Delia Moon, Thirty Seven years old, a Freelance Photographer...
The newest victim, discovered just hours after The Lovers were found, was found in her bath tub, which was filled with scorpions.
It was probably not a coincidence that the Fortune Killer had chosen the 'Moon' Tarot card for her final suffering. Angela realized she was the woman she saw in hell being ravaged by whatever Demon was behind all this.
Number Eighteen was drawn in her blood on the linoleum floor.
The Victim was obviously drugged while the Scorpions stung and dug into her flesh, her eyes were gouged yr as well by the killer no doubt.
Again as she looked into the body, she knew that the next victim would be discovered soon. It was eight in the evening and she was certain the next victim was to die before the brake of dawn.
"Lieutenant," said Michael, "We have a witness."
A glimmer of hope rose in the policemen's hearts.
"Who is he?"
"A neighbor, he said he saw a man leaving the apartment earlier today."
After interrogating the witness who claimed that he talked with Miss Moon in the morning and left when she was visited by some man by the last name Wallen, who was bald, 5'11", and drove a Red BMW convertible. He left her and she didn't appear ever again. Upon searching the apartment they found an address of a man by the name Buckland Wallen.
Omar clutched his Uncle's gun as his hosts walked into the basement apartment he was hiding in. After abducting that policeman yesterday, he had managed to escape and sough after a friend of his, who in turn pointed him towards shady connections of his.
"Put that piece down, College Boy." said Tariq the first to come in, "You're among friends."
"Right." said Omar as he laid the gun down, "So, is he..?"
"Dead?" asked Aicha, a girl who came in, "Most Definitely, and not even in one peace."
"Oh god!"
"It'll be no the news as soon as they can figure out a way to make us look like animals and bloodthirsty, heartless terrorists. The next few days are going to be rough." said Jack, who was Omar's college friend.
"Can you give me a ride?" asked Omar after a pause.
"Where to?" asked Tariq.
"I'm turning myself in, it's the right thing."
"Fuck the right thing!" Aicha barked, "You think you're the only one? This shit has been happening al the time the past few days. A black kid got beaten up for speeding on Santa Monica last night, a bunch of Neo-Nazis trashed an Arab Grocery Store and the cops didn't do shit! They're showing their true colors for some reason."
"So what know?" asked Omar.
"They're coming after all of us, were all you have," said Tariq, "Being a cop killer, they'll come after you to make a statement, and we got to hit back. Some gangs are joining up with us, the Mexicans, The Blacks, and The Koreans. Everyone wants a peace of fascist pork. It's going to be a fucking blood bath."
Aicha, Tariq and Jack went to leave, and just as he was in the doorway, Tariq said "I knew your uncle you know, as far as cops go, he was a real Jem. Thing is, he's dead. And right now, you have to do the best with the cards you've got."
"Simon Messing was a known Magician," said Midnite as he poured himself some Bourbon, Angela herself had a Vodka Stinger despite being on the job, "He was a once in a month customer."
He gazed upon pictures from the crime scene of the Magician as well as the two more recent ones, "This looks like he was trying a particularly difficult peace of magic, one that he couldn't handle, and the spell ended up consuming him."
"Consuming him? So it was self inflicted?"
"I don't know, really. I've just saw this thing all the time, someone finds an old spell with a major pay off, he gets cocky and the adrenaline rush is too much to bear, they miscalculate and die. The thing is, Simon Messing wasn't a beginner, he was a full fledged Warlock, he knew better, which means he was ether in grave danger that he had to use that spell, or he was tricked into it."
"What about the vision you mentioned?" asked Midnite.
"I was in Hell, I saw a Demon ripping apart the Moon victim. I'm sure it was the killer, somehow."
"How did it look like?"
"Like a Werewolf with Horns. Ring any bells?"
"No, I'll have to check. Didn't it try to attack you?"
"It did but, there was an Angel, it saved me."
