Ch. 1
Mike Chan
A scrapping sound pecks at the window, of Mike Chan's studio apartment. Too much fun with friends last night, had gotten him too hung over, with too many diverse drinks that took too much of a toll when Mike uncharacteristically forced himself upon meeting the challenge of a keg stand. It was a bad idea but he did it and now was regretting it. Fun at first, now he's down for the count. Unbeknownst to him was a scrapping sound that pecked at his window. It was late, about five past seven, when the siren of Mike's alarm clock accompanied the continual scrapping.
Weary, and dearie eyes saw the time of red numbers, six past seven. He turns back to dream, but his lazy hand reached for the alarm and silenced it, when he knew the day was to begin. So crawled out of bed, with nothing but his strip pajama pants, and turned on the lamp at his bedside. He reached the bathroom about moments later, face in the mirror, eyes red, and hair resembling a classic best of the eighties album cover. He splattered some cold water at his face, then shook it off in bear manner, and twisted the faucet for a hot shower. As he waited for the steam from the water, he rinsed out blue liquid into the sink and smiled for the mirror. A scrapping at the window caught his attention. Mike looked across from the opened bathroom door to his window curious, it faded when steam fog begin to caress his skin. He then closes the bathroom door.
Mike opens his leather suitcase to check the files he had, all of them organized and prepared for Eve like he promised her. Even in alphabetical order to how she likes it. Mike adjusts his dark blue tie, the scrapping at the sound still there. He slowly paces towards the window drapes tie knot in hands, when he hears the ready sound of his coffee maker. He then heads into his small kitchen separated from the bed by a counter. He takes a small sip of his coffee, and opens his refrigerator. Mike had not done any shopping. A few beers, one carton of milk, and half eaten pie remained there. "He knew where he got the beers from his neighbor Boris and the milk from last Tuesday but couldn't place where he got the pie. His head still ringing from the night before was not helping jog his memory. He looked at the time, it was rearing eight thirty, and quickly he grabbed his coat from the hanger, and with suitcase in hand headed toward the door. The scrapping still there, he rushed over to the window and pulls open the drapes.
The sight of a single white feather falls from where Mike stares, and the scrapping sound gone. Mike looks out onto the morning cityscape of London, as the sun touches the stone of the old side walks he imagines how much he missed his old home back in America. The Tower Bridge to Buckingham Palace were both great sites worthy of admiration but it was not the humble Jacob's Mills back home, where his parents got their chicken feed in the summertime. Sometimes he wondered at night before sleeping how he ever ended up in London. One of the oldest cities in the world and not just by reputation o, every corner of this city had a history from Sherlock to Ripper to the modern royal family serving out cakes for charity; this city had everything archaic and innovative. Mike closed the drapes, and rushed out the door. The train was not going to wait for him.
"Hurry, Roger or we'll miss the train," Annie said as she rushed ahead of Roger with her rollers in hand. His mother Mrs. Garwood a woman of middle age and long dark hair was grooming Roger her son of fifteen. He had pale skin, deep blue eyes and raven black hair, with a red bow tie that he wore with inexperience, while his mother was brushing off dirt from his brown coat jacket. "Now you watch after your sister Annie now, she's a bit troublesome when she doesn't have her Lolly," said Mrs. Garwood as she fix Roger's hair.
"Mum, I told you she'll do fine," said Roger embarrassed. "I was nervous my first year too, but I got over it. She'll make a plenty o friends that'll give her company." Mrs. Garwood kept fixing her son's hair. "And Mom can you please stop that, I'm turning fifth teen soon, I don't need your papering in public."
"Don't give me that, Roger, you're still my little Rod, and don't you forget that. Why if my John were here he set you-," an opening of tears broke Rogers opposition.
"Mum, please don't say anymore okay I'll keep an eye on Annie, so please don't start crying," pleaded Roger…
"I'm fine now Roger, please just watch after your sister," she gave her son a long hug. "No worries mum, I got it, so quit crying you're going to start embarrassing us," said Roger.
"I know, I know," Mrs. Garwood calmed down. "I just get all worked up on occasions like this."
"Mum, its not like we're heading to the shantytowns, me and Anne are going to school," said Roger.
