Part 2.2 - Fear: Devil's Prelude

The 9mm bullet spun slowly upwards through the air before descending down into the dark cave of Funboy's mouth.

"Heh, tha's good", said the ratty-looking man sitting on his left, his voice matching his face. Skank looked on in further admiration as Funboy, long blond hair swishing back behind his head from his tank top-covered chest, downed his whiskey shot in one fell swoop before letting out a yelp as it went down. "Whoo! See if you can top that, man. Can ya?"

The man he was talking to, none other than T-Bird, slowly placed his bullet on his tongue, showing off with a comical eye-roll before taking it fully into his mouth. "Here's to Devil's Night, my new favorite holiday", he toasted, downing his own shot and following it up with the ashes of his put-out cigarette on his tongue.

"God, are you outta your muthafuckin' mind, man!?" Tin-Tin asked, horrified and impressed at the same time, smoke billowing from his clenched teeth. Skank gave his friend T-Bird an admiring look – they'd been friends before the gang formed, Skank treating T-Bird like a big brother – before he raised his own shot and promptly had it smacked back down to the table by Tin-Tin. Then Tin-Tin threw down his own gunpowder medicine and alcohol without even taking the time to let things settle in between. "Pussies drink last, man", he chuckled to Skank.

But Skank wasn't in a laughing mood, and he bolted to his feet, snatching up the Colt that T-Bird that given him long ago and leveling it at the dark-skinned man's head. "Fuck you, Tin-Tin!"
"Hey…" Tin-Tin let the exclamation linger as he slowly rose to his feet, drawing one of his knives and holding it against the homely man's throat. "That shit ain't even loaded, man."
"This one is", Funboy cut in, aiming his .357 Magnum at Tin-Tin's cheek.
Bolting up straight, T-Bird held Skank's gun downwards while aiming his own at each of them in turn, "Which of you Motor City motherfuckers wants to bet me this one isn't!?" He held the readied gun at them a second longer before…"Hey! Fire it up! Fire it up!" The rest of the gang joined in their own chanting ritual, thrusting their arms with their words as Funboy's girlfriend, a buxom blond-haired beauty named Darla, came over with some more shots.

"Here's your shooters", she said in a soft, scratchy voice while setting the serving tray down. "Put your guns away, huh guys?" They'd been thrown out of worse places for less, but they did as she asked, greeting Darla with a general air of politeness. As much as they could manage, anyway, with Tin-Tin running the tip of his tongue against Darla's exposed shoulder as she shared a deep kiss with Funboy.
"Hey, come on, man. None of that right now", T-Bird said as he nudged Tin-Tin's shoulder. "We can have fun on our own anyway – don't you have some more scum-bags to carve down?"
Tin-Tin straightened up to look at T-Bird, a glint in his eyes and a dark smile below that. "I can always find some. But I got some quick scratch to make first, chief", he said darkly as he departed from the club, leaving Funboy and Darla to do what they would, T-Bird and Skank heading into the bigger part of the building where a rock concert was gong down.

It was down a long stretch of road, but it was the only pawnshop that Tin-Tin actually trusted with what he picked up from the gang's nights of fun. It also helped Gideon's Pawn Shop in both of their favors – he sold Gideon his stuff, Gideon gave him just enough money to count as good, and he stayed protected by the gang and their boss. It didn't stop the fat, slovenly coward from being a rough smart-ass with all of them, though.
Tin-Tin pulled the door open with all the politeness of a rhino, the bell clanging around the walls stacked with disused musical instruments, cans of gasoline, and the front shelf that contained various used guns and knives. All he wanted was the shit he had off of his hands and he back on the street, ready to cut someone down.

"Oh, great. The meat cleaver's back", Gideon retorted, his voice thick and phlegmy from all the cigarettes he smoked.
"Yeah, and he might cut up those fatty slabs you call hands", Tin-Tin fired back – typical repartee. He slapped down a small handful of rings on the glass counter, the surface creaking dangerously from the impact. "There's some more rings for ya – 24 karat gold."
Gideon looked down at them doubtfully, lifting one of the rings up to his heavily-lifted eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his baseball cap, the emblem GIDS across the front. "24 karat, huh? It's 18 karat, probably fake."

"Oh, come on, a leather purse. Leather", Tin-Tin offered next, purring out the last word in a dangerously persuasive manner. The dark-brown purse seemed to sit just as threateningly on the desk before them both before Gideon inspected it. "Oh, Jesus, what is this, Tin? A blood stain on there?"
Tin-Tin let out a soft shrug – sometimes the dirty business had to follow him even here. As long as his stuff sold, he couldn't care less.
"I'll give you $50, and I hate charities!" Gideon finally stated, forking over the money and holding it out to the dark-skinned gangbanger, who looked at it with mild disdain. "Take it or leave it. Decisions, decisions, am I right?"

