Constantine Fan Fiction

Angel Slayer

By Kraven Ergeist

Chapter Three: Stranger

I heard a sound and, in a flash of motion brought on by years of experience, I drew my unholy blade and brought it up just in time to stare down the golden muzzle of a cross shaped shotgun.

I smiled. "John Constantine…"

The man in black stared back at me. "Alexander Locke…"

If you had to guess what kind of day job an Angel like Michael kept, what would you guess? I bet your first guess would be a doctor, huh? Or a soldier, maybe? Someone in a position to help people. You'd never guess, but if you dialed 0 on any phone within a 15-block perimeter, you had a one in five chance of actually speaking with him.

That's right – he's a telephone operator. What better way to "accidentally" put people in touch with exactly who they need, even when they asked for someone else? Many a lost soul has been diverted to a help session, charity group, hokey psychic - and yes, even the church – because of him. Michael can look into people's minds, lives, pasts and futures, and put them into contact with just the right person, or even prevent them from contacting the wrong person at the wrong time.

A good guy, all in all. It was a pretty good loophole. He played by the rules, as far as I knew. Guess Maleficent saw different. That's all I needed. Not that I had any real grudge against the guy. I was all for the do-gooders. Ask not what your country can do for you and whatnot. But what the boss says goes, and I wasn't going to try to see if he meant good on his death threats.

So, there I was, armed and dangerous, snooping through Michael's office desk, when who should show up but God's Right Hand Man himself?

I think that's about where we left off.

"So…gonna tell me why you're here, knee deep in phone company paperwork?" Constantine asked, smartly.

"Just trying to get a few answers," I replied. It was hard to think of a witty retort when there's a holy weapon inches from your face. To be honest, I don't know how Constantine does it, what with my sword at his neck.

"You shouldn't be here," Constantine sighed, cutting to business. "Michael's not your problem."

"He is when he pisses off my boss," I sighed. I made sure let my displeasure of the job show. If Constantine noticed, he didn't let on.

"Michael's a good boy," Constantine frowned. "I checked – he's too important to blow on some mission that Hell might whack him for."

"I didn't expect you to know anything," I sneered. "You holy men only know what God wants you to know."

"The same is true for you," Constantine shot back.

"I'm here on my own accord," I shook my head. "But anyway, haven't you heard? It's been all over the papers – Mike's stepped over the lines, Constantine. Not by much, but it's enough for Hell to put him down without risking indictment."

"Yeah," Constantine smirked. "Getting a guy with a golden heart to make another donation? That's just treacherous."

I shrugged. "You know what they say: The difference between a reformed criminal and a philanthropist is that the criminal steals a million and gives it all back and a-"

"-And a philanthropist steals a million and gives half back, I know the joke," Constantine sighed. But he put his gun down.

I lowered my sword.

"Come on, Locke," Constantine shook his head. "Even if Hell got a clear hit on Michael, you think you'd be able to take him? I've seen the guy take down a whole army of soldier demons just like that!"

"It's not exactly something I'm looking forward to," I nodded. "I think Hell put me up to this as a suicide mission."

"So, what are you doing here then?" Constantine asked.

"Thing is, half-breeds never show up in papers," I huffed, pacing around the little office block. "It's just not smart. And here's Michael, strutting his stuff all over the front page."

Constantine nodded, the pieces falling into place in his head. "I see. You're looking to see if he's got some kind of agenda?"

I shrugged. "Doesn't everybody?"

Constantine nodded. "Well, good luck with that, Locke. It's been a nice chat, but I'm afraid I can't just let you snoop around an angel's office, so-"

He raised his gun a micro second after I raised my sword.

Neither of us moved for a while.

I chuckled. "Come on, Constantine," I whined. "I don't want to fight you. If I lose, I've only got one place to go!"

"My heart cries out for you," Constantine smirked.

"Look, all I want to do is look around," I sighed. "That's all. All I need is five minutes, I swear. You can even play chaperone if it makes you feel better."

Constantine shook his head. "It's not happening, Locke."

