commotion continuing outside, with a near-constant fire of bullets, strange crackling noises, and the cries of numerous voices, all of which seemed to be getting louder and nearer by the second. Yet still, even with both Moody and Alex focusing all of their strength on Scarab, the forger continued to hold its own, rolling and kicking about the room, thrusting them into the walls and furniture painfully.
The noises from below were now echoing through the apartment complex, and in addition to the continued sounds of violence, Alex heard the sound of many feet scrambling up the stairwell. The forger straddled Moody, tufts of black hair in its hands as the creature grappled the hunchback’s head. Now in a complete state of panic, Alex lowered his head, shoved his crown directly into Scarab’s chest, and catching the being off guard, wrapped his fingers around its wrists. With his feet firmly planted against the wall, Alex strained with all of his might to pull the documents toward him and out of his enemy’s grasp. It seemed like he had finally gotten the upper hand, when he received the exceptionally unpleasant surprise of Scarab lifting its head in retaliation and biting right down on Alex’s arm like a steel trap. With a great scream Alex instinctively let go of his grip and tumbled backward. As the ring of stinging pain from the deep bite mark suddenly flared up on his arm, something inside him snapped, and a tremendous rage detonated. Acting entirely on adrenaline and anger now, Alex lurched back to his knees, and with as hard a swing as he could muster, punched Scarab squarely on the jaw. For a split second Alex felt profoundly macho and powerful, as Scarab’s eyes went wide and it reeled back and spat in the air from the blow. In point of fact, Alex had never actually punched anyone in anger or defense in his life, and this was coming as an entirely new and oddly exciting experience for him. That feeling was short lived, however, as a nagging thought popped into his mind: what if he had just punched a woman? While the creature’s gender was entirely up in the air, the idea that he may have just decked a “girl”, something he was taught a guy never did under any circumstances whatsoever, made him feel like the worst scum on the planet.
“I…I am so sorry…” Alex began, trembling, his knuckles throbbing from the impact.
Alex didn’t have the opportunity to finish his genuine apology, as Scarab reared back, emitted a wild cry, and kicked him flat on the nose. Sprawled on his back again, face throbbing in agony, Alex saw numerous flashes of light wheeling about the room. While he couldn’t clearly see what was happening now, from the sounds of grunting and growling it became evident that Scarab and Moody were scuffling on the floor next to him. Additionally, whatever was occurring outside had now reached the door of Scarab’s apartment, and someone or something had begun kicking it fiercely in an attempt to get inside. Alex pulled himself up clumsily, and reached toward Moody and Scarab. Finally the locks on the door gave way. The door flung wide with a crunch, wooden splinters spit forward, followed by three more piercing pops, which sent his ears ringing.
Separate from the pain that had taken residence on his nose, Alex now felt a new sensation, that of something warm on his face and chest. He looked down at his coveralls, detached, as if he were simply experiencing a dream, and squinted past the flitting lights at the blood gradually soaking his clothing. He laughed, deliriously holding a bloody hand in the air. “Moody,” he said loudly, “I’ve…I’ve been shot!”
Chapter 11- Isbell
Inspector Hammett sat in the passenger seat of the sedan, his giant eye tightly shut, one hand on his forehead, fingers tapping rhythmically, the other slowly stroking his goatee, wholly absorbed in his thoughts. Vega sat behind the wheel, eyes alert and focused as he barreled through the underground tunnel at excessive speed, quickly overtaking traffic, swerving aggressively from one lane to the next effortlessly. The two UEL inspectors had taken turns driving through the night, only stopping twice to refuel since hastily departing from Stephen’s ransacked trailer home, leaving the overwhelmed mayor of Eville to deal with the corpse unaided. They had made excellent time traveling along the underground super-network, and would be arriving in New Brasov shortly, sometime around four in the afternoon.
