*-*-*-*-*
Anthony woke up drenched in sweat. He had the dream again. He hadn't had it in months and he thought that he was over it but apparently not. It always started the same way, he was in McCadden's living room, smoking and watching as McCadden and Woods teased the redheaded angel who wore nothing but a sheet. Back then he couldn't have cared if she lived or died. He just did his job and so long as he got paid that is what counted. In this reoccurring dream of his he did care. McCadden shot the angel out the window but instead of walking off with them he went and tried to help her. As he pulled her back up into the house the scene transformed to that of the rooftop. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, and O'Grady stabbed him with his own sword, but as he fell the angel fell as well wearing nothing but the sheet. He always woke up just as he saw her hit the pavement broken, next to him. He always woke up panting out of breath and still feeling her lips on his.
He climbed out of bed and got himself a drink of water. The dream still haunted him and he knew the only thing that would make it go away. He went over to his desk, opened the top drawer and removed a lock of titan hair that lay in-between the scissors and the stapler, tied with a blue velvet ribbon. He had fallen off the roof with that same lock of her hair clenched in his fist. He inhaled its faded scent. While it didn't smell of the shampoo she used anymore it still smelled of her own unique fragrance and it was enough to get him through the night and hold the bad dream at bay.
He went back to bed the hair still in his hand. He wondered, like he did on the nights when the dream came, what she was doing. He wondered if she ever thought of him. He even wondered if he would ever see her again and as he drifted off to sleep he somehow knew for certain that he would.
*-*-*-*-*
Across town in an unfamiliar beach front apartment Dylan was also having a hard time sleeping. She never thought she would say it but she missed the sound of Old Mr. Johnson's dog whining to go out, and the strange woman next door whose apartment always smelled of burnt toast, the scent of which often drifted under the door and through the walls. The mattress of the bed in the new apartment was too soft and she couldn't get comfortable. The thought of Mitchum telling her she couldn't sleep in the bed because it was for show only made her giggle. If it hadn't made her giggle it probably would have made her cry. Crying was something she didn't plan on doing again on this case, Lucrezia was not a crier.
But it wasn't the loss of her old mattress that made it hard for her to sleep it was the job. She realistically knew that she could do the job, Charlie wouldn't have recommended her if he hadn't thought so. Dylan was just used to being part of a team; she was Moe to their Larry and Curly, although she doubted that Alex would like being Curly. She was the little pig who built his house of straw to the brick and stick pigs. Okay, she was bad at knowing famous trios but she wasn't used to working alone without back up. At least without back up she could trust. Mitchum had made reference to his FBI contact there but she doubted she could count on him if the going got tough.
Getting out of bed she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot mint tea. She had seen a box of tea bags in the cupboard earlier and figured she couldn't make too much a mess with it. Then again maybe those were for show too, but she didn't give a damn.
As she stood at the counter she absently played with the gold medallion around her neck and her thoughts drifted to Anthony. She hadn't thought about him much lately she realized as she twisted the chain back and forth. Right after that night, the night of HALO, she thought about him often. The police had said that there was only one body found and it had been identified as Seamus O'Grady by the tattoo across the back which read, "Only God May Judge Me". Dylan hated to be cruel but his passing caused her enormous relief. She didn't know how Anthony could have possibly survived, but it was possible he had wandered off and expired elsewhere. Still she for months held on to the fantasy that they would cross paths again while working a case. After time she began to think on other things and he slowly slipped from her mind except on quiet nights when she had nothing to do except think, like this one. Now feeling dreadfully lonely she thought of him and wondered if he were still alive would he be lonely and thinking of her too.
The whistle of the tea kettle brought her back to reality. She poured the boiling water over the white bag and cursed as the string with the tab slid down into the slowly coloring water. After waiting the appropriate amount of time she removed the bag with a spoon and carried the cup into the bedroom. On her way through the living room that is when she saw the reflection in the window; that of a man wearing a dew rag and raggedy jeans. She didn't think he noticed her noticing him so continued into the bedroom, and set the cup of tea on the dresser. She had the element of surprise and intended to use it for all it was worth.