"Do you know which platform?" she said solemnly. "Yes mum, Platform nine and three quarters."
Mike checked his watch, it was approaching eleven, and the train always arrived at on platform ten a few minutes early. Brief case in hand, he felt the chill of the platform morning. Mike kept thinking about what was to be expected at work today. Filing papers again? Filling the coffee for detective Barker? Whatever the case it was going to be boring. He never thought being a police accountant would be so dreary and dull. He had his expectations at first that, he wouldn't be expecting explosions, car chases, or chasing after criminals but maybe he did need some excitement.
He should be happy? Right making a decent living, being able to afford his flat, drink amongst friends and yet in the back of his mind he knew that were more that was suppose to happen. Maybe he should've stayed back in America would be the thought that he boomerangs back to.
"Hurry Roger or we'll miss the train!" cried a little red head girl. Mike turned around and saw her pushing her shopping cart full of none shopping supplies past him. While to the crowd he sees a young mother and a boy. Mike noticed that the families were saying their goodbyes. It was September was it? The mother gave the boy a heartfelt hug, while the boy shrug in awkwardness. Mike had forgotten the first time he left for school. It felt so long ago, that he didn't remember the goodbyes of his parents that day.
The train had arrived now, and droves of people piled out onto the platform. Mike took a look at his watch indicating five before eleven. He usually boarded the train before everyone else does because he wasn't fond of squeezing through the corridors of people. Everyone was in a hurry to work, on a train that'll leave at the same time. He had gotten a copy of the Guardian newspaper earlier from Stanly's stand. On the front page, reads in bold letter "Prince William goes on another binge. What will family think!" continue on page six. (Interesting) Mike could find some amusement now on the way to work.
"Hey, watch where you're stepping," a girl's voice cried. Mike put down his newspaper, and sees a woman of twenty, clear faced, bushy curly brunette hair, striking brown eyes and slightly irritated expression on her face at the face that Mike did not watch where he was going.
"Where is it? Gosh never mind I'm going to be late." she looked around the grounds of the platform, and then quickly left. She wore a gray coat jacket and red scarf. Mike couldn't help but stare at her; lost already he was in that one second, and then she was already gone. He took one-step foreword as he watch her run into crowd and felt something beneath his sneakers.
It was a coin, shiny gold metal like any other but as Mike picked it up for closer inspection there was something usual about it. A gold coin Mike thought must've been expensive. He looked around for the girl but she had already disappeared. He took another look at the coin, it was bigger than a quarter, slightly thicker too but instead it had letters engraved to it spelled out in gold Gallion. (What the hell's a gallion? Spanish?) Mike thought.
He found an empty seat on the train in the second cart, right before the conductor started to ring the bell. The coin in hand he looks out onto platform ten to see if the girl would come back. It felt real the coin, no way it was a fake. Maybe the woman will be here tomorrow; if that happens then he can give her the coin back. Highly unlikely, he saw different people everyday except for Stanly. The train began to move and he sunk back into his seat. Then he saw her the same girl, looking at exactly at the same place, but he couldn't say anything for the train had already begun its course.
"Hey Eve, here's the files you wanted," said Mike as he set a stack of folders on her desk. "Thanks Mike, just leave them there, I'll go over them soon as soon as I file this report," she said, looking at her computer.
"Hey Eve, have you seen inspector Mayne? He's not in his office," Mike asked. Eve a woman in her mid twenties, short blond hair and wearing a white blouse was the support officer. Her Uncle being chief inspector did not want his only niece chasing after criminals, had persuaded her into a support role last June when she had graduated from the academy. "No I haven't seen him since this morning. The chief said he'd be out for a few days working on a case so don't bother looking I tried."
"Okay," Mike turned to leave. "Oh wait, Mike I've an assignment for you." Mike immediately turned around surprised. "For me?" Eve opens a one of her film cabinets from her desk, and hands him a sealed brown package. "Take that to the register at Stewart and Perkins, they'll know you're coming."
"May I ask what for?" Eves' eyes still on the computer, and twirling a pencil in the hair, "That's the background credit report regarding buyers, that they requested last month I've been meaning to send the report this week but my hands are tied."
