P1 Ch2 – Funeral

The coffin was lowered into the ground by the faceless pallbearers. Rain drummed down on the wood and slopped onto the ground, churning the earth into a soupy, muddy mess. A memorial stone was placed in the ground, bearing the epitaph, 'James Nathaniel McCormick. Good cop, good friend, good man.' The very same message would be written on their coffins, like it had been for every member of the force. A one-legged troll with the crime-fighting ability of a dead spider and the social skills of a rampaging mongoose with bad breath would still be called a good cop.

But here was one of the genuine good cops. He was the first one to treat the siblings, especially Alex as if they were normal people. He had given them their training, their knowledge and most importantly a real friendship. And now, like all the others, McCormick was just another box in the dirt. In a cemetery empty but for trio of mourners, and the watchful stones, another life was cut short. Never to be fulfilled, never to be recognised as more than a few entries in a logbook and a computer file. A file to be relegated swiftly to the K.I.A section of the database.

He must have known, Alex thought, he must have. When she had read over the case McCormick had been undertaking she had gaped at the preposterous risks he had taken, and paid the price for.

The three wizards squelched across the bare cemetery towards the nearest bar. Three drinks later they became very contemplative.

"You know something," Alex said, just the hint of slur touching her voice, "there was no one, absolutely no one who cared about McCormick. No one came to his funeral, not even family. I mean," she stopped momentarily to drain her glass, "what's up with that?"

Justin felt uncomfortable in the rowdy atmosphere of the bar. A socially awkward young man, he took comfort in being the smartest person in the room. That still didn't stop any of the much taller stronger and more inebriated clientele snapping his neck should he mention this fact. So he decided to slouch down and keep away from engaging in conversation with strangers.

"He was the only child of only children and his parents were both killed in a place crash," he said flatly. Not normally an imbiber of alcohol, Justin felt surprisingly relaxed by the beverage. Unfortunately it loosened his tongue as well as his mind. "To be honest it's weird he didn't die sooner."

Alex was angry, "What? He was 26!"

"I was talking about his luck dumbass. I mean it wasn't just his parents, his grandparents all died young as well."

Max cut in at this point, "Still, you'd think a good guy like McCormick would have some friends outside the guards, wouldn't he?"

"Max, think about it," Alex reprimanded her younger brother. Thinking was becoming increasingly difficult for the trio, as the empty glasses continued to clang on the table. "All day he would be inside doing work or sleeping or training. All night he would be um… um what's the p-word for walking?"

Justin looked at his sister in mild amusement. He himself was managing to hold onto his senses. "I think the word you were looking for is patrolling, but perambulating gives it a bit more flair don't you think?" he said condescendingly. Alex flipped him off.
"Anyway," Max said, "How do you know so much stuff about him? Were you his boyfriend or something?" he giggled at the lame joke

"Because I, um, took an interest in his life, rather than just having sex with him," he glanced meaningfully at Alex, "or asking him how to a backflip uppercut, or whatever the hell you've been trying to do in the training room for the last 3 weeks."

"Hey the ninja flip of death is a real thing and McCormick was within days of getting me to do that for real. Then he had to go and die like an asshole," Max grumbled.

"Hey he was my boyfriend I think I have the most right to be upset!" Alex yelled at her brother, louder than she intended.

"Oh yeah, if the qualification for a relationship was just sleeping together for three months, and having no feelings for each other, then sure he was your boyfriend," Max yelled back sarcastically. Surrounding tables had interrupted their drunken activities to look at the sibling conflict. Justin, mortified by the attention, telepathically asked them to go back to whatever they were doing. Mancopolis citizens, however, were wizards and they were nothing if not always game for a potential bust up. There would be videos on Wiztube already if he was any judge

Alex got up from the table then and ran to the door. Her hand was covering her face and it was difficult to tell whether she needed to vomit or just cry. Or both.

"Alex, come back, you know he didn't mean it, it was the alcohol talking!" Justin cried out after his sister. "You see what you did? I knew we shouldn't have come here straight after the funeral."