"An Angel? Who was it?"
"It didn't say, I didn't even get a good look."
"I'll try to identify the demon right away, keep me posted."
Angela wasn't out of club Midnite for ten minutes before her phone rang with Michael telling her there had been a new victim.
The squad cars parked in front of the Starr Plaza Hotel, where the most recent victim was hung by a chain from a thirtieth floor balcony, and he himself was set on fire, he was dead for sure by this point but he still burned and could be seen from a great distance, later it would be learned that he was a famed Jazz Singer playing at the Hotel for the night, known as Edgar Roberts.
The media had already arrived, and were already interviewing Captain Watford, who very unsatisfied, and brushed them off with a no comment.
"Lieutenant," he said sternly, "Mind telling me where have you been?"
"I was checking out a lead." answered Angela.
"That Bartender? It's bad enough that this guy is painting the town red, I don't need you booking on the job."
"What? Ho-"
"Never mind how! The Commissioner is breathing down my neck, asking how did this guy manage to get to kill off seven people, seven respectable people in four days."
"You'll have to ask him when we get him, Sir." said Angela, realizing they would never get him, he could not be caught, but his streak could be stopped.
"For both our sakes, I hope we get him soon."
Watford left as the burning corpse was extinguished and lowered down. Angela saw the Commissioner from a distance eyeing the body in fear; she couldn't help but sense something off about the whole thing.
She walked over to him, and he acknowledged her as she came close, "Commissioner Brusard.."
"Detective."
"It's Lieutenant actually..."
"We'll see about that."
Angela ignored the threat of demotion and went to talk to him some more, but he interrupted her by saying, "Unless you start exercising that excellent police work I've been hearing about, I think your career might take a turn to the dramatic."
Commissioner Brusard left her, but only after allowing her a glimpse into his soul, which was very troubled and full of fear. The Commissioner had a personal concern regarding the matte, one that seemed out of place, like he feared he was next.
Like a sensation of falling down a volcano shaft, Angela felt alarmed and turned around to see a body falling onto the Commissioner's car, which he was a few feet away from at the time. The attention of the cameramen and reporters then focused onto the new corpse, Captain Watford ordered his men to head into the Hotel and secure the area. Meanwhile, a hellish look of panic and fear spread al over the Commissioner's face and he backed off and ran away.
Angela spotted a Black Truck with tainted windows starting up and barreling down the street, acceleration quickly and shooting towards the Commissioner, who was oblivious to the oncoming threat, and didn't hear Angela's warning, and only saw the truck for a second before it slammed into him and trapped him under its tires, then dragged him away into the night.
People from different races, Black, Latino, Asian, Middle Eastern and others, stood armed with clubs, knives and Molotov cocktails before an equal crowd of Anti-riot police armed with batons and shields.
Between the two legions, stood a leader of each, Tariq and some Police Lieutenant.
"What's it going to be, son?" asked the Lieutenant.
"I'm not your fuckin' son," answered Tariq, "And none of us is standing down, period."
"I don't think you get it, kid."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, you're lucky I'm even giving you a chance to talk."
"Here I was thinking you were trying to get your fascist foot soldiers from getting killed."
"Look, Omar Shahen is wanted for Murder! We're here to make sure he is apprehended, and if any of you try and stop us, we'll have to remove you, it's the law."
"Your boys were trying to frame one of ours of a false charge, and ended up killing him. If they had contained their bigotry none of this would have ever happened. So fuck the law." said Tariq as he gave the Lieutenant the finger at the end.
Both returned to their troops, while Omar pinched his eyes and said, "I don't want this, this won't change anything. I might as well turn myself in."
"Too late for that." said Aicha as she lifted her bat up.
A plastic bullet was fired, and Tariq fell to the ground bleeding from the neck, this caused mass rage and then, in the city of angels, on a sunny afternoon, the gates of Hell swung wide open, and the infernal end of days poured out.