(Second intro to Dan before Team Ragamuffin gets rolling. Not necessary to read, but this will give you some more of Dan's flavor, along with some characters and settings that will be mentioned later on.)
There was something invigorating about that final olfactory death throws of garbage after it was thrown together into their metal coffins. Steam hissed out of street vents and into the night. He knew it was here somewhere.
Dan scoured the faces of the buildings. All of them were dirty and falling apart with lightless signs or none at all, torn posters and graffiti. He paused on the corner under a lonely street lamp that buzzed at him in greeting. It was late. The only other signs of life were a shadowy group of kids, and a cat fishing for scraps. From somewhere in the middle of the block he could vaguely pick up the strains of music. That had to be the place. He ambled down the street, following his ears.
As he tracked the sound down, it turned into some rock riff he wasn't familiar with. The vocalist had one of those howling nasal tones that every other shitty, yet inexplicably popular, rock band seemed to be sporting these days.
Before going in, he closed his eyes and brushed his hands across the door's surface and let the door's history wash over him. He didn't need much, just tonight. No need to waste time in the wrong bar, especially if he was going to have to deal with that noise. Sure enough, the hands attached to the man he was looking for had come into contact with this door. Dan gave himself a smug little smile; it'd only taken him a day and a half to find the guy. Now came the fun part.
The bar looked just as crumby on the inside as it did on the outside. Mismatched chairs and tables in various states of disrepair littered the floor. A few bodies had given up in the middle of the veritable obstacle course and tucked themselves away in corners with hard liquor to ease their wounded pride.
Dan knew this guy would be at the bar. Considering the figure on the right was a rather hefty woman, he slunk his way to the only other character at the left end of the bar.
Dan shifted up to the bar stool next to the guy as casual as if he were a regular himself. He hailed the bartender for a beer, and another of whatever his neighbor was drinking. It was dark and smoky, but he could still tell that this was the man he had been looking for. He appeared about six foot while hunched over his drink, had dark curly hair cropped close to his shining scalp. A goatee and thick eyebrows to match bracketed his Roman nose. His forehead and nose glistened faintly in the bar's lights, either from sweat or oil, but most likely both.
The bartender brought the drinks. Over the sound of a generic guitar solo, Dan began working his tricks "Hey Slick, need another?" He offered the drink, "Names Dan, you come here often?"
The man glanced over and raised one of his thick eyebrows as if to say, "Really?"
Dan kept rolling, "I'm looking for a guy who likes to hang around here, name of, Marcus Seisman?"
The man felt inclined to speak this time, "And what would you want with this Marcus if you found him, anyway?" He was looking around the bar furtively while he spoke. Man, this guy sucked at subtlety. Mine as well cut to the chase.
Dan clapped him on the shoulder; he was hoping to pick something up off his jacket, anything. All he really got was a lot of B.O., "I hear he runs a pretty lucrative business, and I think I might have an interested party."
The man finally turned to really look at Dan. He seemed a lot more interested now, until Dan saw recognition dawn on him, "Well, I think I might know how to get a hold of the guy. Why don't you step outside with me for a minute."
Again, this guy's subtlety was as existent as the romantic atmosphere in here. 'What would you want with him if you found him?', 'I might know how to get ahold of the guy?', and 'Why don't you step outside with me?' This was almost painfully transparent, and Dan knew exactly where it was headed. He wasn't too worried though, he was pretty sure he could handle whatever this amateur threw at him.
The man downed the last of his drink, dropped some money on the counter, gave a familiar nod to the bartender, and slid off the barstool. On his way over to a side door with a glowing red exit sign above it, he slipped a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket.
Dan took a minute to finish the rest of his drink before he did the same, no need to rush. The exit sign opened up to a dim, pungent, and quiet alley. The rank scent of tobacco and sweat hung in the air next to the garbage smell
"Hey Slick, you out here?"
Silence, he looked around the alley for a second. Dan turned around to go back into the bar, but was greeted instead by a fist flying straight for his face. Dan reacted instinctually. He ducked. The hair on top of his head danced; being short had its advantages sometimes.