"I don't need this shit," Max glowered at the whole of the room, who currently seemed very interested in their drinks. He stood and looked around again. Under his withering gaze the crowd found obscure spots on the walls to look at. Or furniture. Or their own chairs. Or anything other than Max or their companions at risk of bursting into laughter.

Max stamped away, leaving Justin drowning in the embarrassed silence of the room. Someone near the entrance made some sort of comment, snickered and was then shushed into silence. Justin gave a weak smile before getting up to leave also.

The Police, the Security Force, the Cops, the Guards, the Watchmen, the Hunters, or most commonly the shitheads, whatever they were called, the law enforcement officers were not well-liked by the city. As a rule, you didn't want to become one. You got forced into it by the economy, your parents or a drunken bet gone too far. There had been a time, not too long ago in fact, when guards had been both respected and revered. There were stories of moonlight chases and great battles where the hero, with slicked back hair had beaten off dozens of foes facing terrible odds.

But they were lost to the past. 8 years ago, Justin remembered, a Crime Ring had formed between all the major gangs both within and beyond the city gates. All the smaller gangs were either absorbed or crushed into the mix. And soon it was virtually impenetrable. Before, they'd been hunting thieves or monsters or lawyers (same thing really) or fraudulent money launderers. But soon they began attacking full-time paid-up killers on every case and that began to take its toll.

The death count began at one and worked its way up to fifty. Then to a hundred. There were headlines every week, until it became old news banished to the obituaries page.

And when the public began getting word that their top defence system against being raped or robbed or murdered, was being whittled down to just a few members getting ever slightly more drunk after every funeral, the street credibility of the Guard had gone into the toilet faster than the curry the cops would eat after every funeral.

And now this watchman, no this man, this mortal human (albeit magical) man, was interrupting their drinking. To the befuddled minds of the drinkers this seemed to be a great crime. If the bartender hadn't stepped in at this point there could have been some serious… well the drinkers would have had something to say anyway. Quite pointed remarks would be made. And then the alcohol fog would take over, and they'd forget the events of tonight before it all came back in one great rush, known as the 'hang-over.'

"All right shows over people [cliché I know], you've had your fun no go back to getting drunk, you can beat the son of a bitch to a pulp later." The crowd tittered at the remark. Justin tried to ignore the abuse being hurled at him telepathically. He was looking at the floor disconsolately and so didn't notice the outstretched foot.

He went flying into a pool of what he seriously hoped was beer. He stood trying to block out the laughter and found himself staring into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Unfortunately for him, like most of the aesthetically attractive women he met, she was scowling.

"Aren't you going to pay the cheque," she asked icily as the room mercifully went back to the drunken conversations. She handed him a long receipt, "you owe us Wiz$150.00."

"What? What the hell were those guys drinking?" he was in disbelief, remembering he'd made 2 Wiz$5.00 beers last the whole evening. He looked back into the cold expression on the waitress's face. Despite her sub-zero expression he felt several degrees hotter. He stammered like a moron before she couldn't help but laugh hysterically at the moron in front of her.

"I-um-I c-can-ca um. I well, I you see I don't actually have enough money to um pay for the uh, the–"

"You can't pay us?" there was the ice again. "How much do you actually have?"

Justin reached as far down into his pockets but could only summon Wiz$37.62.

"Can I give you the rest tomorrow?"

"With an extra 50 bucks? Sure." She turned on her heel and left.

Justin left hurriedly after his exchange with the Greek goddess. Outside he held the bridge of his nose and sighed, before walking down the dark empty street, trying to find his missing siblings. All the while he thought about, the girl he had just met and pondered the name he'd seen on the tag.

Could she seriously be called Diamond Ring? That had to be one of those names they gave to waitresses to make them seem, well seem more approachable? He didn't know. To be honest he thought it made her sound more like a whore but then again… God had he really just thought that. He had to stop drinking. He'd been doing it far too much lately. But then he had had cause.

He wandered aimlessly for an hour before eventually finding himself outside the Watchtower. He opened the door and found…

His sister. On the floor. Completely motionless.

He heard footsteps behind him and saw Max coming into the building.

"Hey man, have you seen Alex, I wanna apologise for…" he trailed off as he saw Alex.

They then spoke what they were both thinking, "Shit."

That was all there was to say.