The bathroom that was connected to the bedroom had a second door which as luck would have it lead to a small hallway. That hallway would place her right behind the guy that she spotted, assuming that he hadn't moved. She turned the water on in the bathroom as she passed through hoping he would think she decided to shower, and carefully unlocked and opened the second door, closing it behind her. Dylan edged along the wall until she arrived at the open living room. The man was now staring at his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace so she took the opportunity to attack.
He barely knew what hit him. As the stranger stood preening he suddenly noticed in the mirror a small form with its foot out speeding towards him through the air. He turned and yelled, "Shit," as the foot made contact with his chest sending him backwards into the mantelpiece. He didn't know who the girl was, she didn't look like the pictures of the Darness woman he had but she was apparently a fighter. He'd give her a fight.
The two circled each other like vultures, finally he attacked. Just what Dylan had been waiting for, two kicks to the knees, a good punch to the stomach and a roundhouse kick to the face while he was down and out like a light he went. Dylan quickly found an extra long extension cord which she used to tie the man. She searched him for ID and found a California driver's license. She went to the kitchen and stood so she could still see the man's unconscious from on the living room rug and called Mitchum's number.
"Hello?" answered a drowsy voice from the other end.
"Mitchum, its Lucrezia."
Mitchum sat up in his bed, "What's going on?"
Dylan in her kitchen twisted the gold chain of the medallion around her finger. "I was just attacked. The guy is down and out cold in the living room."
"Who was it do you know," he asked turning on the light next to his bed.
"According to his driver's license his name is Joseph Lucco. Does the name ring any bells?"
"Joey Luck is what they call him. You're lucky to still be alive. He is one of the Chief's best assassins. Do you remember the Greek shipping tycoon who died six months ago," he asked her.
"Yeah, I thought he had a heart attack."
"That's what the press was told to say. He was a Joey Luck hit. His heart was attacked by a single shot at close range. All the tycoon's body guards were taken out as well. Keep him restrained. I'll have a team over there to take him into custody. Oh and Lucy,"
Dylan rolled her eyes she hated being called Lucy. "Oh and Lucy," he repeated. "Good job but think about dying your hair. You know now how dangerous these guys are." Then the line went dead.
Dylan went back to the bedroom and retrieved her lukewarm tea and sat on the white couch waiting for Mitchum. "I wonder what he'll say about Joey Lucks blood all over the white carpet," she thought.
*-*-*-*-*
The stranger watched the Thin Man. The stranger had been watching the Thin Man all day and before that he had heard all sorts of rumors about the silent killer. The most predominant of which was he was a vampire. It didn't matter to the large bulky man who stood in Anthony's apartment that it was night and Anthony was sleeping in a real bed and not a coffin, he believed anyone that strange had to be a vampire. He knew the stories that the Thin Man came from Romania and that is where vampires were from right? So in the Stranger's not so bright mind the connection was made and thus he stood there slightly nervous, wearing garlic and carrying a wooded stake which he planned to impale the man on. The Stranger wasn't sure it would work. He had heard rumors that Seamus O'Grady had run the man through the heart and Seamus died while the Thin Man lived, but just in case the stranger was prepared, he also had a gun loaded with silver bullets; never mind that they were legendarily for werewolves. The stranger stepped closer to the bed and the sleeping form of the Thin Man.
Anthony's nose twitched. He had been having a lovely dream about Dylan and his mother, and suddenly he smelled garlic. In his dream he leaned over and sniffed Dylan's hair and she reeked of the pungent bulb. "This wasn't right," he told himself in his dream, "someone is in your bedroom." Anthony woke but lay still with his eyes closed. He heard the floor board squeak. Only one in the bedroom did that, it was about three feet from the head of the bed, left side and from the note it made he could tell whoever was standing there was a large man. He kept his breathing slow and steady as not to alert the stranger in his bedroom. Part of him wished that his sword was handy, it would be over with much quicker that way but hand to hand he could do as well if necessary.