Despite having dodged the first blow, a second pair of arms snaked through Dan's from behind, and put him in a full nelson. Then, the first fist's twin succeeded where its brother had failed. Air whooshed from Dan's lungs and into the night. He might not have been able to breath, but he was still going to get his two cents in. He managed to wheeze out, "Not even gonna buy me a drink before you have your way with me?"
"Shut him up." Came the man from the bar's voice a little further back in the alley.
The first hand, now revealing itself to belong to one of the sulking bar patrons, a big guy with big muscles fancying himself a big shot, backhanded Dan across face. Along with the flash of pain came a flash of incomprehensible memories and a touch of satisfaction. Sick little prick was probably getting off to this. Dan couldn't help but comment; "You know I like it when you play rough."
He got a fist this time. That shut him up. The muffled sound of another shitty song nearly identical to the last filled the sudden stillness. The greasy man strolled out of the alley's shadows. Cigarette smoke curled around him and wreathed him in smog, "Well, Dan, for someone with a reputation like yours, you sure are stupid."
Dan managed to gasp out, "Maybe that's just what I want you to think, Marcus."
He came closer, his cigarette smoke began to snake over to Dan, "You know who I am? Good, so at least you're not retarded."
Dan tried to blow some of the smoke out of his face with the breath that was just now migrating back to his lungs, "I believe the correct term is mentally handicapped. That fag you're smoking is what's retarded."
Marcus took one, long, deep lungful and pulled the cigarette from his lips. He came just a step closer and exhaled all over Dan. Tobacco, stale alcohol, perspiration, and general halitosis washed over him. He held his breath as best he could, but inhaled every unpleasant thing quiet suddenly when Marcus stuck the glowing tip of his cigarette underneath Dan's jaw, "Who's this 'interested party'?"
Dan gritted through his teeth, "Oh, the usual." The cigarette hissed as I died against his body, "Why don't you come a little closer, and I'll whisper it in your ear?" It didn't work. Marcus stepped back and began to relight his cigarette, "I'm done with your shit, Dan. After my boys are done with you, a whisper is about all you'll be able to manage. I don't know how much you know, but you've been throwing wrenches in our operations for months now. Both those things are gonna change." He gave a nod to his 'boys'.
The man behind Dan tightened the full nelson, and the goon in front wound up for another lung crushing body blow. Dan did his best to relax his body and absorb some of the impact. It helped only a little. The second one was already in route to his face. Dan relaxed even more this time. In fact, he even pitched forward and completely lifted his feet off the ground. Hopefully this worked. Dan wasn't very tall, but he wasn't scrawny. The man holding him was pulled forward by Dan's dense boxer's physique just enough to get hit in the face with the fist meant for him. There! The detective planted his feet back on the ground and pushed back. He threw his head back and yanked his arms downward. The full nelson was loosening. He continued to lean back into it until he could pick his knees up into his torso and drive them into the other guy's chest.
From the force of the kick, Dan was dragged backward onto the ground by the nelson; it definitely wasn't full anymore. At least he had something nice and meaty to land on. He rolled to the side and broke the hold finally. He didn't have too long until someone came at him. Dan pounced up off the ground, and snagged a pair of brass knuckles from his jacket. A natural and practiced boxing stance was what he fell into. A new song started up inside. These sad sacks where on his turf now.
The man who'd been throwing the punches came after Dan first. Depraved idiot had a bloated ego from beating up on a man being held down. Dan smiled. He was going to deflate that ego like a whoopee cushion. He easily dodged the handful of haymakers the ox threw brazenly at him before weaving inside and driving straight up into his jaw. Dan's solid frame, boxing skills, and brass knuckles equaled an instant K.O. Might have chipped a few teeth as well.
Marcus was finally stirring into action, so was the guy on the ground, who was back on his feet, and Dan recognized as the bartender, "I give you my money, and this is how I'm repaid?" Marcus was going for his back. Was there a gun there? Probably, but Dan needed the bartender out of the way, "This is no way to treat your patronage." He took the offensive this time. Before the man could even prepare a good defense, Dan was raining blows on his arms, stomach and sides. A particularly sharp jab to the solar plexus winded the man. Dan followed up with a leg sweep. The man went down without a struggle. While he coughed on the ground for air, Dan gave him a swift kick to the head and it was lights out. He turned now to Marcus, who had a gun pointed at him.
