I stepped back out into the now pouring streets, slippery and wet
with the new rain. I decided to pay a visit to Melissa's brother. Erwin was
his name. He lived in a small apartment in an obscure part of the city. The
building itself was a dirty red color I was rather small, hidden among
numerous back alleys and other buildings.
When I came to his room, I knocked on his door. For several minutes there was no response. When it was finally opened, I was greeted by a man about mid-thirties. He had curly, brown hair and thick glasses. He looked rather frantic, and looked anxiously outside his door, making sure no one else was around.
"Can I help you?" He asked timidly.
"The name's, Bullet. Tracer Bullet. I'm a private investigator. I took up a case for your sister, Melissa. Can you tell me anything about your father, or Blight, or anything else that may help me?"
He looked at me suspiciously for a while, then finally replied.
"Um, yes. I believe so. Come in."
After I entered, Erwin looked cautiously around outside his door, then shut it quickly.
"So you're the infamous Tracer Bullet," he said, sitting me down on a dirty, brown couch. "I've heard a lot about you. Drink?"
"Yes, thanks. So can you tell me anything?"
"Well," he said, pouring him and myself some liquor, "My father, Brett Davis, was a drug smuggler, as you know. He was one of the best of his kind. Never failed to deliver a shipment. But as I'm sure you know, his partner messed up, and the coast guard was after him. He got away, but he missed his deadline. Unfortunately, failure was not what his boss wanted, so he sent some of his...associates to take care of my father. But my father was quite rich, so he hired Blight, and after Blight did his buisiness, he decided to kill my father and our entire family."
"But why would he want to kill you? Is there anything you or your father did to make terms between the two of you...disagreeable in any way?"
"Not that I am aware of."
"Did your father regularly tell you of his business, or let you know any information that Blight would find...too much?"
"I was rarely informed about my father's business, and when I was, I was never given too many details."
"So you know nothing of your father's buisiness."
"I'm afraid not."
"Then you cannot help me. Goodnight, Mr. Davis."
Getting up, I stretched slightly and happened to look out his musty window. It was open, and the maroon curtains swayed in the wind.
"Erwin, did you open a window?" I asked very concerned.
"No, why?"
I turn about the room, and then I saw him. I caught only a glimpse of him, for he disappeared back out the window the second my eyes caught hold of Blight's eerie silhouette. The only thing I remember seeing was the reflection of light off of something he was wearing, and his flowing, white overcoat, as it disappeared mysteriously into the night. He left something for me that day though. A note. Stained with blood, and written upon a crumpled piece of paper. The only words upon it was the following grim message:
Death to all who oppose my divine justice-the angel of death.
A white overcoat. How appropriate for an "angel".
When I came to his room, I knocked on his door. For several minutes there was no response. When it was finally opened, I was greeted by a man about mid-thirties. He had curly, brown hair and thick glasses. He looked rather frantic, and looked anxiously outside his door, making sure no one else was around.
"Can I help you?" He asked timidly.
"The name's, Bullet. Tracer Bullet. I'm a private investigator. I took up a case for your sister, Melissa. Can you tell me anything about your father, or Blight, or anything else that may help me?"
He looked at me suspiciously for a while, then finally replied.
"Um, yes. I believe so. Come in."
After I entered, Erwin looked cautiously around outside his door, then shut it quickly.
"So you're the infamous Tracer Bullet," he said, sitting me down on a dirty, brown couch. "I've heard a lot about you. Drink?"
"Yes, thanks. So can you tell me anything?"
"Well," he said, pouring him and myself some liquor, "My father, Brett Davis, was a drug smuggler, as you know. He was one of the best of his kind. Never failed to deliver a shipment. But as I'm sure you know, his partner messed up, and the coast guard was after him. He got away, but he missed his deadline. Unfortunately, failure was not what his boss wanted, so he sent some of his...associates to take care of my father. But my father was quite rich, so he hired Blight, and after Blight did his buisiness, he decided to kill my father and our entire family."
"But why would he want to kill you? Is there anything you or your father did to make terms between the two of you...disagreeable in any way?"
"Not that I am aware of."
"Did your father regularly tell you of his business, or let you know any information that Blight would find...too much?"
"I was rarely informed about my father's business, and when I was, I was never given too many details."
"So you know nothing of your father's buisiness."
"I'm afraid not."
"Then you cannot help me. Goodnight, Mr. Davis."
Getting up, I stretched slightly and happened to look out his musty window. It was open, and the maroon curtains swayed in the wind.
"Erwin, did you open a window?" I asked very concerned.
"No, why?"
I turn about the room, and then I saw him. I caught only a glimpse of him, for he disappeared back out the window the second my eyes caught hold of Blight's eerie silhouette. The only thing I remember seeing was the reflection of light off of something he was wearing, and his flowing, white overcoat, as it disappeared mysteriously into the night. He left something for me that day though. A note. Stained with blood, and written upon a crumpled piece of paper. The only words upon it was the following grim message:
Death to all who oppose my divine justice-the angel of death.
A white overcoat. How appropriate for an "angel".