ONE
Of all the Gin Joints in all the World
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She slammed her foot down on the woman's wrist. "Where is it, Marina?" she seethed.
Marina stopped struggling. Instead she blew blonde hair from her face, panted some breath back, set her teeth against the pain in her ribs, her arm. She gulped in air. "Screw. You."
Her captor smiled, crouching slowly. Her right hand hovered over the pinned woman, her fingers reaching out and grabbing her by the jaw. "You know it doesn't have to be like this. Just tell me where it is. I'll destroy it - job done."
"I've heard this line before," Marina spat. "You want to keep it."
"It's too dangerous for any one person to have. Tell me where it is and I'll do us all a favour," she said. Marina struggled and wrenched under her foot and hand. She released her jaw and stood tall, lending more weight to the shoe currently crushing Marina's wrist to the carpet. "You know how this has to end, don't you?" she asked.
"So much for you wanting to - ngghh - wanting to help people!"
"Well if you won't help me, I can't have you warning whomever has it, can I?" she said.
"You'll never find it," Marina growled.
"Says you. A lack of 'can-do attitude' - that was always going to be your downfall, wasn't it?" She took a step back. She put her hand in her pocket. It began to glow an angry purple.
"Oh no," Marina said lamely. "Oh shit."
The purple glow flashed brighter and brighter until the room was filled with painful white.
Marina screamed.
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ooOoo
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He smiled as he made his way down the street, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Someone bumped into him as he strode cheerfully down the busy thoroughfare. He grunted in protest and turned to look over his shoulder. Unable to identify his rude interruptor, he instead aimed for the crosswalk and waited.
He spotted a tall man in an expensive suit on the opposite side. Without looking, the handsome stranger strode out into the traffic as if completely oblivious to the danger. Cars split around him, honking horns, shouting obscenities. Still the man just walked on, before going straight for the smoking man still watching in bemusement.
"Come on - out of the way," he said.
"Little bit of patience wouldn't hurt you, mate," he grumped back, nevertheless shifting to one side.
The taller man paused and peered down at the blonde man. "There has to be a bar here somewhere. I just - I just can't seem to find it."
He raised his eyebrows at him, then lifted his arm to point. "Keep going - about three blocks. Turn right. There's a place down there but mind the clientele. Not exactly your sort."
The taller man's jaw stuck out and he glared. "And how would you know what my sort is?"
"Just giving you a friendly warning, pal. Drink there or don't - I don't care."
The man paused, taking a step away from him. "Yes. I see. How rude of me," he snapped. "Have a nice day, or whatever it is you humans say to each other." He turned and strode off.
Shaking his head, the man with the cigarette turned back to see the frustrated cars were sorting themselves out and driving off. He pulled the cigarette free and dropped it, crushing it out with his black shoe. Suddenly the crosswalk was his friend and he and a handful of people made the most of the green cross signal.
He flicked his collar up against the afternoon warmth and kept walking. A few blocks went by, the sun glittering off the silvery buildings, the chrome surrounds of busy cars, the clean windows of big-name stores. Finally he came to a stop just between two buildings; the gap barely wide enough, he turned sideways and began to shuffle down it.
"Closed!"
He paused. Then he squinted further down the gap, before turning his head to look back out at the street. "Do what, mate?" he asked.
"Closed! Moved on!"
He backed up to be almost out of the narrow egress, then put his hand to the brickwork. "Says who?"
"Says the owner. Been gone two years now. So whatever you want - you ain't going to get it."
He huffed. "Look - I've come a long way for a certain something and I really need your help."
"Not mine you don't - he's gone. I'm literally a Calling Card."
He rolled his eyes and shuffled back out of the gap. "Bloody hell." He turned his back to it, taking a packet of Silk Cut cigarettes from his pocket and fishing one out. He lit it, took a long drag, and surveyed the relatively busy to and fro of people past him. "So… he must have put quite a whammy on the bricks then - for you to still be here after two years, I mean."
"Damn right. Grumpy old bastard trapped me here so he could move on."
"I could… release you. For a price."
"Let me guess what that is."
He grinned, then took another drag of his cigarette. "Just one item, that's all. Tell me where it's kept and I'll release you."
A long silence.
He looked out at the sea of people, at the warm, sunny afternoon, the breeze that ruffled at his blonde hair.
"Ok fine," said the voice. "You get me out of here, then I tell you."