He could tell that Marcus was debating whether or not to kill Dan.
Dan decided to help the poor bastard make a decision. He slid the brass knuckles off. There might be a chance that Dan could get what he wanted without having to touch the man after all. He relaxed his posture back to the usual half slouch, "Now things are a bit more even, wouldn't you say? Why don't you calm down and put the gun away, and we can chat? Just like we were gonna do in the first place."
Dan watched as Marcus tried to process the situation as quickly as his small time criminal mind could in an effort to make the decision he stood to gain the most from. It was rather pathetic really; this half assed gangster with his cheap suit, cigarette, and gun. What was he trying to be anyway? Marcus's skin glistened dimly in the alley's weak light from sweat that was clearly evident now. He tentatively put the gun back in his waistband.
There was a soft groan from the ground behind them. Shit, someone was starting to wake up. Looked like he was going to have to speed things up whether he liked it or not.
Dan gave that lazy smile that charmed regardless. He did his best to appear unphased or out of breath from the little encounter. With a gentle step forward he began, "There we go. I'm feeling much more talkative already." The gap between Dan and Marcus was approximately six feet. He could probably rush Marcus in that distance before he got the gun out, but closer would be better, "We're gonna play this fair. You tell me something I want to know, and I'll tell you something you want to know. Sound good, Slick?" Marcus nodded slowly, "First question, do you know a good tailor?"
Confusion splattered itself across Marcus's face like an egg. Dan took that precious moment to close the distance between the two of them and grab the cuff of his right jacket sleeve. He pulled it in close to his body, and performed a seamless takedown. Dan was now in a full grappling mount with control of Marcus's right arm, with the gun pinned beneath him, "because this hem is looking a little worn."
Marcus was stunned. Futilely, he began thrashing beneath Dan and swinging wildly with his free left arm. Dan had it completely under control. Even with Marcus's size advantage, years of boxing and Ju-jitsu gave him the clear upper hand, "Quit squirming. This won't take long."
Dan wasn't looking forward to touching the guy, but it had to be done. With the hand not helping pin Marcus, he stuck his palm onto his forehead. Everything flooded in.
Dan hated physical contact. When he touched an inanimate object it was easy. There weren't any thoughts or emotions to compete with or muddy the mixture. Human beings were different, messier. Brains imprinted history different than cold dead matter, and doors and jackets were mercifully emotionless.
Immediately, Dan felt all of Marcus's alarm, confusion, and anger, a lot of anger, not quite pure hatred, but still clearly within the loathing spectrum. He needed to focus if he was going to get what he came for.
Marcus's free arm was still trying to aid in a pointless escape, but it still managed to claw around at Dan's face. He got a few good scores in, and somewhere between focusing on keeping the grappling mount and sifting through Marcus's memories, He felt his bandana torn away.
Dirty blond hair fell forward into his face, and Dan experienced Marcus's anger and loathing take a backseat to his confusion and fear. His hope that his hair, the alleyway's poor light, and Marcus's struggle would keep attention away from his forehead quickly faded. Marcus's eyes bugged out in his skull, Dan knew exactly what he was looking at. A massive third eye split Dan's forehead in half. He was using his psychometry, so he knew for a fact that it was opening wider and dilating more every second, and staring right back at Marcus, into him in fact. Dan struggled to focus his power on Marcus's mind in search of the memories he wanted.
Marcus's body went still, "What are you?"
Dan ignored him for the time being, and took advantage of the relative calm to dive into Marcus's mental history. He just needed a location, or the next rung up the ladder. Some scrap of evidence.
"Oh my god. What are you doing to me?"
Dean continued ignoring him. Just about…there! Got it! He had what he needed, now to get the hell out of here! He covered Marcus's mouth and nose. He really started to panic now, it was almost sickening, but Dan still maintained the mount. The thrashing became squirming, the squirming became twitching, until Marcus lay completely unconscious on the grimy ground.
Dan stood up and took his bandana back. He wasn't worried about his little secret getting out. No one was going to believe Marcus. It had been a dark violent encounter, he'd been drinking, and a five foot four health conscious private eye had just knocked him and his two cronies out cold. He debated whether it was worth it or not to hide the bodies. Sloth won that one, so Dan shrugged and left the alley behind, he needed a beer.