"Wait, why do we have a credit report of buyers for Stewart and Perkins? I mean don't they have their own teams that go through credit reports?" Eve continued typing. "Yes they do, but it seems the property that they are looking into is outside of London. Normally they don't call us, but this property has in particular was brought by the ARMA, and its current buyers are not particularly, how do you say this… um ideal homeowners. So they had us run a background check," Eve finishes typing her sentence. "What did the check reveal?" said Mike. "Sorry Mike, that's classified," Mike smiled and shrugged, "So please make sure they get it." "No problem, just let me run some numbers really fast, and I'll have it out there by noon."
"Alright make sure we block all the entrances, I don't want another dead hooglian this year, Lt over and out," Lt. Michaels had working with traffic since daybreak, in preparation for the hated rivals of Manchester City and Arsenal game. He was an older man facing forty, overseeing the sports game today. He had become familiar to the rowdy crowds, and packed parking lots, but still dreaded every football event for fear of incidents: ranging from mugging, property damage, unaccounted rape that usually leaves some young intoxicate girl a bad memory she didn't clearly remember. Last year at the same event a riot engulfed the city. Over a hundred cases of looting, assaults, and property damage, half of Greenwich became a heap of mess, that chief had to call for the old blue, white, and red, Captain Britain himself to come. It took a national hero and hundreds of police officers to contain, a riot about the results of men kicking a ball. From that day on the love of the game changed for the old Lieutenant.
"Lt." Mike yelled out from behind a line of fans all dressed in the reds and whites of their patron. Mike squeezed through the candy caned colored crowded line drawing some ire and grumbling looks, but he help out his hand in peace offering and muttering police as he went through. The Lt surprised when he saw Mike in office attire come out of a sea of red and white fanatics.
"Mike, what business brings you here lad?" the Lt. shaking Mike's hand when he got out of the crowd. "Jesus, its hectic in here, I don't see how you do it," Mike replied. "Gets better with time laddie," yelled the Lt. "I got the tickets you wanted," Mike yelled.
"What! I can't hear you," yelled the Lt. "I got the tickets you wanted," Mike, yelled handing him two red tipped tickets. The Lt. took the tickets in hand. A smile, faded out of his tired appearance and the blue of his eyes widen at the sight of the two little red-tipped piece of parchments in his gloves. "Thank you," said the Lt, softly. Mike didn't hear the words due but he heard him. "I'll talk to you later at the station," said Mike The Lt. nodding his head in agreement as Mike headed back out towards the crowd.
"Hello, this is detective Brendon Doyle of Paddington Police station, I'm currently out of the office right now, please leave a message." Mike hangs up the payphone. After Mike's meeting with the Lt. he started to head towards Stewart and Perkins but several of the city streets were closed off due to the game. He didn't know that soccer was this popular, and assumed he could easily take a cab, but now it was impossible. The office was sure to close late in the afternoon, and even if Mike we able to find a way out of the busy streets of Greenwich, traversing the alleyways could take longer than anticipated. Mike was still unfamiliar with any of the city landscape.
All of the officers were out in force today, even Doyle and Mike did not dare ask for help. Especially when his job was suppose to be simple. Mike sat on the bench outside of the red phone booth he was in pondering what he should do. To his left was an old man reading the newspaper, and wearing the colors of red and white. He was possibly waiting for his children. The streets were jammed with pedestrians and few cars, along with the occasion truck full of fan hooligans that were screaming, "Manchester!" What to do? Mike hated asking for help, but there was no officer in sight. Anxiety was now chipping in. What if Eve will yell at him when he goes back with the package in hand? He told her he was going to get it over by noon now things just seems implausible with the entire city jumping like the second coming of the Beatles.
Hopeless he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, and tilted his head back to the clouds. His brother always said if you become lost look to the heavens. Ten minutes past and his cigarette had burnt out, and no word from the heavens. Mike got up started to walk.
"Excuse me, young man," Mike turned around it was the old man sitting next to him. He had fading red hair, and a sharp nose. A stripped red shirt displaying the coat of arms of the arsenals, paper rolled up in the other hand and Mike's lighter in his right.