"Bollocks to that, mate. You tell me and then I get you out of there."
"No deal."
He enjoyed the rest of his cigarette, apparently completely unhurried. Then he squished out the remains under his right boot. "Well have fun being this alley's disembodied voice for all eternity." He cleared his throat, looked left and right, then put his foot out to go.
"Wait!" the voice cried. "Ok, ok. But you have to promise me."
He stepped back until he was leaning on the wall just by the gap. "Just tell me where it is."
There was a long pause.
Finally: "It's being looked after. Broad by the name of Marina - she curates, see? She'll have it."
"Brilliant. Where do I find this 'Marina'?"
"Not far from here - an apartment complex on southwest third avenue."
"Which apartment?" he tutted.
"You'll know it when you see it - it'll jump out at you."
"Very funny mate. See you 'round." He pushed himself off the wall.
"Please! She keeps it under the corner table under the fish tank! It's under the floorboards - four across, three in - that's what I heard."
He looked around, then up at the bright blue sky. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his white shirt pocket and shoved them on. And then his hands spread behind him as if giving baseball cues to imaginary fielders. His lips moved silently, something breezed at his back, his fingers rippled.
"All done," he announced. "Now bugger off - and tell him he still owes me a hundred quid."
The voice ruffled at his hair at it seemed to pass over his head. "Oh I will. Good luck with your item."
And then it was gone.
He shook his head, put his hands in his trouser pockets, and turned to his left.
He began to walk.
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ooOoo
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The door swung open with force and a tall man stomped in. He stopped to survey the wooden tables, the half-empty room, the bar at the far end. He lifted his shoe to feel the floorboards slightly sticky, but he let go of the door and ventured over to the bar anyway.
"Well you look like you could do with a stiff one," the bartender said. A large woman with a conspicuously clean bar towel in her hand, she looked him up and down before depositing a glass and flipping the cotton to lie over her shoulder. "What'll it be, Handsome?"
"Pick the one drink you wouldn't give your worst enemy and make mine a double," he groused.
She blinked. "Whatever you say. But I'll lay odds you can't finish a double of that drink."
"Just give."
"Ok," she said, lifting her hands in surrender. She got to work behind the bar, picking up apparently random bottles and spritzing the contents in a chilled shaker. "What is it, your old lady?"
"Oh - the oldest lady, thank you for asking," he grumped, his face dark. "My mother. —And my brother, along with someone else I thought really cared for me. And Dad just throws all this in my way and assumes I'll sort it all out for him - as if we've ever been on good terms."
"Sounds like this will drink go down real quick, then." She shook the concoction a few times before lifting the small cap and pouring it into a chilled glass complete with ice. She put it on the counter in front of him.
He sipped it - and then looked at her in surprise. "But this is wonderful, darling - whatever is it?"
"A Meshuggener. Named it after my ex-husband."
"Right," he marvelled, peering at the glass. "You know, maybe this afternoon won't be so bad."
"Your folks - the ones you mentioned. Are they in town?"
"Oh Silver City no - they're back in LA."
"LA?" she asked, leaning a hand on the counter to watch him. "Then I'd say your afternoon's going to be ok, honey."
"Well it couldn't get any worse."
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ooOoo
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He got out of the cab, paying the driver and offering him a cheery send-off. He turned to appraise the entrance to the apartment complex, his hands going into his pockets to afford him a stroll down the drive.
He was round the long bend before the police officers walking to and fro made him pause. One of them looked up; realising people were now aware of him he simply pasted on a bright smile and waved at the officer.
"Afternoon, squire," he called. "What's all this, then?"
The officer met him halfway. "This is a crime scene, sir. I'm afraid you can't come down here."
"Oh. That's a bit of an inconvenience - my friend lives here. I was hoping to have a bit of chat."
"Can I ask your friend's name, sir?"
"Marina," he said. "Marina Morello."
The officer looked at him for slightly longer than made either of them comfortable. "Can you come with me, sir?" he asked.
"Mind if I ask why?" He put his hands out in surrender. "If I'm not allowed in the place, I can come back tomorrow, like."
"No - I really think you need to come with me, sir," he said. "Please."
"Is this likely to turn into an arrest situation?" he asked with a winning smile.
"I really don't think so, sir."
"Oh. Well in that case, lead on," he shrugged.
The officer turned and walked back toward the apartments, finding a tall dark woman in a grey suit talking with two other officers.