Tin-Tin shook his head and took the money from his hand, stuffing the wrinkled bills in his coat pocket as he walked backwards toward the door. "You cheap-ass, chrome dome, child molestin' saprophyte motherfucker."
Gideon wasn't even fazed. After years of putting up with this guy's roughness, he'd grown all but numb to it. "Close the gate when you go out!"
"Oh, I close this up for you real good, massa!" Tin-Tin mockingly responded in a stereotypical southern drawl before flipping him a certain finger as a farewell present. "Fuck you."
Chuckling lightly as Tin-Tin finally closed the door behind him, Gideon couldn't help but let out one last verbal stab. "Sit on it and twirl, steam-head."
Meanwhile, neither could Tin-Tin as he closed the metal gate behind him and slammed the lock shut. "You're lucky I didn't stab your fat ass."
Making his way across the trash-soaked street and out to the alley behind an adjacent building, Tin-Tin let his long dark dreadlocks get soaked by the rain before flinging them back behind his head before he saw something that made him stop with morbid curiosity.
There was a menacing, dark bird sitting on a trashed palette, looking at him as if decided whether or not it wanted to kill him.
Little did he know that the crow would indeed bring him his death.


Eric had been watching him the whole time.
Right before he had made it to the building where Tin-Tin was hiding behind, he had discovered that he could observe the man himself through the eyes of the bird of prey guiding him. That guiding gaze, through which he had observed the self-satisfied gait of the bastard, had taken him running across the roofs of the many buildings that had separated him from his first target. Jumping like a track star over the large caps that separated each edifice, swinging across cold wet awnings, and finally to the edge of the building where he was poised to jump, he still couldn't help but feel surprised that he had actually managed to do those superhuman feats. Out of all the things he expected even after rising from the dead, this hadn't been first on his list. Maybe he could've made the meters-long jump to the other building he readied himself for.
Instead, he let himself fall, letting out a soft breath as his body arced around to the point where he was looking up at the dark sky, watching his pet bird take flight as his body hit the trash-covered ground with a dull thud. He could feel his bones shake and his blood ripple, yet not one of them even received the smallest of cracks.

Showoff much?

Even as the bird communicated into his mind, Eric let out a laughing fit at his good misfortune – tonight he would not merely be a mortal bringer of death, but the very Angel of the concept himself.
He rose to his feet, bracing himself as the first of his targets laid his eyes on Eric. "What the hell you all painted up for, crackhead, huh!?"
Eric didn't let the words have any effect on him as he stomped his way across the alley.
"Halloween ain't 'til mañana", Tin-Tin uttered – even if he was wrong by a day about when Halloween actually was – before he braced himself for the fight that was about to happen. It came to him quickly enough.

Suddenly he found himself thrown to the ground, the fiery barrel he'd lit his cigarette from kicked aside, Eric having tackled him hard into a dirty puddle. Tin-Tin drew his knife to try cutting his throat, but Eric held his knife hand away from either of them until it dropped away. Then Eric heaved the bastard back up by his arm, keeping a grip on the limb as it was rendered useless until Tin-Tin broke free.
They bolted back up, two wet messes, Tin-Tin landing a hard punch across Eric's face. Even as he rolled with it, though, it didn't seem to even faze Eric before he grabbed Tin-Tin again, sending powerful right and left hooks across his face and jabs into his belly before he picked Tin-Tin up and shoved him away. Taking the time to crack his neck, Eric moved forward toward Tin-Tin once again.
He ducked away from another attempted punch from Tin-Tin before landing a few more of his own – across his dark face, only now showing fear, before Eric tossed him toward another brick wall, this one brick with tin supports against its upper half.
Tin-Tin landed and collapsed to the ground in a heap, groaning lightly from the bruises forming across his body. Eric didn't even let him try to get up, sending a knee into his gut before rearing for another punch, screaming with the kind of rage only the Devil could cheer for. "Fuck you, murderer!"

The dark-skinned man cackling as he forcefully mounted Shelly.

"The fuck you talking about, man!? I ain't murdered nobody – the fuck you want, man!?"
"I want you to tell me a story. A man in a woman in a loft, a year ago." Even as Eric answered Tin Tin's panicked inquiry, he could see it again –

-shedding away his knife holsters as he clambered atop the bed –

"You're outta your fuckin' mind-"
"LISTEN!" Eric barked, his fury on fire. "I'm sure you'll remember. You killed them, on Halloween."
"Yeah, yeah, Halloween. Some dude, some bitch, whatever. Why do you-"
SMACK. Eric's hand hard across his face snapped him quiet again. "Her name was Shelly, you pig. You cut her – you raped her."