"Oh, thank you sir," said Mike as he took back the silver lighter. "No problem lad," said the old man as he went back to sit back down.
"Um sir?" asked Mike. "Yes," the old man looked up back at him. "I need to get to Hackney by noon, but it seems all transits are closed, is there a way for me to get there on foot?
"Well, not that I know of," Mike sighed in letdown. "But, I've a nephew that usually goes through Hackney, by an alleyway in Claring Cross Road back when he was a lad. The road is not too far from here, just a few blocks, right across from Liecestor Station."
"Really now?" Mike perplexed at the man's directions. "By Alleyway?"
"Yes, once you get to Claring Cross, road you'd come to an abandon building, I forget the name, but if you head to the side there should be a alleyway that leads straight onto one of the Hackney's road." Mike checked his time. It was nearing eleven am, the game was starting soon, and he could still make the time of heading to the Stewart and Perkins.
Thirty minutes later Mike could not believe he actually listened to that old man. He stood in front of an old secluded abandoned shop. A sign on the door that read closed forever. He checked behind the alleyway like the old man suggested. But it was a dead end, covered by a huge stonewall, and a dirty smell of decaying cheese mixed with over human faces. He looked up to the sky and heard the streets of the other side calling to him, mockingly. He thought about climbing the wall. It stood a bit higher than ten feet. A mix of hurried footsteps, and a few agitate voices behind him out in the alleyway diverted his attention back to the abandoned shop behind him.
"Let me go!" a woman cried, she tried twisting and turning but the assailant a dark hooded man did not falter. "You will pay for this whoever you are," said a man, he was held by the arms and on his knees and curly dark hair. His hand dripping blood burnt from the some fire. There we five of them from what Mike could see, that held the suppose couple in their thumb. They all wore dark colored street ware, and all had hoods concealing their faces. The woman's hair was a dirty bright blond that stood out like a lighthouse in the group. They were begun muttering some words.
Mike sunk back behind the alleyway. Fear gripping him likes a terrified pig running from the butcher, except there was a dead end to his left. Quickly he thought of what his superiors would do. Eve would probably call the police with her phone, not good, Breadon would shoot first then ask questions later in this situation.
"Well, well, well," a tall man ran his large hairy fingers claws across the woman's pale face. Her grey eyes pounding in fear at the sight of the man overshadowing her.
"My, my and how've you grown." His breathe like hot dead liver scorching her face. Yellow fangs, craggy and most dreadful closing in on her, he smiled at his new prey.
"It's been a long time, Luna." Luna froze in dead stare at the mention of her name, breathing her last breath.
"You put up quite a brave fight Longbottom, much more than I can say about your parents," said the man looking at Longbottom, breathing heavily, dripping blood, and a bruised eye. "But none the less," he nods to the one holding his head.
"Wait," Luna pleaded. "Wait please no." The man holding Longbottom pauses for a second. "What the hell man, do I have to spell the words," yelled the tall hooded man. The man holding Longbottom nodded in agreement; raises out his wand and Luna closed her eyes.
A body hits the pavement but it isn't Longbottom's. The hooded man who raised his wand lay dead face up, and flat on his blue eyes with no life, and a knife stuck in his throat. All of the men startled look to where the knife came from to see a iron trash bin flying into the center of all of them. Mike moved quickly after he had thrown the first knife, and then the trash bin. Going for the girl first because she was closest, he took out her assailant with a quick kick that connected to his face. The other two who was holding down the man saw Mike in surprise the let go of him, and reached for what Mike thought was their guns. Mike took out his second knife and pushed it into the one of them. He screamed in terror, confusing the other one and stopping him from pulling out his gun. Holding tight on to the hilt of his knife he pushed the men together, backing them away from the couple.
Then he felt a powerful grip on his coat latching hold of him from behind. Like a human rag doll, Mike suddenly saw himself slung back and slamming hard into the paved ground. Dazed and disoriented he saw the face of his attacker; a demon of a man it was, eyes piercing like a falcon and wolfish hunger in expression, then Mike saw nothing but black a second and he felt his blood ooze behind his jacket, then a bright light overtook his attacker, and he closed his eyes into black.