"Ma'am," the man called. "This gentleman's here to see his friend - Miss Morello."
The woman turned to appraise them both. "Detective Peony Nugent," she said. "And you are?"
He looked her up and down, noticing the clean suit, the two-inch heels, the air of someone used to getting their own way. Even her dark hair was woven around a barrette to keep her glare unencumbered. "I'm just visiting a friend. Like I said to your uniform here, I can always come back if this is a bad time."
"I'm afraid you won't be able to come back," she said. She nodded to the three officers and they disappeared quickly. "Are you a close friend of Miss Morello?"
"Not really. In fact we've never met."
"Then why are you here?"
"Oh, she's a friend of a friend. He's left town, so I thought I'd call on her instead."
She looked at her feet for a second. "Well I'm sorry to tell you that she's deceased."
"Marina?" he asked. "Marina Morello?"
"That's her," she nodded. "Do you mind if we ask you some questions?"
"Not at all - but like I said, I didn't even know her. To be honest, I wasn't sure which apartment was hers. I was hoping to catch someone here to ask them where I could find her."
The detective nodded. "I understand." She reached into her pocket and produced a small white card. "If you could call at the station soon and give a statement, we'd really appreciate it."
"Sure," he nodded. "Uh - don't suppose I can ask what happened to her?"
Nugent shrugged. "At the moment it's inconclusive. That's all we can tell you."
"Right. Well then. I'll… uh… get going." He turned away, putting his hands in his pockets.
Nugent watched him go, then pulled her phone from her pocket. She checked a few messages before going back into the apartment block.
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ooOoo
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"And he turns to me and says - get this - he says 'your mother is the root of all evil'!" he cried.
"Wow. That's a load on your shoulders. Now I'm of the opinion you shouldn't do that to a child," she tutted.
"I know, right?" he cried. He rapped the empty glass on the counter, affecting a piteous expression complete with the universe's most adorable Puppy Eyes. "Can I have another, dear lady?"
She smiled. "Well seeing as you've proved me wrong, I don't see the harm in giving you one more."
"Thank you," he beamed. "Y'know, I never really was a child. Child-like, at one time, I grant you - but never a child, as such."
"Your folks forced you to grow up quick, huh?" she asked, shaking ingredients.
"Exactly that, Flo, exactly that," he nodded. He turned on his stool to look around the bar. "A bit quiet in here, isn't it?"
"We got our regulars," she smiled. "I like it quiet. Gives people time to reflect without all that modern noise and bustle, you know?"
"Good point, well made," he nodded. "I think that may be just what I need - a complete departure from everything while I get my head round it all. No more police, no more helping, no more investigations, no more just putting up with people who don't know who or what I really am. It's time people just understood what I am and got on with it."
"Sounds like a plan," she smiled. She poured the fresh cocktail over ice and slipped it toward him over the counter. "There you go, honey."
"You are a lifesaver, Flo." He picked it up and downed half of it.
She shook her head in amazement, taking her bar towel from her shoulder and wiping her hands on it. The door opened and she looked over. "Another newbie. Well ain't it just my lucky day," she smiled.
The newcomer wandered over and plonked himself on the next stool but one to the tall, dapper man currently contemplating the rest of his Meshuggener. "Afternoon," he said to the place at large.
"Afternoon to you, sugar," she nodded. "What can I get for you?"
"Pint, please. Anything imported."
"All I got is bottles - domestic."
"Bugger - anything whiskey-related?"
"The usual house whiskey - that do you?"
"No offence love, but it'll have to," he nodded. She turned away to fetch a glass. He threw his head back on his neck, tilting it all the way round as if to stretch it out. He felt at the back of it, his eyes closed.
"You know Flo, these get better the more of them you drink," said a cheerful voice to his left.
The newcomer turned on his stool and looked over. "You," he said. "The man from the crossing. Found your way here, then."
"Oh, hello," the drinker said with a wide smile. "I have to apologise. I was rude to you before and it was nothing you'd done."
"That's a first."
"I came in here, spoke to Flo, had a few - and I'm feeling much better about the world. Well, this one, anyway."
"Glad to hear it, mate," he nodded. Flo leant over and put a fresh coaster on the bar before depositing a glass on it, half full of something brown and tinkly. "Nice. Cheers, pet." He picked it up.