"Shelly, yeah…" Suddenly the memories came back to Tin-Tin – Eric could see it in his eyes. "I shanked her pink ass and she loved it!" Tin-Tin let that remark linger as Eric began to shudder with grief and despair. In that moment, Tin-Tin broke free and grabbed a thick lead pipe, beating Eric across his body with it – across his abs, around and down on his back, and again when he tried to rise from it.
Oh, this pain was glorious! Concentrating on driving it into the back of his brain where it would fuel his own fury, Eric struggled to get to his feet, breathing heavily through blossoming, then fading, bruises. "Murderer…murderer!"

Tin-Tin forcefully tossed the pipe down to the ground and drew two of his knifes, flourishing them around like he were a magician preparing for a grand performance. "Let me tell you about murder, man – it's fun, it's easy, and you're gonna learn all about it."
Eric managed to crawl against the brick wall, holding it up – the pain from the beating successfully sustaining him after its first uncontrollable flashes – as he heard the pest continue to brag. "I'd like you to meet two buddies of mine…we never miss."

Tin-Tin, finishing his ten paces, turned back around and flung one of his knives at Eric, but the dark angel ducked from the knife to hear it collapse to the ground against a trashed barrel. Undaunted, Eric began walking toward the swine as he drew another knife, flinging it with a sideways flick of his hand.
Never taking his gaze away from Tin-Tin, Eric ducked his head away and swatted the deathly metal aside in mid-air. "Try harder. Try again!" This was met with a cry of frustrated anger of Tin-Tin experiencing his first misses as he flung a third knife from a holster at Eric. Eric could see the deathly metal spinning through the air – right between his clapping hands.

Now Tin-Tin was scared, even more so when Eric flung the knife back to its original owner, and he could feel the sharpness of it as it buried itself into his shoulder. Effectively pinned to the wall of rotting palette wood behind him, he was helpless to do anything else as Eric got in his face, drawing yet another knife away from Tin-Tin's belt and holding it aloft, a satanic grin spreading across his painted face.

"Victims. Aren't we all?" Eric thrust the knife downward into Tin-Tin's other shoulder, effectively pinning him to the wood against his back, the scream of pain that rang from his mouth sounding like music to his very ears.

"Now…I require another story from you, Tin-Tin."

"Oh, go fuck yourself, you—" Then Tin-Tin got a good look at Eric's face – and recognized it. "No…you're him, aren't you? The guy we threw out the window?"
"In the flesh", Eric replied.
"But…I saw you die!"
"As you see your own death before you now?" Eric inquired, reaching around Tin-Tin's waist and withdrawing another two knives from the holsters he found there. "As fearfully as Shelly saw hers?"
"She screamed…I wanted to shut her up, to cut her…but she-"
"A year ago", Eric continued, "you helped kill her. There was no money to steal, but you took a ring she had on. Where is it?
Tin-Tin seemed to stumble over the words, all composure lost. "I- I don't-"
Another scream of pain, blood flooding down his trunk as Eric thrust the knife deep into his chest. Not too deeply yet – he needed to know. "Where is the ring?"

"I…always…sold that stuff down on Gratiot…Gideon's Pawn Shop.." Tin-Tin managed to eke out the words in a dying whisper, his throat filling up with blood, before looking up at Eric as whatever light that was in his eyes quickly began to leave. "Please…"
It wasn't a cry for his life, but to put him out of his misery. Eric decided to do just that, thrusting the knife further into his heart. He was still groaning and blubbering with pain as Eric picked up the leftover knives and buried them into the man's body – one to the base of his abs, the other just below his pectorals, two to both sides of his ribs, and one final knife to the middle of his gut. One for every major organ.

Eric tilted his head back and let the last drops of rain fall onto his painted face, Tin-Tin's face reflecting sleep even above the scarlet flows down his body. Gently, Eric dipped his thumbs into the bleeding rivulets; painting a dark symbol across the tin wall above its base of brick he'd been thrown against. When finished, it seemed to loosely resemble the silhouette of the bird of prey that was quick to mount his shoulder after he had finished his artwork.

"How wonderful is Death. Death and his brother Sleep", Eric murmured as a farewell, stopping only to pick up the dark leather trenchcoat that Tin-Tin had flung aside and throw it across his shoulders. He clenched his fists as they appeared through the sleeves, the dark material creaking as it moved with him. "Number one", he whispered, disappearing into the night alley's shadows.