A/N: The readers have spoken! Here are the final two chapters of For Whom the Drum Beats!
A/N 2: If I have some of the dialogue wrong at the end of this chapter, please let me know.
Angel sat on the bumper of a car in the middle of Avenue A, watching the spectacle around him: flaming pieces of paper fluttered to the ground, the sparks of fire and anger lighting up the night. It was rent time on the Avenue and nobody was happy. Around him, people yelled out from the fire escapes.
"We're not gonna pay rent!"
We're not paying last years rent!"
"This year's rent!"
"Or next month's rent!"
"We're not gonna pay rent!"
"Everything is rent!"
Angel watched as one last piece of burning paper fluttered to the ground, smoldering itself on the sidewalk in front of him. He stood up and held his drumsticks up in salute. On the fire escape across the street, he spotted a man with long blonde hair looking at a pretty Latina girl on the fire escape below. He smiled at the spectacle. The man was just about to go back in his apartment when another man got out of a car. He looked up at the man with long blonde hair who was joined by another man on the fire escape.
"Get down here, I need to talk to you."
Angel picked up his pickle tub and drumsticks and headed down the street; nothing else to see here. It was late, but maybe he'd get a few dollars from a last minute Christmas shopper. He scanned the street, deciding to set up on a deserted corner. Even if there was no one around, it would be a good time to practice; his apartment wasn't big on drumming in the middle of the night.
He put the pickle tub between his legs and began drumming, scanning the street, lost in thought. A man walked by and put a dollar on top of the pickle tub, then walked away without saying a word.
"Merry Christmas," Angel said, before putting the money in his back pocket.
He bounced the pickle tub up and down, trying to create different sounds. He was just about to drum some more when he heard a noise. He paused, looking around. He bounced the tub again, then heard the noise once more. "Hello?" Deciding to investigate, he picked up his pickle tub, putting it under his arms, grabbing his drumsticks. "Is anybody there?"
The noise sounded like it was coming from a back alley. He cautiously made his way down the alley, toward the source of the noise. It sounded like coughing, sick coughing. Angel made his way further down the alley; at the very end, under a faint streetlight, laid a man, bruised and bleeding. Angel ran over to him.
"Oh my gosh, are you okay honey?"
"I think so. No, they took my wallet." Angel's heart filled with compassion for the man. He knelt down in front of him, taking a handkerchief out of his back pocket, attempting to wipe the dried blood off the man's face. The man put his hands up, pushing the handkerchief away.
"I'm Angel."
"Angel." The man looked a little surprised. "Collins. Tom Collins."
Angel set his drumsticks down on the ground. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