The Stranger stepped closer to the bed and lifted the stake over his head brought it in a downward arc expecting to meet the resistance of the Thin Man's ribcage. Instead halfway through something blocked his arm. The Stranger opened his eyes and looked down to see what happened. The ice cold blue eyes of the Thin Man stared back at him glowing in the moonlight that streamed in the window. The Stranger struggled and tried to move his arm but the Thin Man was holding it stopping him from completing his death blow. He was astounded at the silent assassin's strength. As he began to reach into his pocket for the gun the assassin kicked him in the stomach and sent him across the room.
Anthony jumped out of bed and grabbed his sword. He held the blade at the Strangers throat. "Hey man," the Stranger said, "You don't want to kill me." Anthony just arched an eyebrow with a look that said, "Really."
"Really," said the larger man sprawled on the pine board floor. Anthony used the tip of the sword to signal he wanted the man to remove his hand from his denim jacket. The Stranger started to but Anthony saw his hand move under the cloth as though he were grasping for a weapon. In one smooth movement the sword penetrated the back of the man's hand and the man screamed.
Anthony gave him a look that said, "Why did you make me do that."
"Please," begged the stranger, "Please don't stab me no more. Let me have my hand back. I'll leave the gun."
Anthony wasn't one to believe him but he relented and pulled the bloody tipped sword out of the man's hand. The stranger pulled his hand out of his jacket and looked at it. Blood ran down the palm like stigmata. "Shit, you asshole you, poked a hole in my hand and I can't move it."
Anthony shrugged. "I'll get you," the man cried jumping to his feet and attacking him. Anthony fended off the attack then the man who must have gotten movement back into his hand reached for the gun again. Anthony took a step forward, parlayed and the sword went effortlessly through the Stranger's arm between the two bones, out the other side and through his shirt, past the skin and into his heart. The Stranger gasped and hissed the word, "Vampire," as he fell dead to the floor.
Well no sleep tonight, decided Anthony as he loaded the dead man into the trunk of his jet black BMW Z4. He took the body to the dump, where all the trash goes and left it but not before looking at the man's identification. He had just been attacked by Manfred Sayer, aka the Big Man one of the Chief's goons. He wondered if he was the only one receiving a visit that night.
Anthony woke up drenched in sweat. He had the dream again. He hadn't had it in months and he thought that he was over it but apparently not. It always started the same way, he was in McCadden's living room, smoking and watching as McCadden and Woods teased the redheaded angel who wore nothing but a sheet. Back then he couldn't have cared if she lived or died. He just did his job and so long as he got paid that is what counted. In this reoccurring dream of his he did care. McCadden shot the angel out the window but instead of walking off with them he went and tried to help her. As he pulled her back up into the house the scene transformed to that of the rooftop. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, and O'Grady stabbed him with his own sword, but as he fell the angel fell as well wearing nothing but the sheet. He always woke up just as he saw her hit the pavement broken, next to him. He always woke up panting out of breath and still feeling her lips on his.
He climbed out of bed and got himself a drink of water. The dream still haunted him and he knew the only thing that would make it go away. He went over to his desk, opened the top drawer and removed a lock of titan hair that lay in-between the scissors and the stapler, tied with a blue velvet ribbon. He had fallen off the roof with that same lock of her hair clenched in his fist. He inhaled its faded scent. While it didn't smell of the shampoo she used anymore it still smelled of her own unique fragrance and it was enough to get him through the night and hold the bad dream at bay.
He went back to bed the hair still in his hand. He wondered, like he did on the nights when the dream came, what she was doing. He wondered if she ever thought of him. He even wondered if he would ever see her again and as he drifted off to sleep he somehow knew for certain that he would.
*-*-*-*-*
Across town in an unfamiliar beach front apartment Dylan was also having a hard time sleeping. She never thought she would say it but she missed the sound of Old Mr. Johnson's dog whining to go out, and the strange woman next door whose apartment always smelled of burnt toast, the scent of which often drifted under the door and through the walls. The mattress of the bed in the new apartment was too soft and she couldn't get comfortable. The thought of Mitchum telling her she couldn't sleep in the bed because it was for show only made her giggle. If it hadn't made her giggle it probably would have made her cry. Crying was something she didn't plan on doing again on this case, Lucrezia was not a crier.