I smiled. "Alright, man…I didn't want to do this, but it's your call…"

We both moved. His move was to pull the trigger, which would have blown my head off…if my move weren't to knock the gun away from his grasp. In the next instant, we were squared off, the other exorcist donning a pair of golden cross knuckles.

"I wouldn't recommend facing me in hand-to-hand combat," I warned. As a fellow exorcist, it only seemed fair. "I'm smothered in putrid water. It'll burn through your flesh as fast as it comes."

Constantine didn't respond. Instead, he darted towards me, narrowly avoiding the tip of my blade, before smacking my chest with the palm of his hand. I feel something shatter, and stare down as the front of my shirt starts smoking, as some shards of glass fly everywhere.

"Well, that takes care of that," Constantine smiled, before ducking beneath another swipe of my blade.

The bastard just smashed an ampoule of holy water on me!

Somehow, he outmaneuvered my unholy blade long enough to kick my legs out from under me. I fell on my back, staring up at him bringing his golden fist down on me, and I grabbed the inverted pentagram around my neck and a let out a litany of curse words – real curse words, as they would be.

Constantine went flying backwards, as the stream of hell speak diminished on my tongue. He leapt back up, his golden gun now back in hand, only to face nothingness.

I was hidden in the shadows, invisible with my dark cloak, even to those with the sight. I watched him poke around – he could still feel my presence, but he couldn't isolate it. I would have to retreat for now.

"God, I could use a cigarette right about now," I hear him mutter.

Then I was gone.

xxxxx

I paced nervously back and forth atop the stadium. The lights shone down brightly across the empty field, and the night air chilled me to the bone.

My contact was supposed to be here by now. Jerry had set up a meeting with a dealer of unholy items – real serious ones, too. Stuff you couldn't find just anywhere.

Petrified demon hairs that could be crushed into a fine powder and used to block out any source of light – which was the source of an angel's power. Summoning charms that could unleash hordes of wing wraiths. Smoke grenades that could choke an angel to death.

And my personal favorite: vials of Satan's unholy seed – instant death when it touches any angel, human, and even some demon's flesh. On the market, it's known as "Sour Milk." I didn't have the foggiest idea how anyone could hope to get a hold of stuff like that. I wasn't particularly inclined to ask.

"You're late."

The man who approached me had a limp to his step, flinched when he moved, and had an oddly colored eye.

"Apologies," he croaked. "You'll understand how someone in my line of worked can get…tied up."

I nodded. "You're Finster?"

"On a good day," the man spoke. "I hear you're in the market for some shnozz?"

I forced myself not to gag. "Got a real tough job ahead of me. I just had a run in with John Constantine himself. I'm gonna need all the help I get."

Finster flinched. "Constantine? I thought he was on his way down?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, well, apparently the boss had other plans. Now have you got the seed or not?"

The rickety old man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a vial the size of a golf tee. I reached for it, but he pulled his hand away instantly.

"Nah-ah-ah…how much you got?"

I sighed and reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out three golden coins. Aztec gold, each was worth a fortune for a curse that was supposedly placed on them long ago. It had taken me months to obtain them.

"How much will this get me?"

He snatched the gold away, sniffing each of them, satisfied that they were the genuine articles.

He flinched his face back towards me. It crept me out the way he did that.

"Two vials of shnozz and a belt of smoke bombs to sweeten the deal."

I nodded, holding out my hand slowly. "Deal."

He tucked the coins away in his pocket, before producing two vials of the same nasty yellow froth that would contaminate the very soul of whoever touched it. He placed them gingerly in my fist, and quickly wrapped them in a handkerchief, and tucked them away safely in my pocket.

He open one side of his jacket and removed a belt of black…things from a hook. He didn't give me a chance to see what else he had in that coat of his.

He handed me the belt and winked his odd eye at me. "Pleasure doing business with you. I hope whatever job you've got in mind finds you successful – I look forward to many more transactions in the future."

I sniffed. "Go to hell."

He simply chuckled. "Oh, I plan to…"