"You know…" The man slid off his stool and moved up to the one next to him. "You smell like…" He leant closer to the man's hair, looking over his head as he breathed deeply. "No. Can't be."
"Got a habit of sniffing strangers, have you? Were you a dog in a past life?"
"You smell like there. Only - that's impossible. I mean…" He leant an elbow on the bar and stared into the man's eyes as if raking his soul for gold dust. "You've been there, haven't you? Several times, I'm guessing." His voracious gaze went over the other man's face at all angles, before he again found his eyes. "Who are you? You're not a demon, and you're certainly not an angel. I would go with escaped soul, but you really don't look it."
The man turned right round on his stool to look him in the eye. "Demons and angels ain't real," he said with a game smile.
He smiled back. "Oh I rather think you're just saying that the benefit of Flo, here."
"Flo, love?" the man said, without looking away. "Get Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome another drink, would you? Sounds like he needs it."
"Well Hell, now I gotta go down to the cellar for more gin," she said. "You boys wait here for me, you hear?"
"Certainly Flo," the taller man grinned. He barely waited until she had disappeared through a side door. "Go on, you can tell me," he oiled. "Who are you?" His eyes flicked over him, taking in the hem of his shabby trenchcoat just south of swirling round where his knees normally stood. His blonde hair and white shirt caught the lights from high above, but his dark, unkempt tie told tales of needing more than just a drink.
"I'm just a visitor, mate. Sounds like you're not from around here neither."
"No, really," he said, leaning closer than was polite. He fixed his gaze on his. "Tell me… what are you really here for? Hmm? What do you really, really want?" He paused. "What's your deepest, darkest desire?"
The man's smile died and was reincarnated as a worried frown. "What are you?" he urged, trying to keep his voice down. "Whatever creature you are, whatever you think you're here for - leave these people out of it. Tell me what you want and maybe we can sort something out that doesn't involve anyone dying."
The man drew back, surprised. "Oh. Well that just makes you much more interesting, doesn't it?" He lifted his right hand, offering it to the other man. "The name's Morningstar. Lucifer Morningstar. You may have heard of me."
He looked down at his hand in disbelief. "You what?"
"And you are?" Lucifer asked politely. "Come on, I'm dying to know. Not many people can refuse my special questions."
"You're Lucifer? The Lucifer?" he spluttered. He slid off his stool. "Yeah - um - got to go." He pulled money from his pocket to slap it on the bar.
"Oh now don't be like that," Lucifer said. "I'm on holiday. Believe me - I plan to be the laziest little devil anyone's ever heard of. At least for the next few weeks. Or months. Or… I don't really know, to be honest." His head tilted and he appraised the ceiling.
The other man stared. "Lucifer bloody Morningstar - on holiday? Last I heard you were out LA way pretending to own a club. How many souls did that little venture eat up?" he snapped.
"Souls?" Lucifer asked, surprised. "Not one. Well, maybe one or two who really needed a good hiding. But it's just a club - really, I'm more into the 'do as you want' scene since I left my day job." He frowned, then repaired his smile to look over at the shabby man again. "But enough about me - who are you?"
He backed up one. "I'm leaving."
"Oh come on - you have me interested now," he grinned. "I mean under all that swagger and that filthy coat, I'm sure there's someone worth getting to know."
"Nope. Sorry." He turned to go.
Lucifer wagged a finger at him. "You know, now I think about it… something about you rings a bell. I'm sure someone's told me about a man in a trenchcoat…" He tutted. "If I could just remember who it was."
"A lot of trenchcoats in the city," he said over his shoulder.
"No no no… Let me think… A trenchcoat - only it was longer. Blonde hair, smelt of cigarettes and gin, he said… Face like a younger, more attractive version of Sting…"
He kept walking toward the exit. "Be seein' you."
Lucifer snapped his fingers. "Ah hah! I know you!"
"Don't," he said under his breath as he walked.
"Now I remember! It was the First, I think - he was banging on about something to do with a soul he was due, and went to collect and—"
"Don't," he breathed.
"It's you!" Lucifer grinned. He leapt to his feet. "Oh I've waited for this!" He straightened his suit jacket with gusto before throwing his hands out in some kind of amazed 'ta-dah!'. "John bloody Constantine, as you live and breathe!"
The man came to a stop. He closed his eyes. "Bollocks," he breathed.
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Yay! And we're off! Another crossover I said I'd never do. Hope you like it.