But it wasn't the loss of her old mattress that made it hard for her to sleep it was the job. She realistically knew that she could do the job, Charlie wouldn't have recommended her if he hadn't thought so. Dylan was just used to being part of a team; she was Moe to their Larry and Curly, although she doubted that Alex would like being Curly. She was the little pig who built his house of straw to the brick and stick pigs. Okay, she was bad at knowing famous trios but she wasn't used to working alone without back up. At least without back up she could trust. Mitchum had made reference to his FBI contact there but she doubted she could count on him if the going got tough.
Getting out of bed she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot mint tea. She had seen a box of tea bags in the cupboard earlier and figured she couldn't make too much a mess with it. Then again maybe those were for show too, but she didn't give a damn.
As she stood at the counter she absently played with the gold medallion around her neck and her thoughts drifted to Anthony. She hadn't thought about him much lately she realized as she twisted the chain back and forth. Right after that night, the night of HALO, she thought about him often. The police had said that there was only one body found and it had been identified as Seamus O'Grady by the tattoo across the back which read, "Only God May Judge Me". Dylan hated to be cruel but his passing caused her enormous relief. She didn't know how Anthony could have possibly survived, but it was possible he had wandered off and expired elsewhere. Still she for months held on to the fantasy that they would cross paths again while working a case. After time she began to think on other things and he slowly slipped from her mind except on quiet nights when she had nothing to do except think, like this one. Now feeling dreadfully lonely she thought of him and wondered if he were still alive would he be lonely and thinking of her too.
The whistle of the tea kettle brought her back to reality. She poured the boiling water over the white bag and cursed as the string with the tab slid down into the slowly coloring water. After waiting the appropriate amount of time she removed the bag with a spoon and carried the cup into the bedroom. On her way through the living room that is when she saw the reflection in the window; that of a man wearing a dew rag and raggedy jeans. She didn't think he noticed her noticing him so continued into the bedroom, and set the cup of tea on the dresser. She had the element of surprise and intended to use it for all it was worth.
The bathroom that was connected to the bedroom had a second door which as luck would have it lead to a small hallway. That hallway would place her right behind the guy that she spotted, assuming that he hadn't moved. She turned the water on in the bathroom as she passed through hoping he would think she decided to shower, and carefully unlocked and opened the second door, closing it behind her. Dylan edged along the wall until she arrived at the open living room. The man was now staring at his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace so she took the opportunity to attack.
He barely knew what hit him. As the stranger stood preening he suddenly noticed in the mirror a small form with its foot out speeding towards him through the air. He turned and yelled, "Shit," as the foot made contact with his chest sending him backwards into the mantelpiece. He didn't know who the girl was, she didn't look like the pictures of the Darness woman he had but she was apparently a fighter. He'd give her a fight.
The two circled each other like vultures, finally he attacked. Just what Dylan had been waiting for, two kicks to the knees, a good punch to the stomach and a roundhouse kick to the face while he was down and out like a light he went. Dylan quickly found an extra long extension cord which she used to tie the man. She searched him for ID and found a California driver's license. She went to the kitchen and stood so she could still see the man's unconscious from on the living room rug and called Mitchum's number.
"Hello?" answered a drowsy voice from the other end.
"Mitchum, its Lucrezia."
Mitchum sat up in his bed, "What's going on?"
Dylan in her kitchen twisted the gold chain of the medallion around her finger. "I was just attacked. The guy is down and out cold in the living room."
"Who was it do you know," he asked turning on the light next to his bed.
"According to his driver's license his name is Joseph Lucco. Does the name ring any bells?"
"Joey Luck is what they call him. You're lucky to still be alive. He is one of the Chief's best assassins. Do you remember the Greek shipping tycoon who died six months ago," he asked her.
"Yeah, I thought he had a heart attack."
"That's what the press was told to say. He was a Joey Luck hit. His heart was attacked by a single shot at close range. All the tycoon's body guards were taken out as well. Keep him restrained. I'll have a team over there to take him into custody. Oh and Lucy,"
Dylan rolled her eyes she hated being called Lucy. "Oh and Lucy," he repeated. "Good job but think about dying your hair. You know now how dangerous these guys are." Then the line went dead.