Hammett opened his eye and sighed. He frowned at the colored lights lining the tunnel’s ceiling, passing overhead hypnotically. Despite trading off driving duties with his partner, Hammett had rejected the opportunity to sleep in the car. Exhausted as he was, the Cyclops refused to stop working, to cease analyzing his case, to sit idly and allow a moment of relaxation. Why New Brasov? What could be so important there for Necrosia to stick her neck out? Traveling to a large city teeming with people (not to mention a sizeable law enforcement presence) made absolutely no sense whatsoever. What if the Cosa Nosferatu got to her first? Then what? He glanced in frustration at the speedometer of the vehicle, already knowing full well that Vega was traveling at the sedan’s maximum speed. “I’ll sleep when I damn well want to,” he barked, catching a concerned glance from his partner. Vega swiftly turned to look Hammett head on, momentarily taking his eyes off the road, a curious expression on his face. “Yes, yes. I know. But I do believe I have every right to be irritable. I haven’t had a decent meal since we arrived, and no one on this Godforsaken continent seems capable of producing a cup of coffee more than a modicum better than ogre piss.” Vega arched an eyebrow and smirked, not in the least affected by his partner’s sour demeanor. “That’s entirely irrelevant. I don’t care how attractive she was, the woman couldn’t make a decent cup of coffee to save her life,” Hammett replied, breaking into a slight smile for the first time in many hours. “Still, I must admit that her alluring qualities helped dampen my disappointment,” he added with a chuckle. He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped himself short as his small, tablet-like communication device lit up on his lap and began buzzing. The inspector swiftly reached down and pressed a button on the apparatus. “Evans, where the hell have you been?”
“Er…home, sir,” a soft voice answered from a speaker on the tablet. “In bed.”
“Who the hell gave you permission to leave? Damn it man, didn’t I tell you not to go anywhere?”
“I’m sorry, Inspector. I waited at the office until past midnight, but since I never received any further communication from you, and everyone else had already gone home, I assumed it was safe to call it a night. My wife was furious as it was.”
“To hell with your wife, Evans. From this point forward you don’t leave the office until I say so. If you must sleep, make do with the sofa in the lounge. Is that clear?”
“Yes…yes, sir,” Evans replied sheepishly.
“Bring your wife some bloody flowers and a box of elven chocolates next time you see her and she’ll forget all about it. Now, Vega and I will be arriving in New Brasov shortly, and
I need to know precisely what we’re walking into. Firstly, I need a comprehensive list of all known Cosa Nosferatu members operating in and around the city. Secondly, and most importantly, I want full dossiers specifically on all known members of House Constantine operating on the North American continent. I need to know if any of these blood-sucking maggots has so much as stepped foot on this landmass within the past month. I guarantee you what we’re looking for lies precisely there. This entire business reeks of Constantine’s filth. I swear it.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll have the information in an hour.”
“You’ll have it in forty-five minutes, Evans.”
“Um…quite right, sir. Anything else?”
“Yes. Inform the New Brasov law enforcement that I am en route and to be ready to follow my lead on a moment’s notice. And do not, I repeat, do not provide those yahoos any details regarding this business until I arrive. The last thing I need is for one of these local cowboys to jump in head first and screw everything up. Tell them I’m coming and to be ready. That’s all.”
“Consider it done. Is that all, sir?”
“Tulips.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Your wife’s favorite flowers are tulips, I recall. Make sure you bring her yellow ones when this is all over. Have the bill sent to me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now get your ass in gear and dig up that info. You’ve only got forty-four minutes left.”
“As you say, Inspector,” Evans replied, a smile in his voice.
Hammett pressed a button on his communication device and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Good man, Evans. Hands down the best agent working in the office.” Vega glanced at Hammett accusingly. “Yes, yes. He’ll be fine. I’ll make sure he’s well rewarded once this disaster blows over. I’ll request he be granted an extended leave. He and his woman can go somewhere warm and pleasant for a week, sipping cocktails and making love until they tire of each other’s company and want nothing to do with one another for a month. But at this very minute I need everyone focused and operating at peak performance, and I’m not going to mollycoddle people into doing the job they’re more than adequately paid for. We blow this, Vega, and the scales tip decisively in the enemy’s favor. We’re finished. Done for. And decent men such as Evans will be lucky to survive, much less have a wife and home to return to.”
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