Dylan went back to the bedroom and retrieved her lukewarm tea and sat on the white couch waiting for Mitchum. "I wonder what he'll say about Joey Lucks blood all over the white carpet," she thought.
*-*-*-*-*
The stranger watched the Thin Man. The stranger had been watching the Thin Man all day and before that he had heard all sorts of rumors about the silent killer. The most predominant of which was he was a vampire. It didn't matter to the large bulky man who stood in Anthony's apartment that it was night and Anthony was sleeping in a real bed and not a coffin, he believed anyone that strange had to be a vampire. He knew the stories that the Thin Man came from Romania and that is where vampires were from right? So in the Stranger's not so bright mind the connection was made and thus he stood there slightly nervous, wearing garlic and carrying a wooded stake which he planned to impale the man on. The Stranger wasn't sure it would work. He had heard rumors that Seamus O'Grady had run the man through the heart and Seamus died while the Thin Man lived, but just in case the stranger was prepared, he also had a gun loaded with silver bullets; never mind that they were legendarily for werewolves. The stranger stepped closer to the bed and the sleeping form of the Thin Man.
Anthony's nose twitched. He had been having a lovely dream about Dylan and his mother, and suddenly he smelled garlic. In his dream he leaned over and sniffed Dylan's hair and she reeked of the pungent bulb. "This wasn't right," he told himself in his dream, "someone is in your bedroom." Anthony woke but lay still with his eyes closed. He heard the floor board squeak. Only one in the bedroom did that, it was about three feet from the head of the bed, left side and from the note it made he could tell whoever was standing there was a large man. He kept his breathing slow and steady as not to alert the stranger in his bedroom. Part of him wished that his sword was handy, it would be over with much quicker that way but hand to hand he could do as well if necessary.
The Stranger stepped closer to the bed and lifted the stake over his head brought it in a downward arc expecting to meet the resistance of the Thin Man's ribcage. Instead halfway through something blocked his arm. The Stranger opened his eyes and looked down to see what happened. The ice cold blue eyes of the Thin Man stared back at him glowing in the moonlight that streamed in the window. The Stranger struggled and tried to move his arm but the Thin Man was holding it stopping him from completing his death blow. He was astounded at the silent assassin's strength. As he began to reach into his pocket for the gun the assassin kicked him in the stomach and sent him across the room.
Anthony jumped out of bed and grabbed his sword. He held the blade at the Strangers throat. "Hey man," the Stranger said, "You don't want to kill me." Anthony just arched an eyebrow with a look that said, "Really."
"Really," said the larger man sprawled on the pine board floor. Anthony used the tip of the sword to signal he wanted the man to remove his hand from his denim jacket. The Stranger started to but Anthony saw his hand move under the cloth as though he were grasping for a weapon. In one smooth movement the sword penetrated the back of the man's hand and the man screamed.
Anthony gave him a look that said, "Why did you make me do that."
"Please," begged the stranger, "Please don't stab me no more. Let me have my hand back. I'll leave the gun."
Anthony wasn't one to believe him but he relented and pulled the bloody tipped sword out of the man's hand. The stranger pulled his hand out of his jacket and looked at it. Blood ran down the palm like stigmata. "Shit, you asshole you, poked a hole in my hand and I can't move it."
Anthony shrugged. "I'll get you," the man cried jumping to his feet and attacking him. Anthony fended off the attack then the man who must have gotten movement back into his hand reached for the gun again. Anthony took a step forward, parlayed and the sword went effortlessly through the Stranger's arm between the two bones, out the other side and through his shirt, past the skin and into his heart. The Stranger gasped and hissed the word, "Vampire," as he fell dead to the floor.
Well no sleep tonight, decided Anthony as he loaded the dead man into the trunk of his jet black BMW Z4. He took the body to the dump, where all the trash goes and left it but not before looking at the man's identification. He had just been attacked by Manfred Sayer, aka the Big Man one of the Chief's goons. He wondered if he was the only one receiving a visit that night.